Harry Potter Returns

by JBean210

Look! Up in the sky! It's an owl! It's a broom! It's Harry Potter! What's he doing flying around without a broom? Harry meets Superman under shocking circumstances and they are both a little mixed up-with each other.

7. Enrolled

Harry Potter Returns
A Harry Potter/Superman Returns Crossover

Chapter Seven
Enrolled

Updated 13 August 2010

Professor Potter gave his niece a small bow. "At your service, my dear." He stood, smiling at her and Ricky. "And at your son's service as well. He is the real reason why I'm here today."

Lana shook her head, confused. "I — I don't understand. Uncle Phineas, where have you been all these years? It's been…I don't know how long since I've last seen you! Since I was a little girl, at least."

Professor Potter looked apologetic. "Yes, Lana, I am sorry I haven't come around to visit you, but I've been busy — oh yes, quite busy indeed!" He held out a hand toward her, thumb and index finger together as if they held something, though there was nothing there. "My card," he said, as if presenting her with one.

Lana shook her head. "I don't see anything," she told him.

"Oh — sorry!" he chuckled, passing his other hand over the first one. A card appeared between his fingers. "Forgot to materialize it! Here you are, dear."

Lana took the card, looking a bit apprehensive, and read it. Behind her, Harry, Ron and Hermione all craned their necks to see what it said.

Potter's Field Magical Academy
An Institution of Magical Education
Est. 1825

Professor Phineas Potter, Dean of the Academy

Accredited with the American Dept. of Magic
Located in Montana, U.S.A.

"'Potter's Field'?" Lana looked up at her uncle. "Why would you name it something like that? You say this is your school."

"Ah — well, I'm the current Dean," Professor Potter explained. "The name is just a coincidence — the school was originally called the 'Sarcozy Academy of Wizardry,' after its founder, Graham Sarcozy. But it was widely called 'Potter's Field Academy' because its original location was in a potter's field."

"A school for magic in America!" Hermione said, looking round at Harry and Ron. "I've always wondered about how they worked over here!"

"Oh, there are several schools of magic in America, my dear," the professor informed her. "The Salem Institute and the New York College of Wizardry are two more, just to name a few."

Ron was looking around nervously. "Er — should we be discussing things like this out in the open? I mean, there are wizarding laws about secrecy, you know."

Both Hermione and Harry looked quizzically at Ron — he had never been concerned about such things before.

The professor was smiling benignly. "Don't concern yourself about that, young man. Before the show, I set up wards and protection spells to keep anyone other than the audience from hearing what we're saying or allowing anyone who wasn't invited here to approach. We're perfectly safe, and within international magical secrecy guidelines."

"Wait a minute," Lana interrupted, an expression of incredulity on her face. "Is what this young lady said earlier true? You can do real magic?"

"Of course, my dear," her uncle clasped the lapels of his academician's robe, unconsciously striking a lecturing posture. "I worked on several very sensitive projects during the Second World War, and afterwards I was a top researcher for the government until I retired, thirty years ago, and accepted the position as Dean of the Academy. That was right around the time your aunt died." His eyes became a bit misty. "I confess, I thought of coming back to see you, but decided it would bring back too many memories of my dear late wife, Phyllis.

"So now, after all these years," Lana wanted to know, "why are you telling me this?"

"Why, for your son Ricky's sake, of course," Professor Potter replied, beaming at Ricky, who smiled back, beginning to get an idea of what was going on. "I am certain that you and your husband will want Ricky to have the best education possible, now that he's of age to attend the Magical Academy."

"We're divorced," Lana said, shortly. "Anyway, all he cares about is whether Ricky plays baseball — he wants him to go to the major leagues."

The old wizard looked vaguely disappointed. "Is that what you want for him, Lana?"

"I want Ricky to do whatever he thinks he can do best," Lana responded, looking nettled by the question. "It's not a question of what I want or what Ricky's dad wants —"

"Did someone mention me?" Everyone turned toward the sound of the new voice coming from the street, where an old model sports car had just rolled up, its top down, with a single occupant in the driver's seat. The driver, a lean, sandy-haired man with circles under his eyes and what seemed like a perpetual sneer on his face, jumped up onto the passenger seat then vaulted over the side of the car and landed easily on the lawn, then walked toward them.

"Dad!" Ricky said. "You made it!" He ran toward the man.

"Hey there, sport," his dad said, tousling his son's hair as Ricky hugged him. "I wasn't going to miss your birthday this year. Especially since I got this letter from your mom's uncle," he added, holding up an envelope as he joined the others. "Hi, Lana," he said to her, trying to sound suave. "How's it goin', babe?"

"Fine," Lana replied, in a clipped voice. "How are you, Brad?"

Brad grinned. "Just peachy, babe," he replied.

"Brad?" Clark said, a tone of surprise in his voice. "Brad Dolan?"

"That's my name, Kent, don't wear it out," Brad said, his sneer now in full evidence. "Yeah, I recognized you. Been a few years, ain't it?"

"Yes," Clark agreed. "It's — good to see you again, Brad." He held out his hand toward Brad.

Brad snorted. "Yeah, sure," he said. He made no move to shake Clark's hand. It was obvious from his attitude the feeling wasn't mutual. "So what are you doin' here, Kent?"

"I invited him," Lana put in, quickly. "Clark's just returned from… traveling… for several years, and I wanted a chance to catch up with him."

"Travelin', huh?" Brad said, looking Clark up and down. Harry, who'd remained silent since Professor Potter had revealed himself, had been sizing up both the professor and this new arrival, Ricky's father. While he liked Professor Potter (and like Hermione, he was intrigued by the idea of an American school of magic), this Brad Dolan fellow seemed a weedy sort. Harry wondered why he was even here, since he'd gathered from conversation with Ricky that his father rarely had time for him. "So where you been traveling to, Kent?"

"Oh, around," Clark answered vaguely.

"Never mind that," Lana cut over the conversation, irritated. "Let's get back to Ricky. What, exactly, are you saying about him?" she asked her uncle.

"That he's a wizard," Professor Potter stated.

"I'm a wizard?" Ricky echoed, looking awed. "A real wizard?"

Harry was trying to watch everyone at once, to see their reactions. Ricky looked at his mother, excitement lighting up his eyes. Lana had the look of a startled deer on her face — her eyes seemed to be as large as an owl's. Brad, Ricky's father, was looking at his son with a calculating expression, rubbing his chin. Ron and Hermione had turned to one another, both with broad smiles on their faces.

And Clark? Clark was doing the same thing Harry was, watching everyone's expression, including Harry's. Their eyes locked for a moment, at superspeed, and Harry knew that Clark had concerns about the situation. What, exactly, those concerns were he couldn't be quite sure, but if Clark was thinking along the same lines as Harry, then he was wondering why Ricky's father had shown up just when Ricky discovered he had magical powers. Maybe Harry could ask some questions that would bring answers for those reservations.

Harry stepped forward, offering his hand to the elderly wizard. "Professor, I'm Harry Potter."

"Ah! Harry! Delighted to finally meet you!" Professor Potter said, shaking Harry's hand vigorously. "Yes, delighted! You've probably surmised by now that I realized who you and your friends are."

"Yes," Harry nodded, looking back at Ron and Hermione, who stepped forward to stand next to him. "These are my friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger."

"Delighted to meet you both, just delighted," the professor beamed as he shook each of their hands. "I must say, I've heard more than a little about you as well, Miss Granger."

"Me?" Hermione looked startled. "How would you know about me, sir?"

"Oh, Minerva is always going on and on about you," Professor Potter told her. "The smartest witch in the school in a hundred years — why, I heard that you got nine 'Outstandings' on your O.W.L.s this past term, and an 'Exceeds Expectations' on the tenth. Which one was that in, by the way?"

"Uh — Defense Against the Dark Arts," Hermione said, looking uncertainly at Harry.

"Where would you have met Professor McGonagall?" Ron asked, feeling a bit left out from all of the attention being shown to Harry and Hermione. "I didn't think she ever left the school, unless it was to go into Hogsmeade for a gillywater."

"Oh my, no, young fellow!" Professor Potter laughed heartily. "We attend a number of international conferences every year together. That is to say," he added hastily, as Ron lifted an eyebrow at him, Hermione hid a smile behind her hand, and Harry grinned impishly, "we both attend the conferences, but not together together, if you know what I mean."

"Ahem." They turned to see Lana staring at them, hands on her hips in an impatient stance. "Can we get back to answering my questions, please?"

"Of course, my dear, of course!" Professor Potter agreed amiably, then looked confused for a moment. "Eh, what are your questions, Lana?"

Lana sighed. "What do you mean when you say Ricky's a wizard?"

"Simply, my dear, that he has shown an ability to manipulate magical forces," Professor Potter explained. "In this case, it is due to certain genetic traits that Ricky inherited from your side of the family, combined with traits from his father's side, that gives him this ability."

"So you mean I could do tricks like you did?" Ricky asked him, excitedly.

"Yes," the professor nodded, "With practice, that is. Oh yes, a lot of practice, my boy! But that's what my school will give you — an opportunity to hone your abilities and extend them as far as you are able. By the time you graduate you will be able to do things you never thought possible before!"

Ricky spun around to face his mother. "Can I go there, Mom? Please?"

"Uh — well…" Lana looked completely lost, torn between her son's enthusiasm for the idea and her complete lack of knowledge about real magic. "Um, how is it that neither Brad's father nor I have any of this — this magical ability, but Ricky does?"

Harry was about to answer, but Hermione spoke first. "Ms. Lang, sometimes non-magical parents can have a child that shows magical ability. I'm Muggle-born — both of my parents are Muggles. That is, they have no magical ability. But I do," Hermione explained.

"And my mother was Muggle-born," Harry added, "although my aunt, her sister, didn't have any magical ability."

"My cousin Malfalda —" Ron began, but Ricky was speaking excitedly again.

"So I can go, then, huh Mom? Please?"

Harry spoke again. "Ms. Lang, when I was visiting on the Kent farm a few weeks ago, I noticed that Ricky seemed to have magical abilities —"

"You did?" Lana seemed surprised by this information. "Why — why didn't you tell me?"

"Well, it's not the kind of thing you can just tell someone," Harry explained. "My relatives weren't very happy when they found out I had magical ability — they did everything they could to keep me from going to Hogwarts — the school that we attend," he added, gesturing to Ron, Hermione, and himself. "I brought my two friends along with me to Ricky's birthday party to see if they agreed with me, that Ricky has magical ability." He looked at Professor Potter. "But it seems like the professor here already knew about him."

"Oh yes, indeed," Professor Potter agreed. "I've been watching Ricky for some time now, waiting for him to reach the age of eligibility for the school, so I could invite him to attend."

"Mighty generous of you, Perfesser," Brad Dolan cut in. "T'give these lessons to Ricky, you know."

The professor looked blankly at Dolan for a moment, then realized what he was saying. "Oh, attendance at the school isn't for free, Mr. Dolan. Oh my, no."

"Whaddaya mean, it ain't free?" Dolan looked suspicious. "What are you tryin' to pull here, dude?"

"Nothing inappropriate, I assure you, Mr. Dolan!" Professor Potter looked offended at the implication that he might not be on the up-and-up. "The Academy also offers the equivalent of a normal secondary education — by the time your son graduates, he will have a high school diploma from the state of Montana and be qualified to attend any college or university in the country, if he so chooses. The tuition fees I charge are used to maintain accreditation with the state Board of Education."

Lana swallowed. "How — how much is the tuition, Uncle Phineas?"

"Only two thousand dollars per year, for the six-year program," her uncle replied, as if that amount were a mere pittance. "I have kept it there for the past ten years — with any luck I won't need to increase it for another ten!"

But Lana was shaking her head. "I — I can't afford that," she said. "I'm barely getting Ricky through public school now." She looked at Brad. "Unless you plan to do something to help…"

"Wish I could help, babe," Brad shrugged. "But I'm tapped — I'm barely making enough to stay in my apartment in Concordia."

"I can help," Clark said. Both Lana and Brad turned toward him — Brad with a scowl, Lana with surprise, then a cautious smile. "I have a little extra money left over from my, uh, traveling that you can have."

"Oh, Clark," Lana said, shaking her head. "Won't you need that money to get reestablished after your trip?"

Clark shrugged. "I've got enough saved it won't be a problem."

"That's really generous of you, Kent," Brad drawled, "but the Dolans don't take charity from nobody!" Clearly, he wasn't happy with the idea that Clark Kent would be paying for his son's education, even if he couldn't (or wouldn't, Harry added to himself).

Ricky looked profoundly unhappy; he was plainly disappointed his father had quashed his chances of going to magical school, until his mother took a deep breath and said, "But we Langs do know how to make a deal. Clark, if we can borrow the money from you, I swear I'll pay you back." She put out her hand, for Clark to shake.

"I'm sure we can work something out," Clark said vaguely, smiling. He took her hand and they shook, once.

"Cool!" Ricky said, jumping into the air with excitement. "I'm going to be a wizard!" He looked at Harry. "Hey Harry! Are you gonna go to school with me?"

"Sorry, Ricky," Harry shook his head, smiling sadly. "But I've got another school to attend…" his voice trailed off.

"I'd love to show you the place," Professor Potter told him. He looked at Hermione. "And you as well, Miss Granger." When Ron got a hurt look on his face, the professor clapped him genially on the shoulder. "In fact, I'd like all three of you to see the place! I think you'll find it quite a change from Hogwarts!"

"Have you ever been to Hogwarts, Professor?" Harry asked him, interested.

"Yes, oh yes," Professor Potter nodded. "It was quite a few years ago — I had some business to discuss with Dumbledore. Some students of his transferred from Hogwarts to my school, and we had to arrange the transfer of tuition. As I recall, he was a little put out with me over that — accused me of stealing his students, actually! — but I believe they simply preferred the American method of magic to the British-European method."

"What are the differences, Professor?" Hermione asked, curiously.

"Well, it's — oh, perhaps you should come have a look for yourself, my dear," Potter suggested. "We can just pop over there for a few minutes and come right back — and I can show Ricky some of the highlights of the school."

Hermione looked hopefully at Harry and Ron. "What do you think?" she asked, eagerly, clearly wanting to see the place.

Ron looked at Harry; at the same time they both shrugged. "I'm game," Ron said.

"Me, too," Harry added.

"Splendid!" Potter beamed. "I'll just pack my things —" he waved a hand at his trunk and other magical paraphernalia laying about the lawn; the trunk opened as the magician's table hopped inside it, and the party decorations streamed into the trunk, which then shut with a loud thump. It continued to "shut," seeming to fold in on itself, becoming smaller and smaller until it was no larger than a domino. It then floated into the air and into Professor Potter's hand, who stuck it into one of his pockets.

"Excuse me, Professor," Hermione asked, her curiosity burning once again. "But we've seen you do quite a bit of magic without using a wand. Don't you have one?"

"Oh no, no, no," the professor demurred, shaking his white-haired head. "We rarely use them over here. With proper training, a good magical practitioner shouldn't need one."

"That seem incredible," Hermione said, impressed. "We're required to use one from the first day we begin learning magic."

"Mmmm," Potter shook his head. "I know — the Wizengamot has had that law on its books almost from the inception of the Ministry itself — since the early 1700's." He sounded disapproving. "In my opinion, too much wand use makes a wizard overly dependent on it. "Well, we'd better get a move on," he decided, glancing at a watch on his left wrist. "It's nearly five p.m now — even later in England! — and I'd like to get all of you back home soon."

"How are we going to get there?" Hermione asked. "None of us are old enough to Apparate yet, even if we knew how."

"Oh my goodness," Professor Potter shook his head, looking queasy. "I'm afraid I'm too old to Apparate any more, my dear — it gives me a splitting headache!"

"How do we get there, then?" Harry asked. "A Portkey? Floo? A magic carpet?" But Professor Potter was smiling and shaking his head.

"There's only five of us," he said, looking at Ricky and the three Gryffindors. "I can easily —"

"Wait!" Harry said suddenly, and Professor Potter jumped as if startled. "Sorry, Professor, but before we go, I need a word with Clark." He gestured to Clark and the pair of them moved away, several yards from the others. Harry reached into his pocket and handed Clark a Galleon.

"What's this for?" Clark asked. "I can't use this around here anyway, Harry—"

"I know," Harry said, quietly. "But it's not just a Galleon. You can tap it with your wand and speak short sentences over it, and it will display the words you spoke on another Galleon I've got in my pocket. I can do the same with mine. If I get a chance I'll send you a message from Montana, while we're there."

Clark was looking at the coin carefully. "Alright," he said. "But I don't have my wand, you know."

"Oh yeah — I didn't think of that," Harry said, chagrinned. "Well, you may not be able to reply but I'll at least know when I get back whether the coin can communicate that far." He looked at the others waiting for him to rejoin them. "I'll see you soon, Clark."

"Bye, Harry," Clark said. "Have a good time checking out the Academy."

Harry rejoined the group. "Ready?" the professor asked him. Harry nodded.

"You're not going to believe this, Harry," Hermione said excitedly, as the professor took a deep breath. "We're going to —"

There was a sudden flash, and even Harry was dazzled as their surroundings seemed to spin and blur. Even with his super-enhanced senses, however, Harry experienced only a momentary disorientation before they found themselves inside a darkened room. "— uh, Teleport," Hermione finished her sentence.

Harry glanced at his companions; Hermione and Ron were looking around, trying to distinguish anything in the surrounding darkness, while Ricky was looking around in rapt wonder. He saw Professor Potter look up, then clap his hands twice. The lights came on in the room, revealing a spacious foyer. Along one wall was a trophy case filled with various achievement awards from the American Magical Education Society and the Department of Magic, as well as several trophies for various magical competitions such as Best in Abjuration, 1989 or First Place, Primal Spellcasting, 1992.

"Well, here we are," Professor Potter told them. "Potter's Field Magical Academy. It's not a very large school — no, not nearly as large as Hogwarts, but I find a smaller building makes for a cozier setting." He pointed to the front doors of the foyer. "Let me show you what it looks like outside."

They followed him through the double doors, into an open area filled with trees, rows of flowers and bushes, and several unobtrusive stone benches arranged in a roughly circular pattern. "This is the outdoor commons," he told them. "Students can gather here to study, to talk, or do whatever they wish."

"It is quite beautiful, Professor," Hermione remarked, and he beamed at her. "Do you have any protections on the grounds, to prevent Muggles from getting too close?"

"Yes, my dear," Potter nodded. "But we call them 'Mundanes' — here in America, 'Muggle' is considered a mildly derogatory term, even among wizards. There are protective wards extending approximately one mile in all directions from the school itself. We keep the grounds warm through magical means, allowing us to enjoy a longer fall and spring periods, though I do enjoy a white Christmas myself."

They walked back inside the school. "Let me show you one of the classrooms first," Potter decided, leading the way into a room that seemed rather mundane itself, with a large wooden teacher's desk at the front of the room and several rows of old-fashioned wooden desks and chairs.

"What's taught in here, Professor?" Hermione asked, looking around the room. Harry was looking as well; there were several Latin phrases that had been almost completely erased from the blackboard, but his super-eyes picked them out.

"This is the Conjuration home room," Potter told her. "I should probably explain that in America, and especially here at Potter's Field, we tend to teach magic differently than is done at schools like Hogwarts and Beauxbatons."

"How can it be different?" Ron asked, looking perplexed. "Magic is magic, innit?"

Professor Potter smiled, nodding. "Yes, you're correct, Ronald. Magic is magic. But we do emphasize more types of magic here than your Hogwarts teachers do. We call them schools of magic, such as Conjuration, along with Alteration or Transmutation, and Divination."

"Divination?" Hermione looked a bit disappointed. "I gave up that class a few years ago — it just wasn't what I expected of it." Harry and Ron looked at one other; they'd continued on, because it had seemed like an easy O.W.L., but they had both failed it.

"You'll find it's quite different than what you experienced at Hogwarts, my dear," Potter told her. "Oh my, yes, quite different, indeed! Sybill Trelawney is quite an interesting woman, and she has flashes of Seeing, but for the most part what she teaches is guesswork and misdirection."

"Yes, thank you!" Hermione said, giving her friends a quick look of vindication. "I couldn't see much use in learning any of that rubbish."

"In America, Divination is much more then reading tea leaves or calculating astrology charts," Potter informed her. "We use it to reveal information, such as discovering long lost secrets or hidden things — in certain situations it can even predict the future."

"What other kinds of magic do you teach here, Professor?" Harry asked, seeing that Ricky was almost too overcome with glee to ask questions on his own.

"Oh, the list goes, Abjurations, Alterations (which we used to call Transmutation, back when I was in school), Conjurations, Divinations, Enchantments, Evocations, Illusions, Necromancy —"

"Necromancy?" Ron repeated, sharply. "Isn't that Dark magic?"

"That's the traditional name for the class," Professor Potter nodded. "It deals with both the creation and destruction of life and life force. In your school, most Light necromantic spells are for the healing and restoration of living beings, while Dark spells deal with killing living creature or the creation of undead such as zombies — Inferi to you."

"Seems a bit dodgy anyway, doesn't it?" Ron muttered, not quite convinced Necromancy was a proper subject. He suddenly thought of something important. "How do meals work here, then?"

Hermione stifled a giggle while Harry snorted and looked away for a moment. "What?" Ron asked, looking miffed, as he considered it a perfectly reasonable question. "Ricky's a growing boy, isn't he? It's important to keep properly fed, Mum says."

"A sentiment I quite agree with, oh yes indeed!" Potter emphasized. "We have a full cafeteria staff onsite from mid-August until to mid-June every year; they report to the school at the same time the teaching staff does."

"How much staff do you have, Professor?" Hermione asked. "And about how many students?"

"We have twelve teachers on staff, one for each of the magical schools. I also have three teachers to instruct the students in each of the three kinds of magic: Arcane magic, the magic inherent in certain humans and creatures; Primal magic, which is the magic present in nature itself; and Incarnum magic, magic generated by the soul of a sentient being. Several members of my staff also teach Mundane subjects such as mathematics, biology, science and history, and so on. By the time a students graduates from the Academy, they have a well-rounded education."

Harry looked at Ricky, who was still taking everything in, looking as if he might burst from excitement at any moment. "It looks like a pretty nice place, eh, Ricky?"

"Oh yeah!" Ricky agreed. "I hope Mom lets me attend! Harry, do you think you could come to school here?" Ricky asked breathlessly.

The question surprised Harry. "Uh — I dunno," he said, honestly. "I don't know if I'd be allowed…"

"There would be no problem if your parents signed an agreement to let you attend school here," Professor Potter said. His eyes suddenly widened and he looked apologetic. "Oh, I'm sorry, Harry! I forgot for a moment that your parents are no longer alive. Well, I'm sure your aunt and uncle could be persuaded to give their permission."

"How do you know about them?" Harry asked, wondering just how much this man, whom he'd never met before today, knew about him.

"Oh, Dumbledore has mentioned them to me," Potter replied, airily. "I remember him telling me some years ago, when you first started attending his school, that he was afraid they might not want to cooperate with sending you to Hogwarts, so he sent Hagrid to deliver the letter informing you of your enrollment — he knew Hagrid would not take 'no' for an answer, oh no, indeed!" he finished, beaming at Harry.

Harry looked pensive for several moments. It was quite true that Hagrid found them just after midnight on his eleventh birthday, and it was also true that he hadn't taken kindly to Uncle Vernon's blustering or threats. In fact, he'd taken the rifle Vernon was pointing at him right from his hands and bent the barrel into a knot as easily as Harry might have tied a rope. Now, of course, Harry himself could easily match such a feat. But then, he'd considered it a great stroke of luck that Hagrid had come along to help him get away from the Dursleys. Now, to find out that was exactly what Dumbledore had sent him for…

"Do you think you can do it, Harry?" Ricky asked again excitedly. "Do you think you can come to school here?"

Harry looked at Professor Potter. "Professor, " he asked slowly, "what would I have to do to attend here?"

"It's simple enough," Potter said, producing a sheet of parchment from thin air and handing it to Harry. "I have here a consent form for your parents (or guardians) to sign." He produced another sheet of parchment. "Then you bring the consent form, along with this Application for an American Student Visa, to the Department of Magic's Secretary of Foreign Relations, who will verify with the school you plan to attend that you've enrolled."

"What about the tuition?" Harry remembered. "I think my education at Hogwarts has already been paid for by my parents."

"No doubt," Potter agreed. "But by international wizarding law, the head of a school of magic cannot charge any student for room and board until the beginning of the school year, which is September first in Britain. Here, we begin school the second Monday before Labor Day, in just over a week, and I can arrange a transfer from Hogwarts to Potter's Field if you decide to attend here. In fact, you'll get a bit back on your tuition since the yearly fee at Hogwarts is 500 Galleons per student, which is roughly 2,500 British pounds, or approximately 3,750 American dollars, nearly double the amount you'll pay at Potter's Field. So your last two years at Hogwarts would pay for almost four years here."

"Harry," Hermione had been shocked speechless to this point by the conversation Harry and Professor Potter were having. "Are you really considering going here, or are you just having us on?"

"Well," Harry said, thinking aloud. "It would be one way of getting away from Voldemort's for a while and letting the Order and the Ministry sort out the problem themselves, instead of expecting me to do it."

"Come on, Harry," Ron objected. "Nobody's expecting you to —"

"Yes they are, Ron," Harry cut over him. "I've gone back and looked through all the Prophets, back to the beginning of summer, and it's full of references to me as 'the Chosen One,' the only person who can rid the world of Voldemort! And if Professor Dumbledore's wanting to give me 'private lessons' this year, it's got to be because he wants to train me to take care of the problem, especially now since —"

"Since what, Harry?" Hermione asked, as Harry suddenly cut himself off.

"Er — since the Prophet started calling me 'the Chosen One,'" Harry finished, though he'd been thinking something else entirely.

Ron was looking around the place thoughtfully. "Would be a bit of a laugh, you know," he said, grinning at Harry. When Hermione glared at him, however, he added, "But it's completely barking, Harry — you can't just up and leave Hogwarts without at least discussing it with Dumbledore!"

Harry folded his arms across his chest, looking obstinate. "I dunno why not — he didn't discuss me going there in the first place."

"But you wanted to go to Hogwarts, once you found out about it!" Hermione cried, stamping a foot in anger.

"And what if I want to go here now?" Harry retorted. "What's so different about that? Even you were thinking about it, Hermione," he pointed out. "I saw how excited you got when you heard there were other types of magic to study, including magic without a wand. You have to admit, it could come in handy if we didn't have to carry wands around any more!"

Hermione looked torn. "I — I suppose," she admitted. "But, I just don't know if my parents will let me come here, this far from home and everyone…"

"None of us will know unless we ask," Harry pointed out, reasonably. "Personally, I think my aunt and uncle would be thrilled if I ended up out of England."

"Mum and Dad certainly couldn't argue with saving a load of Galleons," Ron was musing. "And if we persuaded Ginny to come as well, that would be twice as much money saved!"

Harry nodded, then turned to Professor Potter. "I think I'd like to attend school here, Professor," he told him.

"Excellent!" Ricky shouted. "It'll be so cool!"

"Splendid, splendid!" Professor Potter beamed. He reached through the lapel of his robe, into a vest pocket, and produced three large manila folders that were clearly too big to have fit there without magic. "Here are your admission packets—each one has a consent form for your parents to sign, along with the agreement for the payment of two thousand dollars per year. Have them sign where the X's are on the forms, then place the forms back in this folder and tap this —" he pointed to a small stamp in the upper right corner of the envelope; Harry read the words on it which said, First Class Magical Postage. "That will transport it immediately to my desk, and I will make the necessary arrangements with the Department of Magic." He shook Harry's hand. "I think you'll find it a quite interesting here, Harry." He shook Hermione and Ron's hands as well; both of them, especially Hermione, were looking a bit dazed with how rapidly things had progressed since they'd arrived here.

The professor clapped Ricky on the shoulder in a grandfatherly way, then offered him his hand to shake. "As for you, young man — welcome to Potter's Field as well! I'll make the necessary arrangements with your mother and father." Ricky nodded and shook the elder wizard's hand eagerly. "All right, then," he continued, looking around at the four of them. "Are we ready to go back to join the others and give them the good news?" They all nodded. "Excellent! Let's get in a circle, then — it'll be easier to Teleport us all at once that way."

As they arranged themselves, Harry reflected on what he'd just done. Dumbledore was bound to be unhappy with his decision, but… if the American way of doing magic was better than the British method, then Harry would be doing himself, and perhaps the world, a disservice if he didn't try to become the best wizard he was capable of being. This school might also be something that Clark, now having magical abilities as well, could benefit from. His attention shifted back to Professor Potter as the elderly wizard announced, "Here we go!" and they disappeared in a flash of light.

=ooo=

Things were definitely looking up for Lex Luthor these days.

Three years ago he'd been released from prison on a technicality, after spending nearly two years on the inside, waiting as the justice system slowly ground to its inevitable conclusion. Luthor had been fortunate in jail — he'd kept his wits about him, associated with the right people on the inside, who protected him from the few there who'd had grudges against him for one reason or another. It was surprising, really, how many guys on the inside knew someone who'd died in the earthquakes that had occurred when he'd tried to separate the western United States from the rest of the country along the San Andreas fault. He'd cultivated some friendships among the prison staff as well — being able to answer questions on a wide variety of subjects made him a source of knowledge to both inmates and guards. And to a certain nurse in the infirmary, one Katherine "Kitty" Kowalski, who fell in love (or, Luthor smiled to himself, at least in lust) with him. It was she who helped him smuggle out letters to Gertrude Vanderworth after she'd written him once expressing admiration for his intelligence, a trait the old crone greatly admired.

Once he'd impressed Vanderworth with his intelligence and his "sincere respect" for her belief in his basic good nature (Lex smiled once again, remembering the quote from Jean Giraudoux: "The secret of success is sincerity. Once you can fake that you've got it made") it was easy enough to insinuate himself into her life, win her heart, and marry her in a whirlwind romance despite the decades of difference in their ages.

After that, he devoted his time to caring for her when he had to, in the meantime planning his takeover of her family's fortune. Kitty quit her job at the prison to become her personal nurse, at Lex's suggestion. As the friends he'd made in prison — Brutus, Stanford, Riley, and Grant — were released on probation or for time served, he'd recruited them to his personal team of "security experts" — men who would go out and take care of details for him. After leaving prison with nothing more than the clothes on his back, in three years Luthor had conned his way to becoming one of the richest men in the United States.

And now, he was on the verge of becoming the most powerful man in the world.

In just a few weeks the image of Jor-El, Superman's father, had taught Luthor nearly everything he needed to know about how the crystals and Fortress worked. Luthor stood before the massive console, his hands moving expertly over the crystals projecting from its surface. He was having the crystals pull in transmissions from all over the world, looking for something…interesting.

Stanford walked up behind him and began to say something, but stopped, fascinated by the multiple displays now showing in front of the crystal column where they had first seen the image of Jor-El. After several seconds, without turning around, Luthor asked, "What is it?"

Stanford was silent for several seconds, still watching the dozens of images flickering in front of him. Then, "Oh — uh, we picked up some radio chatter about the helicopter, they —"

"They found it. I heard," Luthor interrupted. "No survivors." Yesterday Luthor had been testing the extent of the Fortress's power. He'd taken over the controls of a Russian helicopter flying from Bellingshausen Station, on King George Island, to the Novolazarevskaya Station in Queen Maud Land. The crew, not knowing what was happening, had tried to broadcast a mayday to Novolazarevskaya, but Luthor jammed their radio signal. With the helicopter's controls locked, the aircraft crashed into the frozen mountains several hundred miles from the station. Luthor had been quite impressed with the capabilities of the Fortress — with access to technology like this, he could control transportation anywhere on the globe!

"How's the kryptonite project coming along?" Luthor asked, finally looking at Stanford. The Indian-American had a weird smile on his face. Luthor stared at him for several seconds, waiting, then said, with some impatience, "Well?"

"Ready," Stanford nodded, still grinning. "We were able to reform the chunk into twelve cylinders, then replaced the crystals at the twelve locations you indicated, boss. We even had enough left over for this —" he held out a blade-shaped object, and Luthor took it, examining it carefully. It was a short, pointed length of the kryptonite, about five inches long, with a ridge about two inches from one end. "What do you think?" Stanford asked him.

"For me?" he asked, sounding genuinely touched by the gesture. "You shouldn't have…" One of the first things Luthor had learned in the joint was: never leave yourself defenseless. Not content with a sharpened metal strip or a sock filled with gravel or sand, he'd had Kitty smuggle in a piece of tempered steel, which a machinist doing time for moonlighting as a convenience store robber had milled into a shiv for him, in exchange for a couple of cartons of cigarettes. Luthor had hollowed out a hiding place in a copy of Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men. He'd never needed to use it, though, and that book was probably now back in the prison library. "Thanks," he said, and slipped the shiv into his pocket.

He started to turn back to the console, but remembered another question. "What did you come up with on that broom?"

Stanford shrugged. "Nothing. There's no such thing as a broom named the 'Firebolt.' No one on the internet knows squat about it."

"Curious," Luthor murmured. "I can't imagine Superman why would need a broom in his spacecraft."

"Maybe it's not his?" Stanford guessed, shrugging again.

"Then whose would it be?" Luthor inquired, skeptically. Stanford had no answer for this and simply shrugged once more. Tired of the conversation, Luthor turned back to the console, looking for something interesting going on in the world, something he could make a statement with… but Stanford hadn't left. "Is there something else?" he asked, impatiently.

"Miss Kowalski wants to know when we're going home," Stanford said, not looking pleased to have to give him the message. He seriously did not like getting involved in the boss's and his girlfriend's tiffs. "She says she's getting bored."

Luthor rolled his eyes. "Tell her to go eat a bowl of grapes," he said, dismissively.

"That's another thing," Stanford pointed out. "We're getting low on supplies. We're going to have to head back within a week. Unless you can get this place —" he waved a hand toward the crystalline walls "— to come up with some grub for us."

"I'm working on it," Luthor said, turning back to the console. The truth was, of course, that he'd paid almost no attention to food, or sleep, for the past three weeks; he'd wanted to spend as much time as possible soaking up every bit of knowledge that Jor-El's image would give him. He'd eaten his rations without tasting them as he continued to stand at the console, manipulating them, learning to make them do his bidding. Food had never even been on the radar until now.

"I'm going to need something very visible, very obvious," he muttered to himself, watching the world's images flashing by in front of him. "Something that will make the planet sit up and take notice…" A flash of white caught his attention, and Luthor isolated the image, removing the others and increasing the audio.

"… Genesis is now atop the launch platform and awaiting final clearance for takeoff here at Ellington Field," the voiceover commented, as Luthor stared at the shuttle/plane combination. "The mission is now expected to begin at 5:30 Central daylight time, in approximately 15 minutes. The automated countdown sequence will engage, taking the shuttle to 40,000 feet where…"

Luthor had stopped listening, however, and began ordering the Fortress to perform a complete scan of the shuttle and platform aircraft. Within seconds a complete three-dimensional schematic of both aircraft were floating in front of him. Luthor perused them at leisure, looking for vulnerabilities in the system. After a minute or so he had to admit — NASA built a pretty good space shuttle. And Boeing built a pretty good airliner, there wasn't much he could do to either craft beyond simply taking over the controls and causing another crash. But he wanted to be a bit more subtle this time.

"Lex!" Luthor closed his eyes, giving a mental sigh. Kitty had decided to grace him with her presence one more. She had been avoiding him for the past few days, complaining that he stank. It was probably true; he hadn't bathed (none of them had, in order to conserve potable water, though they could obtain all they wanted right outside the Fortress) in several weeks. "When are we getting out of this place?" she demanded, stepping up right beside him. "I'm going to go insane if I don't get a warm meal and a bath soon! And my hair's a mess!"

"Kitty," Luthor said, his tone holding much more patience than he felt, "I have been unlocking the secrets of one of the most advanced civilizations in the universe, and you're worried about your hair? Do you see me worrying about mine?"

Kitty gave him a what's-to-worry-about? smirk. "You know what I mean," he added.

"Well, I don't care," she said, petulantly. "All I know is, I'm cold and dirty and —"

"— hungry?" Luthor supplied, nastily. "And bored, tired, sleep deprived, and about fifteen other things you've complained about. "We'll go when I say," he told her, with finality. "Now, let me think — I need to come up with some way to grab people's attention using the shuttle launch."

Kitty looked over at the holographic display for the first time, seeing the shuttle/platform schematic. A puzzled look came over her face. "Why would they want the shuttle to fly a plane into space?" she asked.

Luthor smiled, amused by her comment. "No, it's —" he stopped, considering what she'd just said. "You know," he mused, "that's not a bad idea." Kitty watched, confused, as Lex turned to the console and began moving his hands across the crystals. The image of the shuttle rotated and expanded until Luthor could clearly see the coupling system that held the shuttle and the airliner together. "If that system failed," he theorized, "and the booster system ignited, both ships would fly into space… it would be quite a catastrophe." Luthor smiled at that thought.

"That's not what's supposed to happen?" Kitty asked.

"No," Luthor said, scratching the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. "It's not. But who's to say what might go wrong with a complex piece of machinery such as this…"

Kitty looked at him with an expression of combined doubt and dismay. "You wouldn't really do something like that, would you?"

Luthor looked at her. "You know," he said, after a long pause. "I was just thinking that you should go with Stanford to pick up the helicopter and bring it here— we may want to leave here soon."

"Really, Lex?" Kitty said, relief in her voice. "I can't wait to get back to civilization!" She frowned. "But — why don't you send one of the others with him? I wouldn't be much help to him."

Luthor smiled at her, touching her softly on her cheek. "I just thought, getting out of here for a bit would do you some good — get rid of your cabin feature."

Kitty considered that, then shrugged. "I suppose…"

"Good," Luthor said. "Go get ready. You and Stanford should be back in four days, if you push hard on the snowmobile you can make it back to base camp in three days." He kissed her on the cheek, and patted her rump as she turned to walk away. She gave him a smirk but left without comment.

Stanford, who'd been standing some distance away during their conversation, now stepped next to Luthor. "Thanks a lot, boss."

Luthor just shrugged, grinning. At least that got Kitty out of his hair (well, metaphorically speaking) while he took care of business with the shuttle. By the time she and Stanford returned with the helicopter, it would be all over. And Luthor would be writing his own ticket in the world.

=ooo=

"Alright, hold it! Just hold on a moment!" Mr. Weasley shouted, trying to restore order in his home. Every one of the Weasleys there — his wife Molly, Ron, and Ginny — were shouting at one another as Harry, Hermione, and the old American wizard Arthur knew of vaguely, from comments made by other Order members, looked on with varying amounts of surprise, anxiety, or amusement. "QUIET!" he finally roared, all patience gone, and everyone fell silent, looking at him in surprise.

"Now let me get this straight," Arthur went on, rubbing sleep from his eyes and trying to sort out the situation. He looked at Harry, Ron and Hermione. "Instead of being up in your rooms, asleep, the three of you have just come back from America, where you attended the birthday party for a boy who's just found out today that he's a wizard — and now you all want to attend that school instead of Hogwarts?"

"Yes," Harry said, speaking for all of them. He hadn't been too sure about Professor Potter's suggestion, after dropping Ricky off back at his home in Smallville, that they visit each set of parents (or in his case, his aunt and uncle) in turn (being six hours later in England it was now coming up on midnight here), but it did seem better to convince them that they all wanted to go — though Ginny had looked stunned at the idea of going to another school; she was very popular at Hogwarts, Harry knew. "We've all been to the school, and —"

"But what about your friends here, Harry?" Mrs. Weasley interrupted, looking as furious with him as Harry had ever seen her. "What about Professor Dumbledore, and — and… You-Know-Who?" her voice faltered a bit as she said those last words, as if she realized in that moment what she was asking of him.

"Yeah," Harry retorted, "maybe I should stick around and wait for him to come murder me." Though it would be a lot harder for him to do it now, Harry added, to himself.

"That's not what I meant," Mrs. Weasley said quickly, her tone softening. "It's just that — we'd miss you, Arthur and Ginny, and me…"

"Maybe I could go too," Ginny said, suddenly. Mrs. Weasley jerked as if slapped. "Well, if Ron gets to go, why can't I?" she added, stung by her mother's reaction.

"You have your O.W.L.s this year!" Mrs. Weasley said, loudly. "You can't go running off to some unknown American school! Who knows what they'll teach you there —"

"Potter's Field has a five-star rating with the International Confederation of Wizards," Professor Potter pointed out. "The same rating as Hogwarts does, I might add. Witches and wizards who graduate from the Academy are as fully qualified as those who from Hogwarts."

"Rubbish," Mrs. Weasley scoffed. She threw the pamphlet Ron had handed her just after they'd arrived at his feet. "You don't even teach proper magic — all this Abjuration and Alteration nonsense, I never heard of such tripe!"

"I assure you, madam," Potter replied, mildly, "that 'tripe,' as you put it, can be much more effective than the spellwork you've learned from Hogwarts."

Mrs. Weasley gave him a condescending look. "Would you like to put your magic where your mouth is?" she challenged him. "How about a wizard's duel?"
"A duel?" Professor Potter looked taken aback. "Madam, I have no desire —"

"Molly, you can't be serious!" Arthur sputtered disbelievingly.

"I am!" Mrs. Weasley declared. "If this old fraud can beat me in a duel, then Ron and Ginny can go to his school, or any one they want! But if I beat him —" she looked at Ron and Ginny, shaking a finger at them both. "Then he clears off out of here, and I don't want to hear another peep from either of you about attending another school! Is that clear?" Ron and Ginny just nodded, both shocked speechless by their mother's words.

Professor Potter looked unhappy, but shrugged resignedly. "Oh, very well, then, if you insist! Lead the way, if you please." A confused and rather nervous Mr. Weasley led the group through the kitchen and into the night. The yard was spacious enough to accommodate quite a few people; it was normally where the Weasley family ate when there were too many guests for the kitchen to handle.

"Mum's gone mental," Ron whispered to Harry. At the moment Harry couldn't disagree — she hadn't even asked them why any of them wanted to go to Professor Potter's school.

"Harry, can't you do something?" Hermione asked, watching anxiously as Professor Potter and Mrs. Weasley faced each other in the center of the yard. Mrs. Weasley had a determined scowl on her face, while Professor Potter looked almost amused by the proceedings.

Pointing his wand upwards, Arthur sent several white, glowing balls into the air, hovering about twenty feet above them, lighting up the back yard quite well, though the lights cast strange, flickering shadows over all of them.

"Alright, then," Mr. Weasley sighed, looking at both of them with a weary expression, as if convinced there was nothing he could do to stop the duel. "It should go without saying that this duel will not be to the death, or to first blood."

"Indeed not!" Professor Potter agreed. Molly just shook her head once.

"Good." Mr. Weasley seemed relieved they'd agreed to that. He waved his wand again and a glowing white circle appeared on the ground, about forty feet in diameter. "Each of you turn in opposite directions, take five paces, then turn round and bow to your opponent. The duel will begin when I say, 'now.' It ends, and the circle will disappear, when one of you is disarmed or moves outside this circle."

Professor Potter looked thoughtful for a moment. "I suppose I will need a wand if we are fighting to disarm," he muttered. He pinched the thumb and index finger of each hand together, touching their tips, then drawing them apart. A length of wood appeared between the fingertips, becoming a wand twelve inches in length. "Ready," he said, holding up the wand. Molly looked unimpressed at what she thought must have been a cheap sleight of hand trick, but Harry knew the old professor had not palmed the wand — it had really appeared out of thin air!

Each of them turned and stepped off five paces as Arthur counted. He retreated off to one side as they both faced one another again. Professor Potter bowed deeply, while Molly made a small, mocking curtsey. Mr. Weasley shouted "Go!" and the duel was on.

Molly wasted no time in attacking — she immediately thrust her wand at the professor, shouting "Expelliarmus!" but the spell bounced harmlessly off a shield spell he produced. She followed immediately with a silent Banishing Charm, catching the professor and thrusting him toward the edge of the circle. Before he could pass over it, however, Potter vanished, reappearing again within the circle much closer to Molly, between her and Arthur. "You can't do that!" Molly objected, incredulous. "This yard has an Anti-Apparition Jinx on it!"

"I haven't Apparated," Potter replied, smiling at her. "Teleporting is a different type of magic — Anti-Apparition wards are not effective against it." Molly pointed her wand and a bolt of blue energy shot at him, which he easily deflected. She let off several more spells, each one bouncing off a shield or deflected away, before pointing her wand and shouting "Accio!" Harry turned, expecting to see the professor dragged toward her, but he did not move from where he was.

"Missed —" he began to say, when the garden gate slammed into his back. He grunted and fell forward, but as Molly prepared to throw another Disarming Charm, ending the duel, Professor Potter fell on and into the ground, disappearing below it.

Molly looked about wildly, trying to figure out what had happened to him, but he reappeared a few moments later, directly behind her. Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at one another, impressed by the show of magic the professor was giving them. "Had enough yet, Mrs. Weasley?" Potter asked, as she spun around to face him. "I think I've shown that my magic is clearly better than yours."

"You think so?" Molly asked, her voice turning shrill. "Let's take off the kid gloves first and see how well you do, then!"

She launched a rapid-fire sequences of curses, hexes and jinxes at the elderly wizard, forcing him to move slowly backward, closer and closer to the edge of the circle. The air was growing acrid with the smell of ozone; the grass had begun burning in several spots from deflected spells. Potter had not directed a single offensive spell toward her yet. "Why isn't he fighting back?" Hermione whispered to Harry. "He hasn't attacked her at all!" Harry shook his head, not knowing the answer. He only knew that he was seeing magic as he'd never seen it before.

Finally, Potter's foot landed next to the circle Mr. Weasley had drawn, and Molly, sensing victory, cast another Disarming Charm. Even as Harry turned back toward Professor Potter, he saw the wizard's wand spinning in the air toward Mrs. Weasley. Shocked, Harry stood gob-smacked as she reached up triumphantly to catch it, ending the duel.

But the wand kept on rising, flying over her outstretched hand, and had barely begun to fall back toward the ground when the professor appeared beneath it, his hand reaching up and catching it. He then waved it toward Mrs. Weasley, causing her own wand to fly from her hand, landing outside the circle, which promptly vanished.

Shocked, Mrs. Weasley stared at her wand, then glared accusingly at the professor. "Foul!" she cried. "I disarmed you first! I won the duel!"

"You never disarmed me, Mrs. Weasley," Professor Potter told her. "I threw the wand in the air before your Disarming Charm could strike me, then Teleported, caught it, and disarmed you. Now, will you and your husband give your consent to allow either or both of your children to attend my school?"

Mrs. Weasley, her red hair disheveled and her face flushed from the effort of casting so many spells, looked distinctly unhappy. But— "I agreed to allow them to attend if I lost, so you'll have your 'consent form,' Professor. Come on, Arthur." Mr. Weasley followed her into the house, and they emerged five minutes later carrying two consent forms, handing them over wordlessly to Potter, who smiled genially and, nodding thanks, placed them inside his robes.

"Thank you very much, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, I'm sure both of your children will learn quite a bit from Potter's Field Magical Academy. Classes will begin on Monday morning of the following week. The first day is orientation for new students. It begins at 8:00 a.m. — that's 3:00 p.m. local time, in Devon."

"Excellent!" Ron said, beaming. "We'll be able to sleep in our first day of school!" Hermione rolled her eyes as Harry and Ginny laughed.

"I will make sure all the paperwork is handled," Potter continued. "You won't have to worry about a thing."

"I'm already worried," Mrs. Weasley muttered. "What happens if You-Know-Who finds out where Harry is?"

"Wizards with Dark enchantments laid on them, such as Voldemort —" everyone except Harry and Hermione flinched at the mention of his name "— and his Death Eaters, or creatures such as Inferi, zombies or dementors, will be unable to approach any closer than a mile to our school without being subjected to wracking pain," Potter told them. "And within five miles, we will be warned of their approach. They will be perfectly safe there."

"Isn't that what they keep telling us about Hogwarts?" Ron whispered to Harry, who gave him a annoyed look and shushed him.

"We should be on our way." Professor Potter turned to the students. "Whose parents should we visit next? How about yours, my dear?" he smiled at Hermione. She nodded, though looking a bit uncertain. "Very well!" the professor exclaimed, gathering them into a circle. "And off we go —"

"Wait!" Ron said suddenly. He broke from the circle and went over to his parents. A moment later Ginny followed him. "Thanks," he said to them, giving his mother a hug as Ginny hugged her father. "Don't worry," Ron whispered in his mother's ear, though Harry's super-hearing picked it up. "We'll protect Harry over there." Harry smiled. "Mum," Ron went on, "what's up with you dueling Professor Potter?"

"Oh, it was just — Minerva said she'd met the man a few times at summer conferences, and she said he wasn't that good."

Ron snorted softly. "Are you sure she was talking about dueling, Mum?"

Mrs. Weasley released him rather abruptly, blushing furiously. "Alright, off with you, then," she said, in a normal voice. Grinning at Harry, as if he had some secret to share later (not knowing that Harry had already heard), Ron rejoined the others.

"Alright, let's try that again," Professor Potter said cheerfully. "Off we go!" The four of them — Harry, Ron, Hermione and the Professor—all vanished in a flash of light.

=ooo=

Lois was growing increasingly bored. The NASA reps had hurried the press onto the plane over two hours ago, getting everyone seated and coffee passed around, then proceeded to have some blonde talking head rattle on for two hours about the technological "firsts" of the experimental Boeing 777 that was going to take Genesis up to the stratosphere, about 40,000 feet above sea level, where the shuttle would decouple from the platform and its booster rockets would engage, propelling it up through the mesosphere on this inaugural run to the thermosphere, where it was scheduled to perform several experiments before rendezvousing with Mir, the Russian space station.

But what galled Lois the most about this shuttle launch was that it was also meant to prove the "commercial application" of using an airliner as a launch platform. After the 777 reached 40,000 feet and Genesis launched, the Boeing aircraft would return the press corps to Ellington Field; but once the launches progressed to a regular schedule, the plane would continue on to its destination, whether that was Chicago, New York, San Francisco or Seattle. It was a way to make the launches more profitable. Lois wasn't against people making money — she liked making it herself — but that profit would come with some inherent risks, which in Lois's opinion far outweighed the potential gain in revenue.

The other issue she had was, no one would tell her what the cost for a ticket on one of these flights was going to be! The blonde talking head kept deflecting her questions with promises to address them in the post-launch briefing; meaning, they did not want that information going public with the news of the launch itself. NASA probably wanted that buried in some follow-up article hidden on one of the back pages of the newspapers covering the story. Which probably meant they had a reason to hide the numbers. That made her all the more determined to find out what they were.

Lois's cell phone in her purse rang. She pulled it out and answered it, not bothering to look at the number to see who was calling — it could only be one person. "Hi, Perry," she said.

"Have you taken off yet?" Perry asked, without preamble.

"Not yet," she replied, adding a mental D'uh! — Perry hardly ever flew, and didn't own a cell phone anyway — he didn't realize that airlines required all electronic equipment to be off or in standby mode during takeoffs and landings. Cell phones didn't work while flying, anyway, though you could use the phones that some planes had installed in the backs of the passenger seats. "We're supposed to take off at 5:30."

"Good," White said. "I want you to send in the story as soon as you get back on the ground."

"Yes, Chief," she said, not mentioning that this was about the twelfth time he'd told her this.

"Okay — oh, by the way, you and Richard are going to the awards dinner, aren't you?" White asked.

"Yes, Chief," she said again. Her Pulitzer Prize was on her desk, somewhere, but everyone who won was expected to show up at the awards dinner. "We'll be there."

"Good. I'll talk to you later, after you're back from the flight." White hung up, and Lois dropped her phone back into her purse, sighing. This was going to be a boring launch, she just knew it.

=ooo=

Monica and Wendell Granger were both at home late that evening, both sitting in Wendell's den reading; Wendell had the latest copy of the British Dental Journal and was reading up on new clinical practices, while Monica was rereading Richard Adams' Watership Down. It was nearing midnight in Maida Vale, and the noise along Hamilton Terrace, the road their home was located on, had quieted to an occasional auto passing by. The relative quiet of this neighborhood was one of the reasons why the Grangers had chosen this place to live in — that, and the entrance to the Maida Vale Station was less than a mile away.

Wendell set down his journal and took off his reading glasses, pinching his nose between his eyes and stifling a yawn. Monica looked from her novel. "Fancy a cup of tea, dear?" she asked. As this was a Saturday night they did not have to get up early for work.

"No thank you, dear," Wendell said, stretching to get his circulation going once again. He had been reading for hours, now, without any thought of the time. "Just another page or two before I'm finished, then I think I'm off to bed. Are you coming?" he asked, with a smile.

"After I finish this chapter, dear," she said, without looking up, but Wendell caught a smile quirking her lips. Wendell went back to his article, grinning to himself.

A few minutes later he'd finished. Getting to his feet, Wendell said, "Right, then — I'll just make sure everything's locked and then off to bed." He padded into the living room, checking the locks on the front door. Before he flipped off the front light he looked through the small window at the top of the door, surveying up and down the street for signs of anything unusual going on. One never knew when something untoward might occur. He flipped off the light, then flinched violently as a bright flash startled him.

"What the devil?" he muttered, looking at the light he'd just turned off over his front stoop. Had it blown out? It didn't seem so, but then what was that —

"Hello, Daddy," a familiar voice said behind him.

"Hermione!" he said, delighted to hear her voice. "What brings you —" As he turned to face her, he found she was not alone. There were three other people with her — two young men Wendell recognized as her friends Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, and an old wizard whom he thought at first must be Professor Dumbledore. "— home," Wendell finished, softly, then smiled at the group. "I see you've brought some friends along."

"Yes, well…um, how's Mother?" Hermione asked, smiling nervously.

"She's fine," Wendell said, wary now that he'd heard the I-need-something-from-you tone in his daughter's voice. "She's in the den, reading."

"She's right here," Monica said, standing in the hallway door. "I heard voices." She smiled wryly. "Did I miss the invitation for the party?"

"What —? Oh, no, there's no party, Mum," Hermione said, missing her mother's joke, something she did when she was very nervous, Wendell recalled. "It's just Ron and Harry, you remember them, of course."

"Of course," her mother smiled at both of them; Ron and Harry both nodded and said "Hello," politely.

"And this, Mum and Dad," Hermione indicated the elderly wizard with them, "is Professor Phineas Potter, of Potter's Field Magical Academy."

"Delighted to meet you, sir," Wendell said, stepping up to shake the professor's hand, who smiled genially back at him.

"Likewise, sir," Potter answered, then shook Monica's hand as well as she offered it to him. "Delighted to meet you as well, madam."

"Very nice to meet you," Monica smiled. "Are you by chance related to Harry?"

"Oh, I would think so," Potter replied, looking thoughtful. "My ancestors came over to America from England at the beginning of the last century. But I don't know the exact relation."

"Ah, so you're from America!" Wendell said, looking interested. "I wondered that when I first heard you speak. I think that makes you the first American wizard I've met — at least, that I know of," he added, chuckling.

"So, what brings you here?" Monica asked, a hint of tension in her voice.

"But where are our manners?" Wendell said, giving his wife a look of mild annoyance. "Would you all like something to drink?"

Harry, Hermione and Ron were looking at one another; they all began shaking their heads when Professor Potter said, "I could use a glass of water, if you don't mind; I am a bit parched after all that spellcasting."

Monica looked at her daughter and the boys. After a moment Ron began nodding, then Harry. "Water, please," they both said, and Hermione nodded as well. Monica went to fetch the drinks.

"Would you all like to sit down?" Wendell asked, and everyone found some place to sit; the three Gryffindors sat side-by-side on the sofa, while Mr. Granger sat down in the recliner he normally used. He pointed to the other recline for the Professor, but the older wizard shook his head.

"That one should be for your lovely wife, Mr. Granger — I'll just make my own chair." Without taking out a wand Professor Potter gestured toward an open space on the living room floor and a comfortable velvet recliner appeared. He was sitting down as Monica appeared with a tray and four glasses of water. She held out the tray for the professor, who took a glass while smiling gratefully at her, then passed out the rest to Hermione, Ron and Harry. When she finished, she looked around the room again, as if confused by the number of chairs she saw.

"The professor made his own chair, dear," Wendell said, and she nodded and took the last empty recliner. "Now then, Professor," Wendell said, when his wife was seated. "What may we do for you?"

"Actually, we're here on a matter for your daughter," Potter elaborated. He looked at Hermione. "Perhaps you should continue from here, my dear."

Hermione took a deep breath and began explaining the situation to them (including the part where they'd left the Burrow without permission), how they had attended Ricky's birthday party in America, and how Professor Potter had pretended to be a Muggle magician so he could give the invitation to his school to Ricky's parents. She also told them that they had visited the school, and how it was teaching a different style of magic than Hogwarts did. Finally, she pointed out that, being in America, it would be much more difficult for Lord Voldemort (Ron flinched again) to find them there.

At the end of her explanation, Mr. Granger sat back, digesting all the information he'd been given. He did not look very pleased, Harry thought. Would he refuse to sign the consent papers and send Hermione to America? Would her mother? But his first comment was, "Sweetheart, I'm not sure about you switching schools this late in your magical education. Do you think that's wise?"

"If I was just thinking of going to another school that taught the same classes, I probably wouldn't even consider it," Hermione answered. "But Professor Potter's school teaches not only different types of magic, but more kinds of magic than the one Hogwarts does. It's quite fascinating."

"Can you give us an example, dear?" her mother asked. Hermione glanced over at Professor Potter for help.

"Of course, of course," Potter said. "There are nine schools of magic in our system: Abjuration, Alteration, also called Transmutation, Conjuration, Divination, Enchantment, Evocation, Illusion, and Necromancy. There is also a class called Universal, for spells that don't fit in any of the other categories."

"Necromancy?" Wendell repeated. "Isn't that Dark magic?"

"That's what I said!" Ron piped up. Hermione and Harry, on either side of him, elbowed him in the ribs. He looked at both of them in surprise.

"That's its traditional name," Professor Potter explained, as he had for the Weasleys. "But it has both Light and Dark components, and we teach how to counteract the dark spells with light ones.

Wendell and Monica both looked at one another, and Hermione leaned forward, gripping Ron's arm unconsciously until he whispered "Ow!" in her ear. She hastily let go.

"What about transportation?" Wendell asked. "Will she have to fly over on a jet, or is there some other method used?"

"Normally, by fifth year students are sixteen years old and capable of teleporting to the school on their own," Potter answered. "But I can arrange transportation for Miss Granger — and for Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter as well, come to think of it, yes…they will all be able to travel together using a Teleport Token."

"Is that like a Portkey?" Hermione asked, eagerly.

"Yes, very similar," the professor nodded. "Although the effect is nothing like a Portkey, I'm told — none of that spinning about with colors whirling all around you! Just a flash of light and — poof! — you'll be at the entrance to Potter's Field."

"I suppose we can't avoid this question any longer," Wendell said. "How much will it cost?"

"The cost is two thousand American dollars per year, per student," Potter told them, and which at the current exchange rate is…" Potter's eyes went unfocused for a moment, calculating. Then, "About 1,291 pounds. If you give your consent tonight, I'll make it 2,400 pounds for both years, half payable now and the other half at the beginning of next year, assuming Hermione still wishes to attend."

Neither of Hermione's parents said anything in response, and after several seconds Harry was beginning to wonder if they hadn't been shocked speechless by what they were being asked to give permission for. Finally, Wendell got to his feet, facing Professor Potter, and everyone else in the room stood as well, anxiously awaiting his next words.

"Normally, at this point," Wendell began, looking at his wife, who stepped closer to him. "Monica and I would ask everyone except Hermione to leave the room while we discussed the situation…" he turned to Hermione. "But, our daughter has always made wise decisions regarding her education, and she's close enough to become an adult in the Wizarding world — her birthday is a little over a month away — that I know she's thought quite deeply about this decision as well. I believe we have a bargain, Professor Potter," he said, extending his hand once again.

"Thank you, sir," Professor Potter said, taking his hand and shaking it vigorously, then Monica's as well. "I'm sure you've made your daughter very happy!"

"Thank you, Daddy!" Hermione squealed, rushing into her father's arms, "Thank you both!" she said again as she hugged her mother.

"I shall draw up the admission paperwork and send it to you via magical stamp," Professor Potter told them. "For now, I need only your signatures on the consent form." The form appeared in his hand, and both Mr. and Mrs. Granger signed it in short order.

"Well," Professor Potter said to Harry, as Hermione and her parents chatted with Ron for a moment. "That leaves only your aunt and uncle, Harry. Shall we pop over to Little Whinging and see if they're awake?"

This was the part that Harry had been dreading — dealing with Vernon and Petunia once again. And after he thought he'd seen the last of them for the year! "Maybe you'd better let me talk to them alone, Professor," he suggested. "They—they don't really take too well to having wizards in their house."

"Oh, fiddlesticks, Harry!" Potter looked skeptical. "They've had you there all these years — what's so bad about that?"

You don't want to know, Harry thought. Aloud, however, he said only, "Professor Dumbledore came to the house to bring me to the Burrow a few weeks ago, and they made it very difficult for him."

"Mmm," Potter looked undecided. "Do you think you can persuade them to let you go, Harry, all by yourself?"

"I think so," Harry said confidently. "I'd really like to attend your school, Professor." And neither my aunt or uncle are going to talk me out of it, he'd already decided. Even if I have to tear their house down to get them to sign!

A few moments later the group appeared on Privet Drive; not in front of number four, but at the corner, several houses away.

Ron and Hermione looked around. They had expected to appear inside Harry's home, as they had at Hermione's parents' house. Professor Potter held out his hand toward Harry — as he did so, a new consent form appeared in it. Harry took the form, nodding, and said, "I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Aren't we going in with you, Harry?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. "I think this will be easier with me along. The Dursleys aren't big on having wizards in their house, you know." He left the three of them standing there, and walked across the street and toward number four.

The house appeared quiet. Now nearly midnight, the Dursleys would be in bed after his aunt finished obsessively cleaning her kitchen for the last time. Using his X-ray sight, Harry scanned the house for any activity. All three family members were in their beds, as expected.

As he approached the front door, Harry realized that it was locked and he had no key. Normally, a wizard would use a simple spell, Alohomora or something similar, to unlock it; but until he turned seventeen Harry legally couldn't perform magic out of school. If this was at the Burrow he would risk it. However, knowing that the Ministry could both locate him using the Trace and knew when magic was being performed near him (or by him, he wasn't sure if they could tell the difference) he refrained from pulling out his wand. There was a way for him to get in, though, if he was careful.

Grasping the door handle carefully (lest he accidentally leave a handprint in the solid metal) Harry compressed the door toward its hinges and pushed inward at the same time, making the door bow inward and slipping the locking bolt out of its socket, then pushing it open. Once inside, he flipped the bolt to the unlocked position; now he could claim the door had been unlocked, if Vernon or Petunia asked.

Moving silently to the staircase, Harry started up the steps; then, remembering, he rose into the air, a few inches above the steps and floated upwards, to avoid the creaky steps Vernon had installed in order to, as he put it, "Catch that ruddy boy if he goes stealing food again." This had started sometime in the spring the year Harry had turned six. What Vernon never realized, Harry remembered (or perhaps refused to believe), was that it was actually Dudley who was raiding the icebox. Harry had tried to explain that he had no reason to go up or down the stairs to steal food, and he was locked in the cupboard under the stairs anyway! "A likely excuse!" his uncle had growled at him. "You're going into the spare bedroom to eat your ill-gotten gains." He'd even added a special lock to the cupboard, to make sure Harry couldn't get out. But the food still kept disappearing. It wasn't until Vernon fastened a lock on the icebox itself that the pilfering stopped.

Reaching the top of the staircase and landing lightly on the floor, Harry smiled at the futility of his uncle's actions. He had indeed been pilfering food, but only after Petunia had put him to work cooking breakfast every morning. He grabbed bits and pieces of bacon and sausages, and gobbled down the odd piece of toast when any was left over, pretending to have thrown it away. More often than not, however, between the beefy Vernon and vast Dudley there was very little left after a meal.

Just to Harry's right at the top of the stairs was Dudley's bedroom; Harry could hear his cousin snoring sonorously. Opposite his door was the smallest bedroom, the one Harry had been given when his aunt and uncle feared they were being observed, and they didn't want anyone to know Harry had been sleeping in the cupboard. Just past Dudley's room was the first floor bathroom, and there was a small corridor leading to a spare bedroom where guests such as Aunt Marge had slept in the past. Beside the entrance to the corridor was the entrance to the master bedroom, where Vernon and Petunia were sleeping. He could hear Vernon snoring, as usual.

Well, it was now or never, Harry thought. Steeling himself, he opened the bedroom door and stepped quietly inside. The only light in the room was from a small nightlight glowing in an electrical plug; probably to provide light when going to the loo, Harry decided. There wasn't going to be any easy way to wake them up, so Harry simply flipped the switch next to the door, bathing the room in light.

Petunia woke up first. Shielding her eyes, she blinked rapidly as she tried to see who was there. "Duddikins?" she asked. "What are you —" Suddenly realizing who was standing there, she let out an ear-splitting scream. Vernon started and fell out of bed.

"What the devil, Petunia?" he said crossly, looking up over the edge of the bed at her. Petunia pointed fearfully toward the door, and Vernon's neckless head spun around to face Harry. "Who —? What the devil are you doing here, boy?"

"Well, I live here, you know —" Harry began.

"Don't be smart with me, boy," Vernon snarled, getting ponderously to his feet. "You're supposed to be off with those ruddy freak friends of yours!"

"Something came up about school," Harry said, wondering if he could bluff his way into getting them to sign the consent form without really reading it. Not likely, he knew, but worth trying. "I have a consent form for you both to sign."

"Consent form — for what?" Petunia asked, sharply. "You haven't asked us to sign a consent form for years now!"

"I didn't know about this until just a few days ago," Harry said, being (mostly) truthful. Vernon thrust a beefy hand forward — at the same moment the bedroom door flew open, hitting Harry in the back with a loud crack, then a thud as Dudley slammed into it.

"Whutsgoinon?" Dudley said blearily, through the small opening of the door, then lurched forward, nearly tripping as Harry stepped forward to hand the consent form to Vernon. "Harry!" he said, surprised to see his cousin. "What're you doin' here? I thought you were off with your friends."

"I was," Harry replied. "But I had to come back here to get a consent form signed. You're going back to Smeltings, aren't —"

"What's this rubbish?" Vernon suddenly demanded, glaring at Harry. "This is about some school called 'Potter's Field' — a bloody stupid name for a school, if you ask me! What's this got to do with you, boy?"

Harry sighed to himself. Well, the jig was up. "It's the name of the school I want to attend this year," he explained. "It's in America."

"America?" Petunia said, shrilly. "Why on earth would you want to go there?"

"That's pretty obvious," Vernon said, with a nasty sneer. "He's been expelled from that freak school he's been going to here. Haven't you, boy?"

"No," Harry said, firmly. "I'm going because the — stuff — they teach there is different than what we learn here." Vernon had an unreasonable hatred for the word 'magic,' so Harry had avoided using it. "And because the bloke who wants to kill me won't be able to find me as easily, over there."

"Ha!" Vernon pounced on that nugget of information. "So you are running away, eh? I thought so!" He started to crumple the consent form between his hands, but it suddenly vanished. A moment later Harry, who had grabbed it from his uncle at super-speed, was standing exactly where he'd been, but now holding the form in his hand.

"That was magic, wasn't it?" Vernon shouted. "You are bloody expelled, aren't you, boy? I knew it!"

"It wasn't magic," Harry insisted. He held up the form, just out of Vernon's reach for the moment. "But I need you to sign this, Uncle Vernon—and you, too, Aunt Petunia. Think about it this way: not only will I be out of your house for the next ten months, but I'll be out of Britain entirely — in fact, I'll be six thousand miles away, in America. And if things work out with this new school, I may not have to come back here next June."

Vernon and Petunia looked at one another. Vernon was now sporting a beaming smile beneath his mustache, but Petunia looked anxious. "What did Dumbledore say about this?" she asked.

"Haven't told him yet," Harry said, truthfully. "The — er, headmaster of the school in America will make the transfer arrangements with him."

"What about your house?" Vernon demanded. "The one your uncle left you?"

"Sirius was my godfather," Harry said, flatly. "And I don't care if I never set foot in it again. I'm letting someone else use it."

Vernon was looking obstinate. The idea that Harry would give up a house was apparently quite irritating to him. Suddenly, Dudley spoke up. "Dad, what's the difference, if you don't want Harry around? You can just sign the —"

"Quiet, Dudley," his father growled, and Dudley closed his mouth, looking stung.

"Vernon, really!" Petunia chided him. "Duddikins is so delicate, you don't —"

"He must be getting soft," Vernon snapped at her, "to go defending the boy in front of me! I run this house, d'you hear — not the boy, not Dudley, and not you!"

"Big talk from an old man who's getting soft himself," Harry spoke up. He'd had enough of this. "Why don't you show me how tough you are?" He held up his right hand. "I'll arm wrestle you — if you lose, you and Aunt Petunia sign the form. If you win, I leave and never come back. Deal?"

Vernon stared at Harry as if he'd just grown another head. He chuckled, then snorted, and finally bent over, laughing so hard he could barely hold himself upright. "You — you want — to arm wrestle — me, boy?" he finally wheezed. He grinned broadly, then threw on his housecoat. "Fine," he said, "Let's go down to the kitchen." Harry followed him, with Dudley on his heels.

Petunia was scurrying after them, moaning, "But Vernon, I just cleaned the kitchen an hour ago!" Vernon ignored this, plopping his large bottom on a kitchen chair, an elbow on the table.

"Come on, boy," he said, sneeringly. "Let's get this over with so you can clear out of here and I can finally get a decent night's rest, after all these years!"

Harry had to stand, leaning over the edge of the table to clasp Vernon's hand. "I'm read —"

"Go!" Vernon said, immediately twisting Harry's arm, trying to sprain his wrist. Harry let his arm sink about a third of the way toward the table before stopping it; Vernon was grunting with the effort of trying to move it further.

Harry looked tauntingly into his uncle's eyes. "See? You are getting old. You thought you'd beat me in a second or two, didn't you?"

"You — can't — win — boy," Vernon huffed, leaning his whole shoulder in, trying to move Harry's hand those last six inches onto the table top. Both Petunia and Dudley looked on, amazement in their eyes. "Not — unless — you — cheat!"

"I won't need magic to beat you, old man," Harry said, coldly. And that was true enough. Vernon would never know that a hundred of him couldn't beat Harry now — the pressure his uncle was exerting was barely a feathertouch to Harry.

Slowly, Harry's arm moved forward, twisting Vernon's inexorably over backwards in spite of the older man's best efforts to stop him. There was only three inches between Vernon's hand and the table when Harry said, "Do you give?"

"Never!" Vernon gasped. "You'll have to beat me before I sign that bloody paper!"

Harry slammed his uncle's hand down on the table top, which broke and sent pieces of table, and Vernon, to the floor. Harry stood upright, surveying the wreckage, and said, "I win." He pushed the consent form at Vernon. "Sign it."

Vernon was holding his wrist gingerly. "I—I think you b-broke my hand," he stuttered.

Harry glanced at the bones in Vernon's forearm and hand. His wrist looked sprained, but Harry could see no breaks or cracks. "It's not broken," he informed Vernon. "Now, are you going to sign, or do you want to try for best out of three?"

Petunia took the form from Harry, then stepped over to a countertop, drew a pen from a utility drawer, and signed the paper. She handed it to Vernon, saying, "Just sign it," when he began to protest. Scowling, Vernon scribbled his name and thrust the paper at Harry.

"Take the bloody thing and get out," he snapped, not looking at his nephew.

"Thanks," Harry said, as sincerely as he could. He was just glad he didn't have to do anything really rough to his uncle. He nodded at Petunia, then smiled at Dudley, saying, "See you around, Big D."

"See you, Harry," Dudley said, as Harry marched out of the kitchen and through the hallway to the front door, letting himself out. Walking back across the street, he handed the consent form to Professor Potter, who examined it, beaming broadly.

"Excellent, Harry, excellent!" he cheered. "I'm pleased that all of you were able to obtain permission — although," he added, some sternness in his voice. "I was beginning to wonder what had gone on when we heard that scream."

"You heard that?" Harry asked.

"I think the entire neighborhood heard it," Potter informed him. "Several lights went on in houses around you, but I cast spells to send everyone who awoke back to sleep. What did go on in there?"

"Oh, my aunt thought I was her son for a moment," Harry shrugged. "She screamed when she saw it was me."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't have to torture anyone to get them to sign." When Harry didn't respond, Potter gave him a quizzical look. "You didn't, did you?"

"Not exactly," Harry finally answered. "But I had to work pretty hard to persuade my Uncle Vernon to sign it."

"I see…" the professor said, examining the signature. Harry wasn't sure what he meant by that. "Well, all's well that ends well," Potter shrugged. "We can get you three back to the Burrow and I can get these forms processed. The sooner the better, of course — we have barely a week before school begins!

"All right, now, let's get in a circle and we'll be off."

=ooo=

Clark sat patiently in Lana's living room, watching with some interest as Ricky talked excitedly about attending the magic school, while his parents argued in the kitchen over whether Clark was going to help pay his tuition. What had surprised him most in all this wasn't that Ricky was a wizard, nor was it that Lana had accepted his offer of help, nor even that her uncle, Phineas Potter (whom Clark vaguely remembered from his childhood) was a wizard himself.

It was that she had actually married Brad Dolan. Brad, who'd been the biggest jock, and the biggest jerk, at Smallville High when Clark attended there. He and Lana had been friends for years until she met Brad in her freshman year. Brad at the time was handsome, popular, and he had a car, something that not many students' parents in the town of Smallville, Kansas, could afford for their children. But Brad's father was a financier, and when his family arrived in town he took over managing the operations at the Smallville Bank and Trust. Brad had wormed his way onto the high school football team through a combination of money contributed to the athletic fund by his father, some "arrangement" that had been made with the football coach and, unfortunately, some talent at running and passing the ball.

Now, in spite of the fact that Clark was actively trying not to listen to the argument going on in Lana's kitchen (he was also listening to most of the sounds going on in Smallville as well) he couldn't help but catch snippets of Lana and Brad discussing Ricky, and him. Clark tried to concentrate on the children out riding their bicycles, or playing on swings, running through sprinklers or splashing in wading pools, or swimming at the municipal pool, in the last few weeks of summer. There were fathers mowing lawns, mothers making dinner, couples ordering at Chez Café, Smallville's local diner. Clark could even hear Sarah, Ricky's baby sitting, ordering fries and a soda there, along with a young man who must be her date for the evening.

"What're you doing, inviting Kent over here anyway?" Brad's voice, hushed down to a harsh whisper, was still quite audible to Clark's super-ears. "The only reason I found out about Ricky's party was the invitation that old guy sent me!"

"A lot of good that did Ricky!" Lana shot back.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means," Lana told him, flatly, "if you don't want me borrowing money from Clark, you'd better come up with some of your own!"

"I don't have that kind of money!" Brad hissed at her. "An' if I did, I'd be sending Rick to baseball camp, not some crazy magic school!"

"Shhh! He'll hear you! There's nothing crazy about this school, not if my uncle is running it. And those British kids that were here, he seemed to know them. They could do magic, too — Clark was telling me he met the black-haired boy, Harry Potter, in England just before he returned home to Smallville."

"Whoop-de-do," Brad said, condescendingly, whirling a finger in the air. "Clark Kent met some weird kid while on his weird trip. That doesn't mean our kid ought to get involved in any of that crap."

Clark's eavesdropping was interrupted as Ricky's monologue about what he'd seen at the school began to wind down, and he looked at Clark. "Isn't it cool, Mr. Kent," he asked, excitedly. "Isn't it cool? I'm gonna learn magic!"

"It is cool, Ricky," Clark nodded. "Very cool." He looked carefully at the eager youth, wondering if he was really ready to leave home for nearly a year and travel to an isolated location to study magic. It brought back memories of his own when, after graduating from Smallville High, he found the green crystal in the remains of the ship that had brought him to Earth, a crystal that led him north, where it created the Fortress of Solitude for him. He spent several years there training, learning to use his powers, coming back to civilization to attend Metropolis University and earn a degree in journalism and take a job as a reporter for the Daily Planet, before taking to the skies as Superman. "Do you think you'll be okay, Ricky, being away from home for so long?"

"Sure," Ricky grinned. "Harry will be there. He's pretty cool, too!"

"He is," Clark agreed. Lana and Brad were still arguing quietly in the kitchen. Clark stood.

"Where you going, Mr. Kent?" Ricky asked him.

"Just to take a walk," Clark said. "To stretch my legs a bit. I'll be back soon."

"Can I come with you?"
Clark shook his head. "You'd better stay here with your mom and dad," he told him. "They may want to discuss your new school after they finish talking." Hopefully, Lana was going to win that "discussion," Clark added to himself.

Ricky looked disappointed, but shrugged. "Okay," he said, and slouched back into his bedroom. Clark let himself out the front door quietly.

He glanced toward Smallville's downtown area, several blocks away, where the clock outside Smallville Bank and Trust indicated it was a few minutes before six p.m. Thinking about his Fortress had reminded Clark there was something he needed to retrieve from it — Harry's broom. They had left it in Clark's spaceship, which was still sitting outside the Fortress, along with that chunk of kryptonite he had encased in lead. Clark wanted to see if he could use the Fortress to analyze how the combination of k-radiation and lightning had transferred some of his powers to Harry Potter, and vice versa. Looking around, there was no one else outside nearby. Clark walked between Lana's and her neighbor's house, as if he were going to her back yard. At super-speed, he slipped off his outer clothes, revealing his Superman uniform, and shot into the air faster than the eye could follow.

Turning south, Superman flew at hypersonic speed across North, Central, and South America, heading for Antarctica, where his Fortress was now located. Normally, such a trip would take only seconds, but Superman allowed himself the leisure of flying at only several thousand miles an hour, a mere stroll compared to the speeds he was capable of. It felt good to have the wind rushing past him as he flew, something he'd learned anew watching Harry learn to fly. Harry, who was used to speeds up to 150 MPH on his broom, had been amazed at the sensation of flying three hundred, four hundred or even five hundred miles an hour; Clark was certain he'd flown even faster by now with his trips back and forth across the Atlantic. He smiled to himself, wondering what Harry would do with his broom once he brought it back to him — Superman didn't know what games, if any, wizards in America played using brooms.

Passing over the coast of Antarctica, Superman slowed as he approached the location of his Fortress. He flew downwards, but long before he reached the ground his super-vision saw that something had happened to the spacecraft. The hatch to the craft was open. Worse still, he could see that the lead sphere containing the kryptonite was on the ground below the hatch. Worst of all, a hole had been melted in the sphere and the kryptonite removed!

Moving at super-speed, Superman passed through the hatch and into the spacecraft. He had brought almost nothing with him to Krypton; the ship had provided for all of his needs while he was in the Krypton system and his powers had disappeared, so it took no time at all to determine that Harry's broom was missing as well. This was very bad, Superman knew — someone had found the new location of his Fortress already! What's more, he had a premonition about who it was as well.

Superman trained his X-ray vision on his Fortress, checking to see if anyone was inside, but could not penetrate the crystal. That was disturbing as well — he should be able to see through it! He reached into the pouch inside his cape, taking out the gold coin Harry had given him earlier that day. He had to warn Harry about this — warn him to stay away from the Fortress in case his worst fears were confirmed. The problem was, he did not have a wand to activate the coin, per Harry's instructions!

But he had to do something! At last, Superman put his fingertips on the coin, concentrating hard, and said softly, "Harry, if you get this message, stay away from the Fortress. There may be kryptonite present. I will let you know when it's safe." The coin seemed to vibrate slightly in his hand; Superman hoped whatever magic activating it had worked for him. He slipped the coin back into the pouch in his cape, then flew out of the spacecraft, above the Fortress, and let himself drift downward through a small opening in the interlocking crystals covering its top.

Superman rotated slowly as he drifted downward to the floor of the Fortress, near where the master console was located. The walls inside were now as opaque to his X-ray vision as the outside walls had been; he could hear no sounds coming from anywhere inside the Fortress, either. Could it be that whoever had taken the kryptonite and Harry's broom from his spacecraft was no longer here? No — he saw Harry's broom lying on a crystal ledge. But of the kryptonite there was no obvious sign, though Superman felt a vague queasiness running through his body. Was there kryptonite present here somewhere, or was he merely feeling nervous?

"Well, the prodigal son returns." Superman turned as a section of the wall retracted, revealing a familiar voice and face as the man stepped into the room, along with three other men. Superman frowned as he recognized both the face and the voice.

"Luthor," he said, softly. "I wondered if it would be you. How did you get in here?"

Luthor shrugged. "The door was open. The light was on. Did you forget to set the alarm before you left?"

Superman made no reply. It was possible — when he and Harry left the Fortress a few weeks ago, he did not recall giving the command to activate the Fortress's defense system as they left. He watched silently as Luthor and his three henchmen approached him — the three men, all looking like they had spent hard time in prison, spread out, surrounding the Man of Steel. One of them, curiously, was holding a video camera, positioning himself to record both Superman and Luthor.

"No matter," Luthor continued, when the four of them had surrounded Superman. "I made a few 'improvements' to your security, Superman. It now takes orders from me. And I've ordered it to neutralize you."

Superman was almost afraid to ask, but — "What does that mean?"

Luthor smiled, then took a few steps closer to Superman. "Well, let's just say, I remember that little trick you pulled on General Zod and his sidekicks, back when the Fortress was up north and they brought us all here so you could kneel before Zod. I assume you remember as well?"

It was an unnecessary question. Of course, with super-memory, Superman recalled that his original Fortress had contained a red solar chamber, capable of neutralizing his super-powers so he could be with Lois, after she had discovered that Clark Kent and Superman were the same person. Lois had been looking at one of the crystals (the Green Crystal, the crystal that was the primary storage for all the Kryptonian knowledge his father Jor-El had sent to Earth with his infant son Kal-El) and had mislaid it, so it was not destroyed with the other crystals after Superman relinquished his powers.

After learning that Zod, Ursa and Non were terrorizing Washington D.C. and the world, waiting for Superman's return, Clark returned to the Fortress to find some way to reverse the effects of the red solar chamber, and found the Green Crystal. He used it to rebuild the Fortress; then, hoping to lure the Kryptonians to the Fortress, he reversed the effects of the red solar chamber, making it neutralize the powers of all Kryptonians outside the chamber rather than inside. Superman had expected to lose his powers once again as well, knowing it would be a small price to pay to ensure the safety of Earth. Unwittingly, Luthor had exposed what he thought was Superman's plan to lure Zod inside the chamber and destroy his powers, and Zod instead forced Superman to stand inside the chamber, not realizing that he, Ursa and Non's powers had been taken away by the red solar effect, while Superman was protected inside the crystal chamber.

"I remember," was all Superman said. "But I didn't rebuild that chamber when I moved the Fortress here, Luthor."

"I know," Luthor smiled, stepping forward to smirk in Superman's face. "But I learned a few things from your dear old dad, and I added a few features. That little 'gift' you left out in the ship also came in pretty handy as well."

He and Superman stared at one another for several long seconds. What Luthor was waiting for, Superman could not tell — he seemed to be watching his face closely. Superman blinked, suddenly; there was a sensation of wetness along the side of his face, as if he'd broken into a cold sweat —

Luthor's fist shot out suddenly, catching Superman in the chest. The impact knocked him to the floor. Superman clutched his chest in pain — his powers were gone. "Surprise," said Luthor. He looked at his men. "You guys soften him up a bit — just remember to leave some for me at the end."

Author's Notes: Q&A from reviews for Chapter Six:

Q: Shouldn't clark's and harry's power levels rise to 100% when they're in then sunlight? that does usually recharge superman, doesn't it? (at least from what I remember from lois&clark the series)
A: Their power levels would rise to 100% of their current capacities, but not necessarily to 100% of Superman's original strength levels.

Q: Isn't the fortress of solitude located on the north pole? I did some browsing and it did indeed mention it being located on the arctic (not antarctic) and I believe that's the north pole in english isn't it?
A: Superman moved it to the Antarctic before he left to find Krypton. In Superman Returns it appears to be in the Antarctic.

Q: I don't think any piece of regular clothing can withstand the friction when flying faster than the speed of sound. (especially with the extreme acceleration) I also remember superman taking lois flying on occasion(even outside the atmosphere if I'm not mistaken) so why did Harry have to bother with bubblehead charms and unbreakable charms? my theory is that when in contact with superman, he generates some kind of field that protects everything inside.
A: When writer/artist John Byrne rebooted Superman in the comics in the mid-1980's, he did away with the idea that objects from red-sun planets became indestructible under a yellow sun. It is Superman's Kryptonian biology that enables his yellow-solar charged cells to generate an aura that makes him invulnerable; that aura extends a few millimeters beyond his skin, protecting skin-tight clothing but not looser clothes like T-shirts and jeans. His flying powers also help him lift and fly objects that would normally break apart if picked up, but they would still be susceptible to air friction (like Ron and Hermione's exposed skin). Objects Superman (and Harry) holds while flying are immune to acceleration, but not to friction. That's how Superman can catch you when you're falling from a building and you aren't crushed against his arms with the sudden stop — his flying power protects you from the sudden deceleration. (He just has to remember to fly an inch off the ground or so if he's standing on the ground below you when you're falling.)

Q: I also think wizards don't stand a chance against someone like superman. they wouldn't even (imo) stand a chance against a regular guy with a handgun. It takes at least a second to cast a simple spell. In that time, one can fire 5 bullets semiautomatically. Add to that the fact that spells are easily dodged without any superpowers... So Superman and Harry shouldn't have too problems dealing with old snakeface and his henchmen unless he gets his hands on some kryptonite, but personally I think that's getting a bit old.
A: Superman is vulnerable to magic (and so is Harry, even super-powered). They do have the advantage of strength and speed, so as long as they aren't surprised, they should be able to react much more quickly than any witch or wizard. A smart wizard, wand in hand, facing down a person with a gun should be able to easily beat the gunman. Just off the top of my head, he could: banish the gun from the gunman's hand, summon the gun to him, disarm the gunman, transfigure the gun to something harmless, or Disapparate. Any number of jinxes, hexes or curses could be applied to the gunman, all non-verbally so a spell could be cast in one-quarter to one-half second. Add to this the fact that, unless the gunman knows the wizard can cast spells, he may not realize the crazy person waving the stick at him from ten or fifteen feet away is actually dangerous.

Q: I don't see why Harry would want Ricky to go to hogwarts, its probably the least safe wizard school in the world at this point.
A: Actually, it still seems like one of the safest schools, except for what Draco does during sixth year (which hasn't happened yet in this story). All of the other problems that occurred inside Hogwarts were because of Voldemort's agents infiltrating the school, or because the events transpiring were not what they seemed, like Sirius Black trying to get into the school not to harm Harry, but to find Peter Pettigrew.

Q: Ok, but how did Lex Luther find the fortress of solitude if it was under the fidelous charm having earlier been cast by Dumbledore himself, when Harry, Clark and Dumbles were all there?
A: Clark didn't include the location of the Fortress in the secret Dumbledore hid with the Fidelius Charm.

Q: He [Professor Potter] isn't relate to Harry is he? Or he is from another Potter family?
A: They probably are related in some way, but Professor Potter probably doesn't have complete information on his family before his ancestors came to America.

Q: How is Harry going to explain all this to Ron and particularity the Herminator with her blood hound ambitions to know everything, everywhere, anywhere there is a fragment of knowledge to be had or a mystery she just has to solve or she goes bananas trying to find some answer that fits her thinking?
A: Keep on reading to find out!