Harry Potter Returns
A Harry Potter/Superman Returns Crossover

Chapter Twenty-Two
Christmas With the Kents

Updated July 8, 2011

Within minutes the Smallville town square had filled with people, all of them wanting to know what had gone on inside the savings and loan. The getaway car had been stopped only twenty or so feet from the tire lines left on the road when it peeled out. Inside the savings and loan, four men lay unconscious on the floor. Employees of the saving and loan were gibbering about a woman or girl, dressed in a blue and red blouse and skirt, and sporting a Superman symbol on her chest, stopping the men cold, even though they had shot at her with pistols and a shotgun.

In front of the Beanery, Hermione and Ron had rejoined Harry and Ginny. "Can you believe something like that happened while we were here?" Hermione asked breathlessly. "And who's that girl they're talking about?"

"She was wearing a Superman symbol," Ginny said, sounding equally excited. "And she must've been as strong as he's supposed to be, to stop that car like she did!"

"I wish I'd seen that!" Ron added.

"So do I!" Hermione chimed in.

"Harry missed it, too," Ginny gave Harry a smug look, as if she was now the person who they had to ask if they wanted to hear what had happened. "He was inside the coffee shot having a pee."

"Too bad, mate," Ron said, his tone one of commiseration, as he clapped Harry on the shoulder, then shook his hand painfully. "Ouch!" he said. Harry had been so distracted he'd forgotten to "give" when Ron hit him. It was as if Ron had slapped solid steel.

"Yeah," Harry said to Ron's first comment, so distracted that Ron's cry of pain didn't register with him. He'd been thinking of Kara — evidently she'd decided it was time to go public as Supergirl. What galled him a bit was that he'd wanted to help with her training, but both she and Clark were nowhere to be found when they'd arrived at the Kent farm the day before. And now she'd flown off before Harry could ask where she'd been!

"I think we'd better get back to the farm," he said.

"What for?" Hermione wanted to know. "This is happening right in front of us!" Ron and Ginny were nodding agreement.

"That's my point," Harry said. "The police will want to interview us if they find us here, to see what we know. I don't want to take a chance that one of us will say something to make them suspicious."

"What could we possibly say that would do that?" Ron wanted to know. "They're just Muggles, anyway."

Hermione made a face. "Ron, I think you just confirmed Harry's point. Most people don't know what 'Muggle' means, and it would be hard to explain it without raising suspicion about us. I'm afraid Harry's right."

Ron looked chagrinned, but Ginny nodded. "He's right, Ron. We don't want to speak to the local authorities if we can avoid it." She turned to Harry. "But how do we get out of here? We can't just teleport out — some people might notice."

"Why would that matter?" Ron shot back. "Nobody'd believe them anyway."

"But it would be better not to take any chances," Harry decided. He looked around for a moment, then pointed to the Beanery. "We can go in here and sneak out the back. From there we can teleport to the Kent farm without being seen."

They walked back into the Beanery. The woman who'd waited on them earlier was at the front window watching the commotion going on in the square. "What happened out there?" she asked as they walked in. "The radio said there was an 'incident' in Smallville Square."

"Someone tried to rob the bank," Hermione spoke up. "But apparently some woman with super-powers stopped them."

"I saw her," Ginny added, sounding proud of the fact. "She stopped a car with one hand as it tried to get away!"

The woman suddenly seemed to register that four potential customers had just walked in. "Can I get any of you something?" she asked, solicitously.

"Er — maybe in a bit," Harry said. "I've gotta — er, go to the loo."

"The loo?" The woman looked puzzled. "What's that?"

"Um, the lavatory."

"You were just in here a couple of minutes ago," the waitress pointed out. "And you went back to the restroom then, too."

"Yeah, well…tea goes right through me," Harry said, thinking he was sounding lame, but having nothing else to offer.

"You know, I guess I have to go as well," Ron said, cottoning onto Harry's idea.

"I do too," Hermione added quickly. She looked at Ginny. "You want to come with me, Gin?"

Ginny rolled her eyes but played along. "I guess. Hope you don't need any help from me, Hermione."

While the waitress watched bemusedly, the four teenagers walked to the hallway where the restrooms were located. Instead of going inside them, however, they continued down the hall to the back exit. A sign marked "Emergency Exit" was posted near the door. Harry lagged behind, making sure no one was following them.

"Let's go," Ron said, pushing on the bar to open the door.

"Wait!" Harry said, but the door opened, and an alarm screeched.

Ron jumped back. "What the hell?" he said, looking at the other three.

"Oh bloody hell," Harry muttered. "You set off the alarm!" He gestured for everyone to hurry. "Come on, let's get outside!"

The four of them scrambled outside and shut the door behind them. "Aim for the inside of the barn!" Harry said hurriedly. "People will be rushing out that door any second!"

A moment later the four of them popped out of nowhere inside the Kent barn. "What was all that about?" Ron wanted to know.

"'Emergency Exit,' Ron," Hermione said, exasperated. Did you read what it said on the bar before you pushed it?"

Ron's expression was blank. "There was something written on the bar?"

"Yeah," Harry said, wearily. "It said 'Alarm will sound.'"

"How would I know to read that?" Ron said defensively. "Who writes stuff like that on doors anyway?"

"Apparently Muggles do," Ginny said derisively. "Shows how much you don't know about them!"

"Never mind," Harry said. It was bad enough when Ron and Hermione bickered — he didn't want to hear him and Ginny start in. "We can go in and turn on the TV — maybe there'll be something on the news."

Harry led them to the back and through the kitchen; by now Mrs. Kent was comfortable enough with him that he didn't have to knock before entering. The television was already on — he could hear it in the living room. He walked in, expecting to find Martha Kent watching it, but stopped in shock at the person who looked up from the sofa.

"Hi, Harry," Linda Lee said. "Pretty exciting what's happening downtown, isn't it?"

"Uh, yeah," Harry said. But what had really shocked him was not that Linda was there, but her appearance. Her hair was now brown, and she wore a pair of thin, square-rimmed glasses. She was dressed in a button-up, long sleeved blouse and an ankle-length skirt, clothing markedly different than the "old" Linda had worn.

Linda seemed to sense Harry's confusion, because she said, "I decided to go back to my original hair color — blonde just wasn't me. And I found out the contacts I'd been wearing were irritating my eyes, so I have to start using my glasses again."

She looked positively mousy, but Harry knew why she was doing it — for the same reason Clark wore glasses and hunched over to disguise his height, speaking and acting timid and meek around other people who didn't know his secret. Linda Lee was Kara's "secret identity," and she had to look and act different than Supergirl if she wanted to have any kind of normal life away from her "super" identity.

Ron and Hermione glanced at one another; clearly they were as surprised as Harry had been to see Linda looking like this. Ginny was smirking — Harry could tell she thought the change in Linda's appearance and demeanor could only help her in her bid to win Harry back.

But Harry didn't care. He knew the truth about "Linda Lee," and she was the same girl he'd spent time with the past two months. "Well, it's good to see you again, Linda," he said, going along with her. "Where were you, earlier? We didn't see you when we first got here."

"I was in Concordia yesterday, with Clark," she said. "Getting my driver's license."

"Huh?" Ron looked surprised. "You aren't old enough to have one of those, are you? I thought you had to be seventeen."

"You can be fourteen in Kansas with your parent's consent," Linda pointed out. "With Clark as my guardian, I was able to get a farm permit, which will let me drive to and from school without an adult in the car. When I turn 16, I'll be able to drive anywhere between 5 a.m. and 5 p.m."

"When do you turn sixteen, Linda?" Hermione asked.

"Pretty soon," Linda replied. "It's on January first."

"So you were born in 1981?" Hermione went on.

"Yes," Linda nodded. Hermione and Ginny exchanged glances. Harry, seeing this, wondered what possible significance being born in 1981 could hold. Other than, it was the same year Ginny was born, he recalled.

"It would be interesting to drive a car," Ron mused. "But it's bloody hard to get a license in Britain, even if you are a wizard."

"Maybe you should move to the United States," Linda said, teasingly. "You'll be driving in no time — and I hear women really go for a guy with a British accent."

"Uh —" Ron looked a bit nonplussed by that comment. He looked at Hermione.

"Don't even think about it, Ron," Hermione told him. "We're going back to Britain when school is over."

A door opened nearby, and everyone turned to see Clark Kent exit his private den. Harry began to smile at him, then stopped. Clark was looking as solemn as he'd ever seen him. "Uh, hi Clark," he said, wondering what had him in such a mood.

"Hi, Harry," Clark said. He nodded toward Harry's friends. "Hello again. Sorry I haven't been able to talk with you until now." He looked toward Linda. "Can I have a word with you in my den, Linda?"

Linda's attitude had gone tense — Harry could tell she did not want to talk to Clark. But she merely stood and said coolly, "Certainly, Mr. Kent."

"Can I come along?" Harry asked. Whatever was going on between Clark and his cousin, Harry wanted to be in on it.

"No," Clark said.

"Yes," Linda said.

Clark was silent for several moments. Then, "If that's what you want, Linda. Come along, the both of you."

Clark held the door to his den for them, then followed them in, shutting the door behind him. Kara was standing, her arms folded in front of her, as he turned to face them. "Kara, I'm very disappointed in you."

Harry looked at Clark, then Kara. "Huh? What for?"

"Because I stopped that bank robbery," Kara said, stonily.

"Well what's wrong with that?" Harry wanted to know. "Isn't that would you would have done, Clark?"

"Yes," Clark said. "In fact, I was on my way there to stop it without anyone seeing me, when I saw that Kara was there ahead of me, dressed in her new uniform, stopping the robbers and letting the bank employees and onlookers get a good look at her."

Harry was looking back and forth between the two cousins. "So? I guess I'm confused — why shouldn't she let them see her, if she's going public as Supergirl?"

"It's too soon," Clark said, looking at Kara. "Your Linda Lee identity has hardly had time to let the ink dry on your birth certificate and Social Security card — it's possible that someone could connect Supergirl with how Linda originally looked. They both had blonde hair, arranged the same way. They are both the same size and build. "We got your certificate and the license so you could pose as Linda for a while before venturing out as Supergirl."

"You're being overprotective," Kara argued. "I'm starting school at Smallville High when school commences again. Up until now hardly anyone knew the 'old' Linda — I was hardly ever in town."

"There's also the matter of your training," Clark continued. "You're not ready to go out on your own."

"Oh really?" Kara looked annoyed by this comment. "That's not what you said two days ago!"

"I said you were about ready," Clark corrected her. "There are some finer points to superpowers — and to stopping criminals—that we haven't gone over yet."

"Like what?"

"Like knocking people out," Clark said. "It can damage them. I try to immobilize them so the police can pick them up. It's also dangerous to let anyone fire weapons at you in a closed structure where innocent bystanders are present — they could be harmed by ricochets."

Kara rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine — I messed up there. But they only got off a couple of shots before I stopped them!"

"You can't afford to be that cavalier with people's lives, Kara!" Clark snapped, clearly irked by Kara's retort. "Someone killed by a ricochet off your body can't be brought back!"

"Yes, I understand that," Kara retorted, irked herself as well. "But —"

"'But' nothing," Clark interrupted. "I don't want you going out as Supergirl again until I give you permission."

Kara looked outraged. "I don't see you out there helping people!" she pointed out. "Why haven't you gone back to helping people, as long as you've been back on Earth?"

"I intend to, when I'm ready," Clark said. "I've been trying to get my life — my real life — back since I returned from Krypton. And in spite of what you think, I'm trying to protect you — you don't realize how quickly people can turn on you, for the least failure on your part. I don't want that to happen to you."

"I don't get this," Harry finally spoke up. "If Kara is willing to help people, and you're not ready yet, why not let her? She can be more careful, now that you've pointed it out to her —"

"Harry, stay out of this," Clark said, and there was a tone of warning in his voice that Harry had never heard before. "I allowed you to join us because Kara wanted you here, but this has to do with her and me, not with you."

Harry said nothing, clearly stunned by this rebuke. "What are you saying?" Kara nearly shouted. "Of course this has to do with Harry — he has powers just like ours —"

"He has my powers," Clark pointed out. "Or a part of them, just as I have some of his magical ability. I've been looking for a way to reverse the accident that mixed up our powers with each other." Harry and Kara looked at one another, stunned by this remark — Clark was certainly surprising them today!

"I didn't realize you felt that way," Harry said, after a moment of silence. He could barely believe it — Clark wanted his powers back now, after all this time? Harry had believed Clark was dealing well with the situation; he'd gone to the Academy to learn magic himself, after all!

Clark's expression softened. "Harry, I think it's for the best," he said. "You're a wizard after all, not a Kryptonian."

"What difference does that make —" Kara began, but Harry made a gesture for her not to say anything.

"When you find a way," Harry told him. "I'll give them back to you, if that's what you want."

Clark appeared mollified by this. "Things will work out, Harry — you'll see."

"Sure," Harry agreed, but on the inside his thoughts were a raging confusion of doubt, betrayal, and anger. "Is there anything else?"

"Well…" Now Clark actually looked a bit sheepish. "I hope you and your friends will be able to stay for Christmas. Mom said that was your plan."

"Yeah," Harry said, in a flat tone. He wanted nothing more than to run from this place, now, but he wasn't going to abandon Kara. And it would be hard to explain to his friends why he wanted to leave. And where, exactly, could he go, except back to the Burrow, or Hogwarts? "Yeah, we'll stay." He glanced at Kara, who gave him a look of helplessness. She didn't like this anymore than he did, but she wasn't prepared to defy her older cousin, no matter how unreasonable he was being. Something, Harry felt, wasn't right about how Clark was acting. But he had no idea at the moment how to approach Clark about it. He would have to bide his time, watch Clark, and see what else he did that was outside the norm for him.

=ooo=

Azkaban was not quite like Lex Luthor expected. In some ways it was better than regular prison — the food was better than prison food in the States, if much more British than he preferred. He didn't have to worry about being shanked, either — each prisoner was confined to his own cell. And the guards were human, not the dementors that he'd heard about. From what the guards were sayimg (Luthor caught snatches of conversation as they passed by on routine inspections) when the dementors were here, there were an average of five deaths a month, either self-inflicted from depression and loneliness, or the dementors would weaken a prisoner past the point of return, and they simply stopped functioning. Now, it seemed, the death rate was down to a death every few months, and was usually self-inflicted.

On the other hand… Lex looked around his small cell, measuring perhaps 12 feet by 12 feet. The only contact with the outside world was through a small hole in the door, one that the guards sometimes left open, or sometimes shut, leaving him in darkness. Three times a day a tray of food and drink would appear, and Lex had an hour to eat before the tray disappeared again — he'd learned that the hard way, when he first came here, and had gone hungry until the next mealtime.

The cell was barely livable, at least by Luthor's current standards, which included gourmet meals and a warm, soft bed at night, plus access to the Internet and his own vast library. There was a cot covered with a ragged blanket, and a commode that emptied itself (magically, Luthor thought sardonically) once a day. He'd learned to time his bowel movements to just before it emptied, so he didn't have to endure the stench for any length of time.

And — no visitors. At least, none he cared to see. Aurors would enter the cell every so often, rousting him from sleep to supervise his shaving or other hair grooming (not that he had much hair to groom). Luthor got the impression this was a recent change to the routine at the prison — the Aurors usually looked annoyed at having to watch as Luthor shaved, with a "safety razor," for his own and the Auror's protection. He generally took his time, to annoy the Auror even more. His attempts at banter were generally greeted with stony silence, but every so often he'd get a comment such as, "Just shut up and shave, Muggle," or "Hurry up, I don't have all day to babysit you."

But those opportunities came only every other week or so — Luthor had just had his first experience with them, and any chance he thought he had at gaining the guards' confidence was dashed by their oh!-so-professional demeanor and their disdain for him. But there still might be a way out of this mess…

Luthor had heard that some prisoners, especially long time ones, were given "trustee" status. They provided meals for the other prisoners, working in the kitchen, or worked as janitors, sweeping up the corridor floors. They also passed brooms to the prisoners through the hole in the door every other day, so they could sweep up their cells. Luthor had resisted doing this at first, finding it humiliating, but eventually he did it just to have something to do other than sitting on his cot. He also had an idea about how he could get out of here, if he could get one of the trustees to talk to him for a few minutes.

The day before Christmas (Luthor had been keeping track of the days — what else was there to do in here?) he got his opportunity. The peekhole in the door suddenly opened, and the handle of a broom was thrust through it. "Here," a voice on the outside said. "Sweep your cell."

"Thanks," Luthor said, walking over to the door and slowly pulling the broom through. "I didn't catch your name."

"I didna give it," the man replied, with a Scottish accent. "But it's Tarquin, if ye must know." He sounded as eager to give his name as Luthor was to hear it. "An' who might you be, laddie?"

"I'm Lex," Luthor said, in a friendly tone. "How long have you been here, Tarquin?" he asked, still pulling the broom slowly toward him.

"I dinna know, exactly," Tarquin said, after a moment. "A long time, before those bloody spooks came here." The dementors, Luthor surmised. "Yeh know, laddie," the Scotsman remarked, diffidently, "we're not 'sposed to talk to the other prisoners."

"What's the harm?" Luthor asked. "There's nothing I can do to get out, and neither can you."

"Aye…" Tarquin did not sound too happy with that fact.

"How long are you in for?" Luthor asked solicitously.

"Fifty years!" Tarquin answered. "Fifty bloody years, just for teaching a stupid Muggle a lesson in proper behavior!"

"What did this Muggle do?" Luthor inquired.

"Oh, he was so high an' mighty, that one was!" Tarquin answered. "Refused me offer of tea, he did — said I was just some ignorant Scotsman! Well I showed him who was ignorant, aye!"

"Fifty years sounds like a pretty harsh sentence for something like that," Luthor noted. "Especially since the Obliviators could have fixed him so he would not remember anything."

"That's what I said, at mah trial!" Tarquin agreed. "But they didna want to hear it. I think the bloody Ministry just wanted me out of the way — I was quite the thorn in their sides back then."

"How so?" Luthor asked solicitously, building rapport between himself and Tarquin.

"I advocated for Muggle rights," Tarquin said. I wanted them to make Muggle-baiting a criminal offense. Dumbledore was on my side, but they only made it an 'actionable offense,' not a criminal one. I'm sure some of purebloods influenced the decision, hang them!"

"What would you do," Luthor asked, "If you could get out of this place?"

Tarquin snorted, not quite a laugh. "I'd find a hole an' hide myself in it, so deep the bloody Aurors would never find me! But that's not gonna happen, laddie — the only people 'oo've escaped Azkaban were Death Eaters, when You-Know-Who came an' busted them out. The rest of us he left here to rot."

"What if I told you," Luthor said, slowly, "that I could make a wand for you, one you'd be able to use to escape?"

"I'd say yeh was daft, laddie," Tarquin said matter-of-factly. "Yer just a Muggle — oh I know about you! Bloody travesty of justice, I say — they don't give a bloody fig for Muggles at the Ministry, no matter what they say about l'avin' them alone! You ain't got the magic to even cast a spell, much less a wandmaker's skill."

"You might be surprised," Luthor said. He had pulled the broom through the hole, and now he put his face close to the opening. If you get me a piece of wood, a bit of magical material, and a thin, sharp piece of metal I can make you a wand."

"Not bloody likely," Tarquin scoffed, but he hadn't walked away yet. "Even if I could get you those items."

"You're a trustee," Luthor pointed out. "You can probably get at least two of those items on your own. And about the magical material — well, I'm sure you could get one of the more 'privileged' inmates here to arrange something." In spite of the breakouts the previous summer, which Luthor had heard about before coming to Azkaban itself, there were still a few purebloods on the inside, and they were able to make arrangements with some of the guards, arrangements for better food, for contraband and other desirable items. Prisons were the same all over, Luthor knew.

"Well…" Tarquin sounded hesitant, but finally nodded. "I'll see whut I kin do, laddie. Now get sweeping, ye've only got that broom fer an hour." The wizard moved away from the door of Luthor's cell.

Luthor began sweeping, whistling a happy tune as he did so. The first part of his objective was accomplished — getting someone in the prison on his side. Now, he just had to hope that Tarquin would be motivated to get him the materials he'd need to make a wand.

=ooo=

Christmas morning found Harry staring silently at the ceiling of his room, listening to Ron snore. So many things were spinning through his mind — Kara, his problem with Ginny, the strange conversation with Clark, and his decision to leave the Academy. Hell, it was easier back when the only thing he had to worry about was Voldemort trying to kill him!

He glanced at the old, windup clock ticking away on a nearby bedside table. It read 2:47 in the morning. It would be at least four more hours before anyone else was up — he knew Mrs. Kent would have breakfast ready at seven a.m. At the rate time was passing for him; well, Harry was not happy at the prospect of waiting for breakfast. He needed to do something now.

Getting out of the room was simple — Harry teleported out of the room, reappearing several hundred feet in the air over the Kent farm. There was a light snow coming down, and Harry saw that nearly everything below him was covered in it. He let his flying power take him upward, moving through and above the clouds that were over the area. The tops of the clouds easily visible to Harry even in the pale moonlight, were like a surreal landscape to him.

What was he going to do? He still hadn't told Ron or Hermione about his decision not the return to the Academy. He'd teleported a letter to Professor Potter informing of that fact, and the professor had sent back a very heartfelt letter imploring Harry to reconsider, but his mind was made up. He doubted that the professor would understand, anyway — he had read nearly every book in the Library's vast collection. With the magical power he'd gained in the Dark Dimension, along with Clea's training him with her own repertoire of spells, Harry felt that, even if Clark took back his super-powers, he could be a match for any Kryptonian. Except perhaps Clark himself, who'd managed to beat Clea in her own domain.

Maybe it would be for the best to let Clark have his powers back, Harry mused. He had barely stopped to consider how much power he possessed, but he doubted that any wizard alive could match him now, except for Clark. Did he really need all that power? Harry drifted above the clouds for some time, pondering his choices and their ramifications.

After a while he glanced at his watch. It was several minutes before seven, and Mrs. Kent would have breakfast ready. Time had passed quickly while his mind was occupied. Harry looked down through the clouds and into the kitchen, confirming his thoughts — Mrs. Kent was there, frying up pans of bacon and sausage, and making eggs over easy. Another skillet was filled with hash browns. He shifted his gaze to his room, where Ron lay sleeping. But even as he watched, he saw Ron's nostrils flare as he smelled the aromas coming from the kitchen downstairs. He began to stretch and—

—Harry instantly teleported into his bed, quickly pulling the covers over himself as Ron rolled over in mid-stretch and looked at him. "Happy Christmas, Harry!" he said, grinning.

"Happy Christmas, Ron," Harry said, making himself sound as if he'd just awakened.

Ron sat up. "Something sure smells good," he said, inhaling deeply. He looked over at Harry again. "So, how does Christmas work over here?"

Harry knew what he meant. In Britain, their presents were usually piled at the foot of their beds on Christmas morning. But when they'd returned from Smallville after the commotion with Supergirl had calmed down and they'd finished their shopping, Mrs. Kent had insisted they put their presents beneath the Christmas tree that was now set up in the living room. "I guess we'll all go downstairs and open the presents."

"Before or after breakfast?" Ron wanted to know, rubbing his stomach.

Harry shrugged. He had no idea what Mrs. Kent would want them to do. "I guess we'll find out when we go downstairs."

They both got dressed, choosing jeans, pullover shirts and trainers to wear that morning, and padded down the stairs to the kitchen. Mrs. Kent glanced at them as they entered. "Good morning, boys. Hungry?"

"Yes ma'am!" both Harry and Ron said at the same time, then grinned at one another.

"Well, have a seat," she said, pointing to the kitchen table. "I'll make you both a plate." The plate she presented Ron and Harry with was filled with fried eggs, sausage and bacon strips, and hash browns. A moment later a smaller plate with toast stacked high on it was placed on the table as well, along with a butter tray and glasses of cold milk.

"You know," Ron said, looking at Harry. "Pumpkin juice would go really well with this."

Harry was about to retort but Mrs. Kent just laughed. "I'm afraid pumpkins are out of season right now, Ron. Otherwise I'd have a try at making some for you."

"Oh, it's okay," Ron said, picking up his glass of milk and draining half of it in three gulps. "Milk tastes good, too."

Hermione came into the room, looking a little bleary. Mrs. Kent noticed and asked, "How did you sleep, dear?"

"Okay," Hermione said, sitting down between Ron and Harry. "We were just up late talking."

"I heard," Martha said, with a smile. "I'm in the room just below yours, and I heard you talking for quite some time."

Hermione turned red. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Mrs. Kent! I didn't mean to keep you awake!"

Martha set a plate of food in front of her. "Tush, don't worry about it, dear. It's nice to hear children in the house. Clark was always such a quiet boy — he never had friends over, I'm afraid to say." Harry could surmise the reason for this: with his powers, Clark might have done something to give them, and himself, away. Harry could only guess at the problems Clark had faced at school — keeping himself isolated from the other students, not letting anyone get close to him for fear of revealing his powers. At least Harry had his friends, even if he was the "Boy Who Lived," for a time at Hogwarts. His popularity had risen and fallen over his five years at Hogwarts; he'd been both a hero and an outcast, sometimes both more than once during the year. But he'd muddled through, somehow, until the day he'd returned to Privet Drive after fifth year and saw the meteor that turned out to be Clark's spaceship returning to Earth. He'd barely thought of the Dursleys since then. That was one thing Clark did have — parents who cared for him and loved him, even if he wasn't their biological child.

Ginny appeared and took a seat between Hermione and Harry. She appeared in good spirits this morning, tucking into her breakfast plate with a gusto that approached Ron's. Harry caught her shooting glances at him, and she smiled at him. Harry smiled back automatically, wondering once again what she was thinking.

A few minutes later Linda appeared. "Good morning, dear," Mrs. Kent greeted her. "I was beginning to worry about you."

"Sorry, I was taking a shower," Linda said. She looked at the table; the only chair left was between Ron and Hermione. She sat down, then looked at Ron and said, "Merry Christmas, Ron."

"Merry Christmas," Ron replied automatically. His ears turned a bit red. "Uh, I got you a present," he added, taking a quick glance at Hermione to see her reaction.

Hermione stared evenly at him as Linda smiled. "Why thank you, Ron! That was very sweet of you." Harry had his hand over his mouth, hiding his grin. Ron was his usual befuddled self when a girl talked to him. At the Academy, he'd begun to notice girls but always from afar — actually talking to one, up close and personal, made him tongue-tied. When he did manage to say something to a girl, it was almost always lame, and the girl would usually lose whatever interest she'd had in him.

"Uh, yeah," Ron said, then looked back his plate, and held it toward Mrs. Kent. "Uh, could I have some more eggs, please?"

"Of course, dear," Martha took the plate and began cooking a couple more eggs.

"So," Hermione said, looking at Harry and ignoring Ron. "When do we open our presents?"

Harry spread his hands. "Beats me," he said. "I've never had Christmas over here, either."

Martha turned from the cooking eggs. "We can do it as soon as everyone finishes breakfast," she said.

"Are we waiting for Clark?" Harry wanted to know. He hadn't come down to breakfast yet, as far as Harry knew. Harry hoped that he'd be in a better mood than during the confrontation between him and Kara.

"He's out doing a few chores around the farm for me," Martha replied. "But he said he'd be back before we're done opening presents."

Linda finally pushed her plate away, and the group made their way into the living room, seating themselves in various chairs and the sofa there. Ginny, as the youngest, was elected to hand out the presents from under the tree.

There were quite a few under the tree, Harry saw. This Christmas would be interesting in that, since they had no access to magical stores, all the presents would be Muggle in nature. Over the years he'd gotten some interesting presents for Christmas, both Muggle and magical in nature. His old guardians, the Dursleys, had sent him a 50-pence piece his first year at Hogwarts. Other Christmas presents from them had been equally uncomplimentary, when they bothered to send anything.

But he'd gotten some good presents as well, mostly from his friends. Hermione had given him a luxury quill one year. Hagrid had given him a furry brown wallet, with fangs, that could only be opened if you knew the trick to doing so (which was to stroke the wallet's crease). Ron had given him a big box of Every-Flavor Beans one year, and the book Flying with the Cannons some years before. Harry smiled, remembering that Ron had asked to read the book before Harry even opened it. Fred and George gave him the Marauder's Map one year during a Hogsmeade weekend, telling him it was an "early Christmas present." That, and his father's Invisibility Cloak, which Professor Dumbledore had returned to him his first year at Hogwarts, were his most prized possessions. His godfather, Sirius Black, had given him a pocketknife that could open any lock and undo any knot (except the locks in the Ministry, which Harry found out when one door destroyed the knife).

Harry was brought out of his reverie when Ginny thrust a present into his hand. "This is from me to you," she said, smiling.

"Uh, thanks," Harry said, looking at the present uncertainly. Other people were opening their presents as well. Linda was looking at the present Ron had given her: a pen and stationery set. She smiled at him, and Ron beamed happily.

Hermione was opening the preset Harry had gotten for her, a copy of the book To Kill a Mockingbird. "Oh, thank you, Harry!" she said to him. "I've been meaning to read this book — I've just never had time to get to it!" She looked at him a bit suspiciously. "How did you know?"

"Magic," Harry said, with a grin. Saying that had become a joke with them.

Ron opened Harry's present to him: a Swiss Army knife with several attachments, including a corkscrew, a bottle opener, a can opener, and two blades, large and small. His eyes lit up as he opened the box containing the knife. "Whoa!" Ron said. "This is brilliant! Thanks, Harry!"

Harry nodded, smiling, then glanced toward Linda as she opened his present to her. It was a gold necklace with a large crystal pendant hanging from it. "Wow," she said, looking at him with affection. "Very nice, Harry, thank you!" Harry would tell her later that he had created it magically: the chain was 24-karat gold, magically hardened so it was unbreakable; the "crystal" pendant was actually diamond, which Harry had formed from a lump of coal with his super-strength.

Harry was still holding Ginny's present. "Aren't you going to open it?" Ginny asked him.

"Oh. Yeah," Harry said, pulling the wrapping off. There was a small box inside; opening it, Harry found a pair of sunglasses, similar to the kind Aurors used when interacting with Muggles. "Thanks, Ginny."

"You're very welcome," Ginny said, smiling at him. She looked at Linda. "What did you get Harry for Christmas, Linda?" Harry noted the cattiness in her voice. There were no more presents under the tree, and none of the ones in front of Harry had Linda's name on them on the "From" tag.

"Well," Linda said, pushing her glasses up on her nose. "I do have something for Harry — I just forgot to put it under the tree. Here, Harry." Linda handed him a small, wrapped package. Smiling, Harry tore open the wrapping and opened the box.

Inside was a bracelet with a nameplate. On the nameplate was Harry's full name, Harry James Potter, written in cursive script. "Oooo," Hermione breathed, taking the bracelet from Harry's hand to admire it. "This is a nice present, Linda!"

"I hope you like it, Harry," Linda said, smiling at him affectionately.

Hermione looked at the back of the bracelet. "Huh," she said, frowning. "The back has some kind of weird markings on it." She turned it around to show Harry.

Harry looked at the markings. He knew what they were, though he said nothing. The "markings" was the name "Kara Zor-El" written in Kryptonian, which Harry had learned from Linda during her visits with him at the Academy.

"That is weird," Harry agreed, taking the bracelet back from Hermione. "But it's still a very nice present. Thank you, Linda." Linda smiled at him. Harry could almost feel the heat of Ginny's anger radiating from her — she was not happy that Linda's gift had gotten more praise than hers.

After all the presents had been opened came the task of cleaning up the piles of wrapping paper and ribbons. Mrs. Kent started to pick up piles of paper, but Hermione stopped her, saying, "Don't worry, Mrs. Kent — we'll take care of it."

"Thank you, dear," Martha said, gratefully. "I'll go check on our dinner." She left the room.

"All right," Hermione said, rubbing her hands together. "Let's see what we can do about this mess." She gestured toward the room in general. The piles of wrapping paper and ribbons began to move, swirling around and sparkling as they began to reform into rolls. The ribbons wound themselves onto ribbon dispensers. Adhesive tape used to wrap the presents vanished, leaving the rolls of wrapping paper and ribbons pristine and looking unused.

"There!" Hermione said. "Now Mrs. Kent will have enough wrapping paper for a long time."

Harry nodded, impressed with the magic displayed by his friend. It was done wandlessly, and though Reparo was normally used to fix broken objects, it would not have been able to restore the volume of used paper to its original condition. "Nice work, Hermione," he said, complimenting her.

"That was brilliant!" Ron added. "Can you show me that spell?"

Hermione, always eager to show off her spell knowledge, began instructing Ron in the use of the spell. Ginny, interested as well, listened as Hermione described the verbal and somatic components.

At that moment Harry's super-hearing picked up a tiny click, like the sound of a bolt locking into place. He glanced at the door to Clark's room; he'd gotten the impression that the sound had come from that door. The others were still talking, so Harry wandered over to the door. It was still impervious to his super-vision. Harry knocked, very softly, on the door.

"Come in," Clark's voice said, and Harry stepped into the room at super-speed, moving so quickly that only Kara might have noticed him entering.

Clark's study was impressive. It was much bigger than the structure of the house allowed for — Clark must have used Extension Charms to make it bigger. It had to be big, to make room for the shelves and shelves of books. They lined the walls of the room, thousands of books. Harry glanced at some of the titles on the spines; there were books on every facet of science as well as books on magic, some of which Harry didn't remember from the Academy Library.

Clark was sitting at a large magnificently polished wooden desk, situated opposite the door. There was a computer monitor on one side of the desk, along with a keyboard and mouse. Also on the desk, Harry saw, was the Eye of Agamotto and the Orb of Agamotto, both sealed in some kind of crystalline bubbles and resting in holders. In front of the desk were two comfortable-looking chairs, both facing the desk. Kara and Harry had used them when Clark went on his rant the other day, but Harry had been too distracted to notice the other details of the room until now.

The Eye and the Orb were still with Clark. Harry digested that. He'd thought that Clark was going to give them back to Dr. Strange, but evidently he had not yet done that. Did Clark want to remain the Sorcerer Supreme of both the Dark Dimension and Earth? It was the only explanation Harry could fathom for Clark continuing to hold onto the powerful artifacts.

Clark was studying the computer monitor in front of him, looking very pensive. Harry stood just inside the door for several seconds before Clark spoke. "Have a seat, Harry." Harry approached, taking one of the chairs (the one he had used before). "What can I do for you?"

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, bluntly.

Clark looked at him, his expression one of mild surprise. "Of course I'm alright. What makes you ask, Harry?"

"Well, er —" Harry wasn't quite sure how to approach this conversation, if Clark didn't recognize that his behavior was strange. "Well, don't you think you treated Kara rather badly after she stopped those bank robbers?"

Clark sighed. "Harry, I think it was great that she wants to get out there and save people. But she has to be aware of how powerful she is, and how much potential danger anyone around her is in if she can't handle her powers effectively. Doesn't that sound reasonable to you?"

"Ye-e-es," Harry said, slowly. "But — she is handling her powers effectively. The robbers inside the bank were unconscious because she tapped a series of nerves that knocked them out. None of them were treated for blows. The robber in the car was handled the same way once she got him out of the car."

"Harry, I don't want to hear any more," Clark said, almost sounding angry with Harry. "This matter is between me and her, you don't need to interfere."

"What about you and me, then?" Harry asked. "Why do you want all of your powers back from me?"

"It's a matter of keeping the Kryptonian blood line pure," Clark replied. "Somehow, our DNA was intermingled by the combination of kryptonite exposure and electrical current from the lightning. I want to restore my Kryptonian bloodline to its original form.

Harry could barely believe what he was hearing. "Blood purity?" he said, incredulously. "Really? Clark, that kind of thinking comes from Death Eaters and pureblood wizards!"

Clark shook his head. "That's entirely different," he said, flatly. "Pureblood wizards seem to want to eradicate half-bloods and Muggle-borns. All I want is what I was born with."

"Fine," Harry said. If truth be told, he liked having super-powers, and didn't want to give them up. But Clark had a point — they weren't really his powers; they had been leeched from Clark by the accident that mixed up their abilities. "Let me know when you find a way, and I'll let you have them."

"I appreciate that, Harry," Clark told him. Harry stood; he wanted to get out of this room, to get away from Clark. He didn't know him anymore. The way was treating Harry and the way he'd treated Kara, his own cousin, was strange.

But as much as Harry wanted to get away, something compelled him to be polite. "Are you going to join us in opening presents, or for Christmas dinner?"

"I've already opened my presents early this morning," Clark said. "I'll try to be there for dinner, but I have a lot of research to do on the powers problem."

"Okay," Harry said, turning away. "See you." He went to the door and slipped through it, hoping no one had noticed him leaving Clark's den.

Outside the door, Harry stood pondering the Clark he'd seen in the past few days. Something had changed him, of that Harry was sure. But what? He'd spent time with Chloe Sullivan over the past several weeks — and Chloe was also Dr. Fate. Fate's magic could affect Clark, though why she might make him act that way was inexplicable. Maybe there was something — or someone — else. Dr. Strange, who wanted to be Sorcerer Supreme of Earth once again? Or could Clea be trying to control him somehow? Harry could see Clea doing that, if she was capable, but Clark had banished her to some pocket domain of the Dark Dimension, trapping her there until he decided to release her.

Harry shook his head, trying to dismiss the apprehension he now had about Clark. But it wouldn't budge. He would just have to watch and listen, until he had a better idea of what was going on with his mentor. Harry wished he could get Kara out of this environment; she didn't need to be held back by Clark, just as he, Harry, had been held back by Dumbledore.

Harry was going to have to tell Kara that he wasn't going back to the Academy — and Ron and Hermione, too. He didn't know what his friends would do without him there, but he was going back to England — with Kara as well, if he could convince her. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would let them stay at the Burrow, Harry was sure of that. The only downside was that he would have to deal with Ginny as well — and, he suspected, with Hermione surreptitiously playing matchmaker for him and Ginny, even as pleased as she seemed to be that he and Kara were together.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, clearing his mind of all the worries and troubles that he'd had, and prepared to act as if nothing was wrong in front of his friends. Later, after Christmas dinner, he would pull Ron and Hermione aside and tell them of his decision to return to England instead of going back to the Academy. Clark would just have to come to him if he wanted his powers back.

Author's Note: Please read and review. I am working on the final few chapters of this story, and am interested in hearing what you think of the recent developments. There will be at least four more chapters after this one. Please let me know what loose ends you'd like to see cleared up before the story ends. Should Harry dump Kara and fall in love with Ginny (Just kidding, Cat!)? Does Luthor get his final comeuppance? What the heck is going on with Clark? Where is Voldemort in all this? What about Lois and Lana? Should Casey Anthony make a special guest appearance? (Just kidding, again!)