Harry Potter Returns
A Harry Potter/Superman Returns Crossover
Chapter Sixteen
The Hand of Fate
Updated 25 February 2011
Aboard the Alexandria, docked in the Thames River several miles from where he and Severus Snape had just "met," Luthor shut down the rest of his holography equipment and sat back, smiling.
It felt good, outsmarting a wizard like that. Luthor could see now just how arrogant and predictable they were — a lot like Superman, in fact. Snape was a good case in point — he had swaggered into Luthor's office, expecting to run the show from start to finish, and had resorted to simple violence when he realized Luthor had some actual knowledge behind his Polyjuice question. It would have been better if Snape had answered the question and confirmed what Luthor had already read in several Potions texts, but his hesitation in answering had been enough for Luthor. The only thing left to do was perform the experiment.
Before he did that, however, Luthor decided to check in on his wizard "guest." When Dedalus Diggle first joined them, he had been subjected to several weeks of "behavior modification" — a.k.a. brainwashing, by Luthor and his henchmen. Luthor had come up with a unique combination of drugs, hypnotherapy, and control techniques that rendered Diggle quite susceptible to his wishes. Diggle now believed that most wizards were actively against him and his friend Lex Luthor, and would do anything Lex suggested to him. The only wizard, however, that Luthor couldn't turn Diggle completely against was Albus Dumbledore, but he had managed to convince the wizard that Dumbledore was being deceived by the other wizards around him, and thus was unworthy of trust.
At the door of Diggle's cabin, Luthor stopped, knocking for entrance. It was a reinforcement of Diggle being part of "Team Luthor" — allowing him his privacy, being polite, and above all making it seem as if he, not Luthor, was in control of his life. "Come in, come in," Diggle's voice said cheerfully.
Luthor entered the cabin. Diggle, dressed in his usual wizard robes, was seated in a comfortable plush chair, book in hand, smoking a long-handled pipe. "Good evening, Mr. Luthor," Diggle smiled, putting his book in his lap. "What can I do for you?"
"Oh, just checking to see how you're doing this evening, Mr. Diggle," Luthor said, smiling. "I thought I'd come by to say hello before I turn in for the night."
"Very thoughtful of you, very thoughtful!" Diggle beamed. "I shall be turning in myself before much longer as well."
"Good," Luthor nodded. He started to turn away, but stopped. "Oh, by the way — how's the Polyjuice Potion I asked you to prepare coming along?"
"Oh, that?" Diggle picked up his book again. "I finished it this morning; you'll find it simmering in your workshop."
"Ah, splendid!" Luthor clapped his hands together delightedly. "And about my other request?"
At this question, Diggle looked a bit abashed. "I was able to refill the vial you gave me a little, but that substance, whatever it was, was very resistant to the Refilling Charm."
"How much were you able to refill?" Luthor asked, his voice suddenly serious.
Diggle shrugged. "Perhaps a third of the vial. I hope that was enough."
"Mmm," Luthor thought for a moment. "It may be. Good work, Mr. Diggle."
Diggle beamed. "Thank you, Mr. Luthor, thank you!"
"Have a good night," Luthor said, stepping out of the cabin and closing the door on Diggle's reply. A third of the vial would not give him more than four or five samples to use, and one would be taken up with the test he was about to perform. Well, as he'd told Diggle, it might work, though he would have to use the samples very judiciously.
Whistling tunelessly, Luthor made his way down to the galley, where he and Diggle had set up a small Potions lab. He walked over to the stainless steel range. Sitting incongruously on it was a battered copper cauldron, filled with a bubbling gray sludge that Luthor knew to be Polyjuice Potion. He took out a cup and ladle, then filled the cup with the recommended amount of potion. It looked like thick, dark, lumpy oatmeal, bland and almost inedible. But if this worked, he knew, he would have a formidable weapon in his arsenal against Superman, his friend Harry Potter, the Wizarding world and anyone else who got in his way. On the counter he found the vial that Diggle had only been able to partially refill — as he'd said, it was only about one-third full. Intriguing that this stuff was so difficult to create more of, when most substances reacted quite favorably to the Refilling Charm. Whatever it was about Kryptonian blood, Luthor mused, it certainly made it a precious commodity. He made sure the vial was tightly capped, then slipped it into his pocket.
Luthor made his way to the ship's exercise room, where he would carry out his experiment — hopefully with the desired results. The exercise room was fully equipped, with both free weights and various machines, though up to this point Luthor had only used one of the treadmills, and that sparingly. Now, if his idea was correct, he was about to see some dramatic increases in his abilities!
Taking out the vial of Kryptonian blood, Luthor prepared to add this last, crucial ingredient to the Polyjuice Potion. But he stopped short of pouring any in, pondering. Diggle had said the potion would change color when the last ingredient was added, but he never said how much or how little should be added. As a scientist, that vagueness bothered Luthor. He went to the first aid cabinet, rummaging around until he found a small eye dropper. Rinsing it out thoroughly, Luthor drew up a small sample of Kryptonian blood and held it carefully over the cup of Polyjuice potion. He would add drops of Superman's blood, one after the other, until there was a noticeable change in the potion. That would tell him exactly how much he should use each time.
He let the first drop fall, watching carefully for several seconds for any change in the gray, bubbling sludge. Nothing. A second drop produced no result, either. On the third drop, however, the potion began to foam, then belched forth a cloud of steam, turning a bright yellow. Three drops it was! Satisfied, Luthor emptied the rest of the dropper back into the vial and carefully capped it once again.
He picked up the cup of now yellowish, steaming liquid, regarding it most curiously, and with more than a little sense of apprehension. Wizards supposedly drank this stuff all the time, he thought, but there was no telling what it would do to him. He'd had Diggle's assurance that it worked on Muggle or wizard — but Diggle couldn't remember any Muggles who'd actually taken Polyjuice Potion. Well, he would just have to risk it. "Bottoms up," Luthor said to himself, and drank off the potion in three large gulps. It was like swallowing overcooked cabbage.
"Euuck," Luthor muttered, wanting to spit out the last bit of potion even as it went down his throat. "God, that was nasty!" He wiped his mouth, more a symbolic gesture than to clear away remains of the potion. "This had better work —" His hands went involuntarily to his stomach, which had begun to feel quite weird. It felt like he'd swallowed a bunch of live snakes — snakes that were now writhing about inside him. A sudden cramp doubled him over with the pain, and he dropped to one knee, grimacing as he felt his insides grow hot, the sensation spreading rapidly to his limbs, and he dropped to his hands and knees, feeling nauseous. His entire body began to feel as if it were melting; when Luthor opened his eyes, staring at his hands, he noticed the age lines on the back were smoothing out, disappearing. He could feel his arms beginning to bulge — indeed, his entire body seemed to be growing. His shirt was tight on him now — he could feel the muscles of his shoulders and chest getting larger and larger. His stomach muscles were tightening into a six-pack. There was a ripping sound as the uppers of his expensive leather shoes tore free from the soles.
Damn, thought Luthor. Those were my best pair of Allen Edmonds! His body suddenly stopped changing, and Luthor slowly regained his feet, looking down at himself. He certainly felt different now! In fact, he felt better than he had in a long time. He felt — well, super.
Glancing around, he caught sight of himself in the mirror on the first-aid cabinet, and stepped back, startled by the image of Superman in the mirror. He looked again. Yes, he now looked exactly like Superman — his own face was gone. Well, one had to take the bad with the good, Luthor reasoned. It would be back in an hour, when the potion's effects ended.
Now it was time to see just how much he had changed. Luthor walked slowly over to one of the racks of free weights, the one Brutus and the others used. One barbell in particular was loaded with weights — Luthor estimated it was set for 350 pounds. That was much, much greater than any weight a normal Lex Luthor could lift. Reaching out carefully, he put both hands on the bar, took a slow, deep breath, then — lifted.
The weight lifted effortlessly! Luthor brought it up to his chin, looking at both ends of the barbell to make sure the weights hadn't slipped off. He lifted the barbell above his head, pumping it effortlessly, then shifted his grip so he was pumping it with his right hand only.
Luthor held the barbell out in front of him, one-handed, then let go. The weight began to fall, but slowed and stopped, hanging in mid-air, as his perception increased to superhuman level. He smiled broadly, watching the barbell move almost imperceptibly downward as gravity pulled it toward the floor of the gym. He moved across the room, picking up a dumbbell weighing about 25 pounds, composed of steel and lead. Grasping the ends, he began to twist them like taffy. The sensation of hard metal feeling so soft and pliant beneath his grip was incredible! He crushed the dumbbell into a small metal ball; then, remembering another of Superman's powers, stared at the ball, willing it to heat up. Very quickly, two small red spots began glowing on the ball, spreading rapidly until it was glowing red all over. Heat vision! He relaxed, satisfied with what he had accomplished.
There was a loud crash as the barbell he'd let go of earlier finally hit the floor. Lex glanced over at it, but otherwise paid it no mind. This was all he had hoped for. Luthor remembered thinking, once, that Superman was like the old Greek gods, that jealously controlled their powers and kept anyone from sharing in them. That was no longer true, now. Now, for at least an hour, he could do anything Superman could do. And that opened up some interesting possibilities for the future — especially if he wanted to make things difficult for the Man of Steel. If he could find one of those red-and-blue suits, he could fly around, pretending to be the Big Blue Boy Scout, and causing no end of trouble.
But, Luthor reminded himself, he had better things to do with his time than mess around with the reputation of someone most of the world hadn't even realized was back on Earth again. Superman had not made his presence publicly known, even now. And that was fine with Luthor. By the time he was done, Superman wouldn't even be worth worrying about — he'd have more power than anything Superman could bring to bear against him.
The door to the exercise room burst open and Brutus bolted through it, looking around. "What was al that racket — hey!" he spotted Luthor-as-Superman, dressed in a tight-fitting shirt, pants and ripped shoes, and instantly drew his revolver. "Who the hell are you?" he asked, pointing the weapon at him.
"Relax," Luthor said, impatiently. "It's just me."
"'Me' who?" Brutus challenged, still not sure who was addressing him.
"Your boss, Lex Luthor," Luthor said, annoyed. "Who else would I — oh, that's right!" he chuckled, confusing Brutus even more. "I forgot — I'm not myself right now, am I?"
"Buddy, I don't know who you are, either," Brutus said, waving the gun threateningly. "But you'd better start coming up with some answers or I'm gonna drill you."
"Oh, really?" Luthor smirked. "Well, go ahead — drill me." He nodded at Brutus's weapon. "Shoot me with your big, bad gun."
"You keep messing with me and I will," Brutus said, angrily.
"Then go ahead," Luthor said. He took a step toward Brutus. "I dare you." When his henchman's eyes narrowed, Luthor smiled and took another step. "I double dare you —"
Brutus fired. Luthor's hand moved just as the gun went off. He held it out a moment later, palm open, and Brutus saw a single bullet in the center of his hand. "Huh?" Brutus looked confused, then scared. "Oh crap — is that you, Superman!"
"You idiot," Luthor snapped. "I told you it's me, Lex Luthor! I'm testing something that gives me Superman's appearance as well as his powers."
"Oh." Brutus slumped, relieved. "For a second there, boss, I thought I was a goner." The way the man had spoken to him, more than anything, convinced Brutus who it really was. "I guess we need to get used to you lookin' like that from now on, huh?"
"It's not permanent," Luthor said. "I'll be back to my old self in a while."
Brutus looked impressed. "That's pretty cool."
But Luthor was no longer listening — he was staring upward, seemingly at the ceiling. "I wonder how I can test for flying?" he murmured, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Inside the ship might be a little dangerous, especially if I lose control…"
"Well, if you're invulnerable, like Superman, how's it gonna hurt you?" Brutus wanted to know.
"Dangerous for the ship, not for me," Luthor clarified, absently. "I don't want to accidentally sink it — the rates here in London for a good hotel room are exorbitant."
"So what are you gonna do with Superman's powers, boss?" Brutus asked, curiously. "Are you gonna try an' take over, like those three Kryptonians you told us about?"
"Well, not like them," Luthor said, derisively. "They just showed up and expected everyone to bow down to them because they were Kryptonians, like I expect Superman would like to do, by the way, but he's too much of a boy scout to really assert himself. Then, when they found out he was the son of Jor-El, things really got ugly. If Zod hadn't been so arrogant, I might be lounging on a beach in Australia today…" He glanced over; Brutus was staring blankly at him. "Never mind," he muttered. He glanced at his watch. "Make sure we're secure for the night."
"Aye, aye, boss," Brutus grinned, happy to be given an order he could understand. He left the exercise room, leaving Luthor alone again. He would continue practicing using his powers for the remainder of the hour — he wanted to know how fast he could move, how strong he was, and so on, in preparation for a visit to another famous wizard — one who was supposedly the smartest, most powerful wizard (excepting perhaps Lord Voldemort) on Earth — Albus Dumbledore. Luthor had a few questions for him, just as he'd had for Severus Snape earlier this evening.
In Dumbledore's case, however, the stakes were correspondingly higher. His questions for Dumbledore involved not just potions or everyday magic used by most wizards, but one of the most powerful objects ever created — the Philosopher's Stone! Luthor was quite sure that, contrary to popular belief in the Wizarding world, Dumbledore had not destroyed the only known Philosopher's Stone, as reported in the Daily Prophet in June 1992, but had that story printed as a way to deceive the Wizarding world. Dumbledore's friend, Nicholas Flamel, would not have allowed such a priceless object to be taken from him and disposed of, not after more than 600 years of extended life! Soon, Luthor felt, he would have the Stone in his possession. Once that was accomplished, he would put it to good use — not for the gold it could create, for Luthor already had more money than he would ever spend. But for the power it could give him.
=ooo=
Harry could feel the enemy forces moving in on him from all sides. His magical senses, trained and honed over the past eighteen months of battle drills and intense meditation techniques, had prepared him for this moment. Even though in almost complete darkness (it was the Dark Dimension, after all, he thought wryly) he could see the magical auras of the creatures being arrayed against him, to destroy him.
They weren't going to be nearly enough.
Harry drew rings of mystic protection around himself: the Bands of Cyttorak. Most of the creatures approaching him would be unable to breach this protection. There were flashes of red fire and shrieks of pain as some of them tried anyway and were consumed by the bands. Harry smiled grimly, noting that most of the opposing forces were now shrinking away from his position.
There were a few notable exceptions. A very large demon, perhaps eighteen feet tall and looking like a nightmare version of Hagrid's half-brother, Grawp, stepped across the Bands. Fire flared briefly but the demon merely grunted, hardly seeming to notice the flames, which died as it passed into the circle with Harry.
"Pretty tough, aren't you?" Harry smirked at the behemoth, and it roared dully at him, then began shambling forward, a scaly, clawed hand extended to reach down and grab him.
At a gesture from Harry, however, the demon suddenly spun sideways, thrown off-balance by a simple Banishing Charm applied to his outstretched hand. That momentary distraction gave Harry time to conjure up a portal beneath the demon, dropping him into a pocket region of the Dark Dimension, one where it would stay until Harry could decide what to do with it. The demon howled as it suddenly dropped out of sight, with a burst of snow and ice shooting up out of the portal — he had sent the demon to an ice pocket dimension, something a fire demon would surely find discomforting!
A warning that suddenly rang through his mind made Harry step to one side, just in time to avoid a bolt of magical energy that cracked the ground where he had stood a moment ago. Looking up, he saw a pair of gryphon-mounted Faltine knights, powerful minions of Dormammu. Their first attack had failed but they were circling around, coming at him from opposite directions, trying to catch him in a cross-fire from the air. It was a nice maneuver, Harry thought, especially since he had limited his own movements to within the Bands of Cyttorak. However, since they were his only two attackers at the moment, Harry could concentrate all his counterattacks on them.
As both knights cast their second round of magical bolts at him, Harry suddenly disappeared, and the bolts exploded harmlessly within the empty Bands. Neither knight saw that Harry had reappeared in mid-air above and between them, watching as they approached one another for a close fly-by. Harry made a gesture, holding his hand out like a wall, and a shimmering veil of magical force suddenly appeared in both knights' path. They and their mounts slammed headlong into the veil, then crashed to the ground, not to move again.
Now that Harry was in the air, he decided it was time to mop up the rest of the creatures below. He gestured once again, invoking the Winds of Watoomb and carrying away the creatures below him. Soon the battlefield was bare of all life — only the bodies of those who had fallen were left below him.
Harry floated to the ground, looking around for any sign of further resistance. There was none. Behind him there was a soft clapping as Clea appeared. Harry ignored her until she spoke.
"An excellent exercise today, my dear — you have progressed quite nicely," Clea praised him. "Just a few weeks ago an attack like that might have overwhelmed you, but you kept your wits and dealt with the situation quite methodically — and quite handily, for that matter."
"Thanks," Harry said, though his tone was flat and carried no real thankfulness with it. "I guess after training day-in and day-out for a year and a half, eventually I'll get things right."
Clea rolled her eyes. "You sound a little bitter, Harry. Don't you realize how much more powerful you are now than when you first came here? Your magical ability has increased a hundredfold since you arrived!"
It was true — he was much more magically powerful now. The magical energies within the Dark Dimension seemed be seeping into his body, much like yellow solar radiation did back on Earth, granting him super-powers. Here, however, there was no yellow sun; within a short time his physical powers, such as they were here, had completely faded. It had made little difference, he found; Clea could be as strong as she wanted, in this dimension, and his X-ray vision had not worked on the magical walls and ceilings of her palace. Neither had his heat vision. Magic, Harry found, was going to be the only way he would get out of here, and in eighteen months of reading in the palace Library he had not yet discovered a way to circumvent Clea's hold upon him.
Clea's breath was suddenly warm upon his neck as she pressed herself against him. "Perhaps it's time for you to consider all the benefits you might have here, if you only allow yourself."
Her mouth was next to his, moist and inviting. Her body, pressed tightly against him, was supple and curvaceous; his own body, now closer to eighteen than sixteen in his own perceptions, was reacting instinctively to hers. Harry suddenly pressed his mouth against hers, and she smiled, letting him kiss her. A moment later he stepped back, repulsed by what he'd done.
"What's wrong?" she asked, smiling coquettishly. "That was a nice first taste, Harry. What are you waiting for?"
"You've got to be joking," Harry said, disgusted with himself. "How could I forget, even for a moment, that you've kidnapped me and brought me here against my will! Whatever you think I'm here for, it's not be some kind of plaything for you to enjoy at your leisure!"
"Oh, please!" Clea snorted. "You always fall back on playing the martyr, Harry! The truth is, you enjoy all the magical ability you've gained here — I know how much time you spend in the Library!"
"Did you ever consider," Harry said viciously, "that I spend time in the Library to get away from you?"
Clea managed to look almost hurt by that. "After all I've done for you, still you spurn me? I am the Sorcerer Supreme of both this dimension and Earth! You should be grateful that I desire you!"
"Desire? Is that all you feel for me?" Harry asked. "So I am just a plaything to you, something else to be conquered by you!"
"You're a lot more than that!" Clea told him, her voice now thick with emotion. "Harry, you're special! I knew that the moment I saw you, that first day at the Academy! I believe you are destined for greatness, a greatness I want you to achieve — but you needed to prepare yourself for that destiny, and the Academy was no place for you to do that!"
"So what are you saying?" Harry asked, his voice laden with irony. "You kidnapped me for my own good?"
"Yes! Yes!" Clea shouted. "You would never have left of your own accord — you were too wrapped up in the juvenile foolishness of your friends, you would never have left them without my help!"
"Without your interference, you mean," Harry added, bitterly. "I've been here a year and a half and you've never said a thing about this until now!"
"I gave you a goal," Clea told him. "Prepare for my uncle's invasion!"
"That was supposed to be 'Real Soon Now,'" Harry snapped. "We're still waiting for something to happen! I don't think that's the real reason I'm here, anyway!"
"Oh?" Clea raised her eyebrows questioningly. "What do you think is the real reason, then?"
"I think it's you," Harry said, bluntly. "I think you're obsessed with me, for some reason. I think you brought me here so I'd be with you all the time."
Clea looked at him for a long moment. "Is there something wrong with that?"
"Well duh!" Harry practically shouted. "Did you even stop to consider how I felt about it? What were you thinking, anyway?"
The hurt look on Clea's face was genuine, now. She looked at him a long time, until Harry started to feel uncomfortable under her stare, then she said, "I was thinking, Harry, that I — loved you."
Harry gaped at her, openmouthed. "Loved me? And so you kidnapped me! Clea, I don't think you have any idea what love means!"
"Don't say that!" Clea exploded. "I know very well what love is! Stephen loved me more than anything in the universe!"
"Sure he did," Harry sneered. "Right up until you betrayed him!"
Clear reared back as if slapped. "What do you mean by that!"
Harry pointed at the golden pendant hanging around her neck. "That," he told her, "is the Eye of Agamotto. It was originally worn by Dr. Strange when he was Sorcerer Supreme of Earth. It's considered the primary mystical tool of Earth's Sorcerer Supreme, a gift from Agamotto, Earth's first Sorcerer Supreme in the distant past, to his successors. Considering how I've heard Dr. Strange talk about being Sorcerer Supreme, he would not have given up the title willingly. Judging from the change in your relationship with him, I suspect you tricked him out of it, somehow, or stole it from him outright."
Clea was glaring at him with smoldering eyes. "That information on Stephen and me was in the Restricted Section of my Library. You must have broken in there without my permission!"
"Yeah," Harry laughed. "I have this thing about Restricted Sections in Libraries, I guess."
"Well, you know the truth, now," Clea said. "Stephen's interests were focused on the Earth — he did not see Dormammu as a threat there, as they had supposedly came to an agreement that Dormammu would leave Earth alone. But he had made no such promise for the Dark Dimension — and I knew he would one day return to reclaim it for himself. I had to protect it from him, even if that meant taking the Eye from Stephen!
"But this changes nothing," she continued. "You will remain here, to help me when Dormammu attacks. When he is destroyed, you may return to Earth, if you desire, and your boring destiny there. I will even dispose of your irksome Lord Voldemort, if you so wish."
"Wait a minute," Harry objected "'Destroy' Dormammu? That wasn't our original deal! You only needed me to help drive him off!"
Clea looked indifferent. "Think of it as the new price of your ransom from here — an additional payment for the…aggravation you've caused me, Harry Potter."
Harry started to protest, but Clea made a slashing gesture and his voice died in his throat. "Silence! I don't want to hear any more from you! You are banished to your room until I am no longer angry with you!" With a second gesture Harry vanished in a flash of light, reappearing a moment later in his quarters in the palace.
Harry looked around, sighing to himself. He probably shouldn't have let her get under his skin like that, but he was tired of the duplicity and the lies — and knowing that she had in essence usurped the power of the Sorcerer Supreme from Dr. Strange made her even less likable in his eyes, even if she was doing it for "the good of everyone in the Dark Dimension, to protect them from Dormammu's tyranny." She was no better than Dormammu himself, in that regard, at least as far as Harry was concerned.
He walked slowly over to his bed, an enormous square cushion, larger than his entire dorm room back at Hogwarts, and sat on its edge. There was no telling what ideas Clea had originally had for him and this bed, but he had never once succumbed to her advances, not until his moment of weakness today. Harry tasted his lips, remembering the sweetness of her, but shook his head determinedly. She would never have him, not unless she simply took over his mind, and she did not seem inclined to go that far, thankfully.
In fact, Harry's mind was another aspect of himself he'd been improving over the past eighteen months. Mind techniques from books in Clea's library allowed him to delve deeper and deeper into himself in meditations, allowing him to approach the boundaries of the Dark Dimension while his physical body was trapped within it. Harry thought, with continued, practice, that he might someday breach the Dark Dimension, at least psychically, and touch the mind of someone back on Earth. He laid back on the bed, calming himself and preparing for yet another attempt to move beyond the Dark Dimension. Unless Dormammu showed up soon, it might prove to be the only way for him to get out of here.
=ooo=
Ron was dreaming. In his dream he was walking down a long, dark path, uncertain where he was or where he was going. He could hear vague sounds around him: moaning and groaning, as if there were people just beyond the limits of his vision, trying to get his attention. It reminded Ron of the Forbidden Forest, and thoughts of spiders kept him looking around for signs of the eight-legged horrors creeping up behind him. He needed to find Harry so they could get out of here!
As if on cue, he heard Harry's voice in the distance. "Ron!" the voice said. "I'm here! Help me!" Ron hurried forward, moving toward the voice, though he could see nothing ahead of him.
"Harry!" he called out. "I'm coming, Harry! Hold on!" He began running, but whether it was toward Harry or away from the spiders he felt sure were behind him, Ron couldn't tell. He only knew he had to find Harry, and fast, before —
Before what? Ron didn't really want to know what "what" was. Suddenly he caught sight of a figure in the distance, illuminated somehow — perhaps with a wand casting Lumos. "Harry?" Ron called, and the figure waved at him.
Heartened, Ron pushed forward. "I'm coming, Harry!" he called again, and ran pell-mell toward the figure. He could see it was Harry now, though his friend looked — strange, distorted somehow, as if Ron were viewing him through a funhouse mirror or a Confundus Charm. As Ron drew nearer Harry put out his hand for Ron to grab, but as hard as he was running, Ron could not seem to close the final few feet between them.
"Grab my hand, Ron!" Harry implored him. "Before it's too late…!" But even as he spoke, Harry seemed to slip away, his image fading to darkness.
"NO!" Ron shouted, redoubling his efforts to grab Harry. He lurched forward — and found himself sitting bolt upright in bed.
"What the hell are you shouting about?" Dalton, his roommate, grumbled from beneath his covers "I'm trying to get some sleep here!"
Ron looked around, confused. It took him several seconds to realize that what he'd just experienced had not really happened. He glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand next to him. It read 3:17 a.m. "Sorry," he muttered to Dalton, then lay back down, thinking about the dream he'd just had. It had seemed as real as anything he'd ever experienced, until he woke up. He would have to talk with Hermione about it in the morning…
…Which arrived all-to-early for him that Tuesday morning, leaving Ron scrambling to get ready for classes after his alarm failed to awaken him (or he'd forgotten to set it last night, or more likely, Dalton had switched it off in retaliation for waking him up at three a.m.); whatever the reason, by the time he arrived in the cafeteria that morning, Hermione was huddled up with Ginny, the both of them talking quietly but intently with one another. Ron decided not to interrupt them — he would wait until lunch to talk to Hermione.
Classes dragged on interminably that morning. Sitting next to Hermione in most of them, Ron may as well have been back in England if he'd wanted to talk to her — she was continually writing things down in her notebook, or concentrating so thoroughly that he couldn't get her attention. He even considered pinching her, but decided it would probably get him punched and a class detention to boot.
By lunch, Ron was bursting at the seams to talk about his dream from the previous night. However, he lost Hermione in the mass of students moving toward the cafeteria, so he changed course toward his locker, dropped off the books for his morning classes and grabbed books for the afternoon classes, then hustled back to the cafeteria. This time, Hermione was sitting alone at a table, a salad on a cafeteria tray in front of her. Filling his tray as usual (because a growing boy's got to eat, you know!) Ron plopped down in the seat next to her. "I've got something to tell you," he said, without preamble.
She looked up at him. "Where were you this morning at breakfast?" she asked, a bit crossly. "I wanted to tell you something important!"
Ron was nonplussed. "You were talking to Ginny," he told her. "I didn't want to bother you!"
"We were waiting for you!" she said. "Oh, never mind! Wait 'til you hear what I dreamed last night!"
Ron snorted. "Funny — I was going to tell you what I dreamed last night, too!"
She looked at him curiously. "Was it about Harry?"
Ron's mouth gaped. "How'd you know?" he asked, incredulous.
"I had a dream too!" Hermione said, excitedly. "So did Ginny! Isn't that an interesting coincidence?"
"Weird, is what I'd call it," Ron muttered, as Ginny joined them at the table with her own tray.
"What'd he say?" Ginny asked Hermione, as she sat down.
"Ron had a dream about Harry, too!" Hermione told her. All three of them looked at one another.
"What did you dream?" they each asked at the same moment. Ron laughed nervously at this, while Hermione and Ginny stared at one another for a moment before turning to Ron.
"You first, Ron," Hermione said, and Ron related the details of his dream, as much as he could remember. When he finished, she nodded. "Mine was pretty much like that, too — I was walking through a dark place, trying to figure out where Harry was, when suddenly I saw him ahead of me. I ran to him but couldn't reach him, then he disappeared."
"And mine was like Hermione's," Ginny added. "Why would we all three have the same dream about Harry?"
"Because you've both been going mental over Harry being gone, and you're taking me with you," Ron theorized, only half-joking. Ginny slapped him on the arm. "Ow. All right, no need to get violent, little sister."
"It's got to be something deeper than that," Hermione disagreed, taking Ron seriously. "You know, Harry used to get mental images from Voldemort —"
Ron winced. "Please — don't say his name!"
"Oh, Ron!" Hermione looked chagrinned. "He's thousands of miles away from us here! Honestly! Anyway," she went on. "It's possible we are receiving Harry's thoughts from — from wherever he is right now."
"You think that's why we all had about the same dream?" Ginny asked. "Because it was coming from Harry?"
"It seems a reasonable explanation," Hermione nodded. "Harry never gave us a lot of explanation for how his connection with Voldemort —" ignoring Ron's wince this time "— worked."
"Fine, then," Ron said, still looking pained by her use of the Name. "Now, what do we do next?"
"Obvious," Hermione smiled. "We go to Professor Potter."
"Right," Ron said, skeptically. "And he chucks us out of school for losing Harry in the first place."
"He's not going to do that!" Hermione scoffed. "Besides, he already has to know Harry's missing — the teachers would have reported him missing from classes yesterday and this morning."
"But this is the fourth day he's been missing," Ginny pointed out. She looked accusingly at Ron. "Why didn't you tell Professor Potter sooner?"
"Hey, I don't rat out my mates!" Ron objected, hotly. "Besides, as far as I knew, Harry was working on a school project!"
"Yeah," Ginny snarled. "A 'project' like that hot blonde substitute teacher!"
"Well, I guess he can go out with whoever he wants to!" Ron snapped. "He doesn't need to date my sister!"
Ginny fixed him with a deadly glare. "That's none of your concern, Ron Weasley!" she said, quietly but with strong emotion cracking her voice.
"Like hell," Ron muttered, but didn't challenge her comment further.
"Alright, alright," Hermione held up her hands to stop their argument. "Let's sort that out after we talk to Professor Potter. Agreed?"
"Fine," Ron mumbled. Ginny nodded, looking grimly at her brother — a promise that the argument was far from over. The three of them gathered up their books and other belongings, dumped the trays off to be washed, and made their way toward the Dean's office.
=ooo=
"Thank you for coming, Albus," Professor Potter was saying at that very moment, as he and Professor Dumbledore shook hands in his office. "I notified you as soon as I received the reports of Harry's disappearance." He gestured toward a plush chair for Dumbledore to sit in.
"Thank you, Phineas," Dumbledore said, making himself comfortable.
"Would you care for some tea?" Potter asked solicitously.
"Thank you," Dumbledore nodded, then asked, "How long have you been aware that Harry was missing, Phineas?"
"Well —" Potter managed to look embarrassed. "I'm afraid I only noticed that he'd attended none of his classes yesterday when I saw the reports this morning." He handed Dumbledore a cup of steaming tea, who accepted it with a murmured "Thank you." "And he has attended none of this morning's classes, either."
"I see." Dumbledore did not mention that he'd known Harry was missing since mid-Saturday, nor that he was not merely missing but seemingly Untraceable, as well. "Do you have any idea where he might have got off to, Phineas?"
Potter looked worried. "I'd rather hoped you'd have some idea, Albus," he said, candidly. "He's been your student longer, you know."
"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed. "But Harry is also at the age where he is beginning to question his purpose in life. It may be difficult just what he's up to right now."
"Oh dear, oh dear!" Potter shook his head, his nerves frazzled at the prospect of having "lost" Harry Potter on his watch. "I really don't know what to say, Albus! This is terrible!"
"To be accurate," Dumbledore clarified. "This could be disastrous, both for Britain and the world. Harry may be the only person that stands between us and Voldemort taking over England, then the world."
Potter looked incredulous. "Oh, surely not, Dumbledore! You have your Aurors there, do you not? Surely they can handle the man and his — Death Eaters, aren't they called?"
"I don't think you grasp the depths of the terror that Voldemort and his followers have instilled in Wizarding Britain," Dumbledore pointed out. "Both wizards and Muggles are afraid to move about at night — dementors and other foul creatures are beginning to move about openly, even in cities like London. Professor Snape, my Defense teacher, saw a few dementors in the open when he was there Sunday evening."
"Really?" Potter said, breathlessly. "It's that bad there?"
"It seems so," Dumbledore nodded grimly.
There was a knock at the door. Both men turned toward it, and Potter looked irritable. "I'm in a meeting right now — can it wait until later?"
"It's — it's about Harry Potter, sir," Hermione's voice came tremulously through the door. Potter blinked, surprised by the coincidence, and gestured at the door, which swung upon to reveal the three ex-Hogwarts students: Hermione, Ron, and Ginny standing outside.
"Come in, come in," Professor Potter waved them inside the room. "I suspect you three already know my guest."
"Professor Dumbledore!" Hermione exclaimed. "It's good to see you!"
Dumbledore inclined his head to her. "And you as well, Miss Granger — and you as well, Mr. and Miss Weasley," he added, to the others.
"Are you here about Harry, too?" Ron asked, on impulse. Dumbledore nodded.
"Do you know what happened to him?" Ginny asked, anxiously.
"No, I do not, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore answered her. "But I hope we can discover what has become of him."
"Why are you here?" Professor Potter asked the students.
"We each had a dream about Harry last night," Hermione explained. "The dreams were very similar — we think we might have been communicating directly with Harry somehow."
"Interesting," Dumbledore remarked. "You are aware, of course, Miss Granger, that Harry was sometimes able to hear the thoughts of Voldemort."
"Yes, we thought of that!" Hermione nodded eagerly.
"Do you understand how that might have happened?" Dumbledore questioned her.
"Ummm —" Hermione looked confused by the question. "Not really, sir, no."
"Harry and Voldemort were joined when the Killing Curse rebounded from Harry and destroyed Voldemort's body," Dumbledore explained. "I do not think that any of you have yet had that intimate a relationship with Harry, have you?"
Hermione, Ron and Ginny all shook their heads no. "But that's a pretty wild coincidence then, isn't it?" Ron blurted.
"Indeed it is, Ronald," Dumbledore agreed. "And we may have to explore just how it came about. But I would be very surprised if any of you were in mental contact with Harry."
There was another knock. Standing in the doorway were two teachers. "Miss Sullivan, Miss Rasputin," Professor Potter looked surprised to see them. "What is it?"
The two young women looked at each other. Then Miss Sullivan spoke. "Sorry to disturb you, but —" she shrugged, then plunged ahead. "Well, Illyana and I happened to overhear your conversation with Professor Dumbledore —"
"In other words, you were eavesdropping," Dumbledore put in, with a twinkle in his eye.
"Er — yes, I guess so," Miss Sullivan admitted.
"And a good thing, too," Illyana put in, giving Dumbledore an even look. "Chloe and I should be able to get to the bottom of this."
Dumbledore did not react, while Ron looked on in surprise. Hermione and Ginny both looked at one another, hopeful, and Professor Potter said, "Anything you can do will be greatly appreciated, ladies!"
Chloe nodded and turned to Ron. "I want to examine your memories of the dream you had."
"O-okay," Ron said. He looked around nervously. "What do I have to do?"
"Just relax and think about the dream," Chloe said, softly, placing her hands on either side of Ron's head. Ron jerked, as if her touch had shocked him, but settled down and seemed to enter a dreamlike state; his eyes closed, he breathed slowly and steadily as Chloe concentrated. "Yes," she said, after a minute. "I'm reaching them…" She was silent for some time, then suddenly opened her eyes, letting go of Ron's head.
"You were right," she said to Illyana. "It wasn't Harry in contact with them."
"Wasn't Harry?" Hermione looked perplexed. "Who else could it be?"
"Someone who wanted you to think it was Harry," Illyana answered her. She turned to Professor Potter. "Chloe and I think that Harry was taken by Clea to her home universe, the Dark Dimension."
"Uh-oh," Ron blurted, then realized he'd said it aloud as everyone looked at him.
"Do you know something about this, Ronald?" Dumbledore asked, looking directly at him.
"He does," Hermione said, before Ron could answer. Ron shot her a look, but nodded to Dumbledore.
"I talked to Jon Clark a few days ago." Ron described their meeting, leaving out the parts where he bullied Jon, but confirmed him telling saying that Harry liked Clea. Ron guessed from this that the "project" Harry said he was working on was a cover for going on a date with Clea, probably Friday after classes.
"Great," Illyana said, with heavy sarcasm. "That means he's been missing nearly four days now. In the Dark Dimension!"
"Four days isn't that long, is it?" Ginny asked, worriedly.
"Not for us, no," Illyana agreed. "But time can pass at different rates in alternate universes like the Dark Dimension. And Clea, as the Sorcerer Supreme of that dimension, has complete control over the passage of time. Months or even years might have passed for Harry during those four days."
"How do you know that?" Hermione asked her.
Illyana gave her an even look. "I know," she said, flatly. "Believe me, I know."
"What can we do to get him back here?" Dumbledore asked.
"If I know Clea," Illyana said, "and I'm pretty sure I do, we're going to have to go get him."
"In the Dark Dimension?" Hermione looked aghast. "Doesn't it take very powerful magic to breach dimensions? I thought only wizards like Dr. Strange could do that, back when he was Sorcerer Supreme."
"There are other ways," Illyana told her. "But first, we'll need a team, especially if we're going get in there, find Harry, and get out as quickly as possible. The Dark Dimension is actually a fractal universe — it's an amalgam of different regions, some hidden from one another, some hidden within other regions. We're going to need someone with the ability to sense a person across dimensional barriers." She glanced sideways at Chloe.
Chloe arched an eyebrow at her. "I thought you were going to be able to handle that," she objected.
Illyana shrugged. "Not in the Dark Dimension. Maybe if Stephen Strange still had the Eye, he might be able to locate Harry, but I'd be jumping back and forth all over the place. I don't have your gifts, girl."
Chloe sighed. "I didn't really want to get back into this, you know."
"Oh, boo-hoo," Illyana sneered. "It's hell being a super-hero, isn't it?"
"What are you two talking about?" Professor Potter wanted to know.
Illyana laughed. "Just some of our sordid past catching up with us, Professor!"
Chloe looked more contrite. "I didn't mention this in my job interview, Professor, but I wasn't always magical. I lived a rather normal life as a child, attended college, and was getting my Ph.D. in archaeology when I came upon a find so rare, so astounding, that I couldn't believe it. Imagine my amazement when I learned I'd discovered — the Helmet of Fate."
Both Dumbledore and Potter started as Chloe said this. "Indeed?" Dumbledore looked quite impressed. "It was said that the Helmet was but a myth of the ancient Egyptians — are you saying it is real?"
"Yes," Chloe replied. "It's real. Trust me on that." She turned back to Illyana. "So, given that you and I are on the team, who else can we use?"
"We're going to need some muscle," Illyana decided. "Who do you think we can get? What about Captain Marvel?"
"On sabbatical since the Rock of Eternity was destroyed," Chloe reminded her. "What about the Hulk?"
"Too cranky," Illyana disagreed. "Besides, green and purple clash with my uniform."
"What about Superman?" Dumbledore mentioned. Both of the women looked at him.
"He'd be good," Chloe agreed. "But I thought he left Earth years ago."
"He's been back for some time," Dumbledore said. Potter nodded as well.
"Well, in that case, he's in, if he'll join us," Chloe said. "Who else?"
Illyana had been thinking. "It might be a good idea to see if Stephen wants to go with us. With any luck, we might be able to get the Eye back for him."
"Excuse me," Hermione broke in, curiously. "But what's this'Eye' you're talking about? Is it the Eye of Agamotto?"
"Yes," Illyana nodded. "It's the main talisman of Stephen's power as Sorcerer Supreme of Earth. Clea stole it from him, somehow, and spirited it away to her Dark Dimension, robbing him of the title of Sorcerer Supreme and usurping the position for herself. Stephen, for some reason, is still in love with Clea — he can't bring himself to battle her for his rightful possession of the Eye. Maybe, however, once he realizes what she's been up to with Harry, he might reconsider that."
Dr. Strange was summoned to Professor Potter's office. He listened silently while Illyana and Chloe briefed him on the situation with Harry, Clea and the Dark Dimension, his expression giving no hints as to what he was thinking. When they finished, he said, "It will be a dangerous undertaking — Clea's desire to remain Sorcerer Supreme of the Dark Dimension is almost as great as Dormammu's desire to wrest it from her — it borders obsession for both of them. If I had seen that sooner…"
"Our primary objective will be to rescue Harry," Chloe said. "But if we get a chance at the Eye, I'm inclined to get it back from her. She should never have taken it from you in the first place."
"Perhaps," Strange said, and a look of — reluctance? — regret? — crossed his features. "I understand her motives, I suppose."
"You don't want to fight her for the Eye, do you?" Illyana asked, sounding disappointed. Strange looked at her but made no reply.
"It's okay," she went on. "Chloe or I can handle her."
"Not in her home dimension," Strange shook his head. "Unless — in my Sanctum, in New York City, are the other artifacts of Agamotto — the Orb and my Cloak of Levitation. The enchantments I created to protect them requires the Eye to remove them, so I have not been able to get to them since Clea took —" he cut off his remark.
"Okay, here's the plan, then," Chloe decided. "Illyana, you and Stephen go to New York — you think you can get through those enchantments?"
"Piece of cake," Illyana purred, giving Stephen a wink.
"Okay. I'll find Superman and see if he'll join us," Chloe finished.
"How will you be able to find Superman?" Dumbledore wanted to know. "Do you know where he is right now?"
"Well," Chloe said, with a wry smile. "It's my fate to know such things." Reaching into the small handbag she carried, she drew out a gleaming gold helmet that was much larger than the bag that had contained it — obviously wizard space was involved.
Holding it in both hands, Chloe stared intently at the back of the helmet. Suddenly the back spread open, bathing her face in dazzling golden light. She slipped her face into the helmet and it closed, encasing her head. Her entire body began to glow white, and her street clothes were replaced with a gold and blue uniform. Chloe Sullivan was gone, and in her place was — Doctor Fate!
"Don't worry," she said to Dumbledore. Her voice, though altered inside the helmet, was still similar to her own. "I'll be able to find Superman — I know right where he is." She turned to Illyana. "See you in New York, at Stephen's Sanctum." She disappeared in a flash of white light.
Illyana looked at Dr. Strange. "You ready?"
Strange nodded. "I am, Miss Rasputin." She nodded, assuming a look of concentration.
"Wait!" Hermione said, before they could disappear or something. "What can the three of us do?" She indicated Ron, Ginny and herself.
"I don't think there's anything you can do for now, Miss Granger," Professor Potter told her. "You should probably go back to your classes." Ginny, Ron and Hermione all looked at one another, frowning; none of them particularly liked that plan.
"I would not dismiss them so quickly, Phineas," Dumbledore spoke up. "They may be able to provide emotional support for Harry when the others locate him, if a line of communication can be kept open between us and the Dark Dimension." He looked at Illyana. "Is such a thing possible?"
Illyana considered for a moment. "I suppose Chloe or Dr. Strange could establish a telepathic link with you, and include them in it if needed. And it might be useful, especially if Harry seems reluctant to return. It's possible he's experienced months or years of time over there, and he may have become assimilated into the cult of Clea's followers." At the look of horror on Ginny's face, she quickly added. "I'm not saying that's what happened — only that Clea's had an unknown amount of time to manipulate his feelings."
She stepped next to Dr. Strange. "Okay, Doc, let's move." A glowing white disc suddenly appeared beneath the two of them, and in a flash they had vanished as well.
"My word," Professor Potter said, his voice filled with wonder. "I never would have expected that of those two young ladies! Here I thought they were just a couple of normal witches!"
"The world is full of surprises," Dumbledore mused. Potter gave him a sharp look.
"Indeed it is, Albus! How did you know that Superman had returned to Earth? I thought —" Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, and the Professor did not complete his statement.
"I do try to keep abreast of current events, Phineas," Dumbledore answered, somewhat cryptically, and allowed the twinkle in his eyes to speak for him.
After a moment Potter chuckled as well. "Very well, old friend," he said, clapping Dumbledore on the shoulder. "We'll leave it at that." Hermione, Ron and Ginny stared at them, trying to fathom what they were implying, but failing.
"Well," Potter said, looking around the room at the others. "I suspect we should make ourselves comfortable, and await the outcome of this adventure. With any luck, Harry Potter will be joining us again shortly."
"I certainly hope so," Ron said. "I can't wait to find out how his date with Clea went. Ow!" he added, as Ginny slugged him in the arm.