Ugh, I know I've made a few stabs at this story, ones which frustratingly went nowhere. I'm sorry, and if this one doesn't work out, it might not get published. Still, this one seems most promising from a plot and character interaction standpoint.

Like the previous attempt, it's a Batman: Arkham Asylum crossover with a Harry/Poison Ivy/Harley pairing set after Hogwarts. However, this Harry is considerably more jaded and angsty. Why? Well, if I recall correctly, this will be the first time I actually do a werewolf Harry story. I've done stories where he's Remus Lupin's son with Lily, true, but not ones where Harry is a werewolf proper. As for the title, well, it kind of wrote itself, didn't it?

WOLFSBANE

CHAPTER 1:

MONSTERS

Doctor Pamela Lilian Isley, aka the supervillain known as Poison Ivy, botanist, toxicologist and ecoterrorist, was staring death in the face.

She was being escorted between her containment cell in the Penitentiary building and the Medical Facility in the miniature air-conditioned plexiglass coffin when it happened. She had already heard tales and rumours over the last couple of months, to say nothing of a piercing howling that occasionally rang through the air on the night of the full moon. Rumours spread of a new inmate, albeit one who only voluntarily committed himself, someone whom Sharp and Boles loathed, but who was on good terms with the likes of Dr Young. Pamela despised Young, true, but she was at least more tolerable than that pompous ass Sharp and that corrupt dipsomaniac Boles.

But she was now seeing the truth behind the rumours. A massive, burly beast, covered in glossy black fur, with a lupine head. Emerald eyes shone with a baleful light as the beast loped towards her. A werewolf. An honest-to-Gaia werewolf was coming for her.

Her surprise was rather minimal. Considering that within Arkham's walls alone, there was a man made of living clay, another who was basically a walking, talking crocodile, and, well, there was her, a werewolf shouldn't surprise her that much. Plus, Metropolis had an alien in blue spandex and a cape fighting crime.

Her escorts had run for safety, leaving her behind. She couldn't blame them. Well, actually, she could, but she could understand their response. She had scores of deaths to her name, and even if they felt altruistic enough to help a fellow human being, many didn't consider her human anyway. She didn't consider herself human these days.

The werewolf snarled, and picked up the coffin she was in. She couldn't open it from the inside, of course, for security reasons. But the werewolf hurled it at a nearby wall, causing the plastic to shatter. Thankfully, she didn't, but the wind was knocked from her, and she had to shake the stars from her vision, only to be greeted with the werewolf's muzzle in her face.

In desperation, she turned to the one weapon she had for such a close encounter. It only worked on males, true, but it was all she had, especially as there were no plants nearby she could influence, not in such a short period of time, anyway. In other words, she resorted to her pheromones.

The moment she exuded them, there was a marked change in the werewolf's behaviour. The growls ceased. "Good boy," she purred, putting on a façade of composure she honestly didn't feel at the moment. "Now…heel."

At this, the werewolf snarled, hot breath blasting her face. And then, incredibly, it spoke, its voice a deep, dark growl. Reminded her of the Batman if he was a monster instead of a man in an armoured Halloween costume, and had a British accent. "I am not your dog, Poison Ivy. Now…what did you just do to me?"

Pamela didn't know it, but this brush with death would lead her to an unlikely alliance, and an even more unlikely friendship. A pair of monsters, scorned by society. And perhaps strange bedfellows…

Two and a half months ago…

Harry looked up at the wrought iron sign above the gates as they drove through. Arkham Asylum, they said. They looked ominous. He remembered reading about the verse said to be written above the Gates of Hell in that copy of Inferno by Dante Aligheri Hermione had badgered him into reading. At the end of a long verse, it read, Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here.

To tell the truth, he wasn't sure this was the best idea. He'd been pestered into coming to the United States by Hermione. A friend and colleague of hers that she had corresponded with while she was getting her degrees was, apparently, someone he could trust with this. She'd do it herself, but she had her own problems in Britain. Then again, he had more. He scratched the bitemark, currently hidden by a sleeve, absently as he thought back to that day…

She'd found him hungover, a half-finished suicide note on the table. She'd dragged him to the shower, cleaned him up, and then had Winky cook him breakfast. He'd complained rather loudly and rather viciously at her interfering in his life, especially as she hadn't made much of an appearance in it lately. True, they had corresponded, until his collapsing psyche and increasing shut-in tendencies had him break off things. That was months ago.

And now, here she was lecturing him. "…A bloody shame," she was saying. "The Boy Who Lived, the Man Who Conquered, wasting away in self-pity and self-loathing."

"Shut up," Harry snapped. "You don't know what it's like to be…"

"Hated and despised for something beyond my control? Of course I do, Harry James Potter!" Hermione snapped back. "For these idiots, it's because I was born to two Muggles, my parents, who, thanks to my trying to protect them, we're not even on speaking terms anymore! And for you, well, it was Fenrir Greyback's last, spiteful gesture at the Battle of Hogwarts. We're both outcasts."

"…Yeah, but I'm the one who turns into an uncontrollable monster once a month."

"Not if you heard Ron say anything about it. He doesn't know how to hold his tongue. It's why we parted ways. I hear he's with Hannah Abbot now."

"…I don't want to hear about it. Ginny didn't want to even take a chance with me, and most of the Weasleys don't want me anywhere near their house. Oh, they're so polite about it, but in truth, they're not much different from other Purebloods, not wanting a werewolf in the family, anywhere near them. George is the only one I'm on civil terms with…if I wanted to talk to anyone. Luna's just about the only other one I can talk to without it descending into a shouting match. Even Andy doesn't want me near Teddy. So…that's Magical Britain for you. I should have stayed dead. Because of Fenrir Greyback's last fuck you to me, I'm a pariah to the place I saved."

"…Harry, I care. I really do. Which is why I want to tell you about someone I met. For my doctorate, I did research into unusual conditions. I actually did research into what most people call metahumans. There's a line of thought amongst the Unspeakables that Metahumans and magicals are actually not that different from each other, though that's obviously an unpopular line of thought here. My PhD dissertation was actually based on a study of a man called Dr Victor Fries."

"…Victor Fries? Why does that name sound familiar?"

"It's because he's also one of the Batman's foes, known to the press as Mr Freeze these days," Hermione said. "I was trying to find out how the accident with a cryogenic liquid caused the condition Dr Fries currently suffers from. His body is unable to survive in what we'd think of as normal temperatures. He needs either a room that's at freezing temperatures, or a special life-support suit, to survive. During my studies, I was helped by a number of the staff at Arkham Asylum, but during the last few months of my research, I was especially helped by Dr Penelope Young."

"Hermione, I don't like where this is going," Harry said in a dangerous tone. "Are you suggesting that I cart myself off to Arkham Asylum to get put into a padded cell?"

"Harry, please let me explain. Firstly, don't be ridiculous. You are not insane, just understandably depressed and angry. Secondly, any confinement would only occur on nights of the full moon. Thirdly, and most importantly, I actually brought up your case with Dr Young, and she wants to help. I didn't say your name, I just brought up your condition. And yes, I checked with MACUSA before I did so. The moment I said I was in Gotham City, they agreed to a qualified exception to the Statute of Secrecy. A werewolf in Gotham would barely raise an eyebrow, let alone a wizard. Harry…Dr Young wants to help you. Current legislation prevents any wizard or witch into researching further treatments or cures into lycanthropy in Britain, or else I'd do it myself. But Gotham City is in the United States, and Dr Young is a Muggle. And MACUSA is eager to get one over on the British. Not that their track record is much better, but still…Harry…you can't keep going on like this. We need to do something about your situation, something more constructive than…well, this."

They had argued back and forth for some time, but Harry had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that Hermione had a point. Arkham Asylum had facilities that could contain a werewolf, he didn't need to commit himself to Arkham on a full-time basis, and as much as many jokes were made about Arkham's security, it apparently had been recently upgraded.

The main reason he resisted was because Arkham Asylum was meant for villains and criminals and crazy people. He was none of the above. Well, actually, that was the main excuse he had made up. In truth, after the vilification that he had received in Britain, after all that trouble he went to save them, well, a combination of misanthropy and apathy afflicted him. He didn't really care what happened to himself anymore.

Maybe it was all that trauma built up over his life that had made his psyche one big mass of scar tissue. The Dursleys enslaving him, Dumbledore basically turning him into a child soldier, Snape's abuse…Harry being infected with lycanthropy was merely the capstone. The only reason he hadn't committed suicide was, well, spite. He didn't want to give his enemies the satisfaction of hounding him into an early grave, though he had veered close to the edge more than a dozen times.

The taxi soon came to a stop, and after paying the driver, Harry made his way to a guardhouse. He was soon signed in, and a guard called Cash escorted him through the complex. The dark-skinned man had a rather hard face, and also had a hook in place of one of his hands.

"So, I'm curious, why are you coming here, Mr Potter?" Cash asked.

"…I have a condition, a rather…exotic one, Officer Cash. And please don't call me Mr Potter, my teachers called me that all the time, including one I despised. Call me Harry."

"…Then call me Cash. And what sort of condition?"

"A dangerous one. I'm sorry, I don't feel comfortable sharing that with you yet. I'm only here because a friend of mine recommended Dr Young."

"Oh, right, that Hermione girl. I remember her. Nice girl, smart as anything. She actually got along pretty well with Freeze. That guy doesn't like to talk to people much. Can't blame him. He got royally shafted. But your friend, she managed to draw him out of his shell. She mentioned you a couple of times, said you got royally shafted by the people back in Britain. But…I just need to know, Harry…this condition, is it going to be a danger to me and my colleagues?"

"Hopefully not. Anyway, I'm not fully decided as to whether I want to go through with this," Harry said. "It feels like I'm just…in the wrong place here. I mean, you have all those infamous supercriminals around, like the Joker, Scarecrow, Killer Croc, Poison Ivy…but I'm not insane. I'm just dangerous under the wrong circumstances."

"Hey, that's what Arkham is for, Harry. Now, I probably sound too much like one of our commercials, but we do have facilities for those who aren't batshit crazy or monsters. We get more than a few voluntary patients who haven't committed any crime, who just want treatment. Not everyone here is a supervillain or a killer. And Dr Young? Well, there's times when she's a bit full of herself and a pain in the rear, but she's a good person, and I'm sure she'll help you. Besides, at least you want to help yourself. You ever hear the joke about how many shrinks it takes to change a lightbulb? One, but the lightbulb has to want to change."

Harry chuckled bleakly. "…I don't think it's as simple as that."

"Harry, you can't be anywhere near as bad as the animal who made a meal of my hand. See this hook? That's a souvenir from Killer Croc. Dr Whistler thinks he can be rehabilitated. I don't think so, and Croc certainly doesn't seem to want to change. You? Well, you're all right from what I can tell, though I'm no shrink."

"My problem isn't a psychological one, Cash. It's something else entirely…"

Harry and Cash did enter into a conversation about the various supercriminals incarcerated there, before they reached the old Arkham Mansion, which was where the main admin work occurred, as well as the office of Dr Young was situated, though she was currently absent. The room was lined with X-rays, notes, and all kinds of paraphernalia. However, what drew his eyes was the black, skull-like mask.

Suddenly, from behind them, he heard a rather imperious woman's voice say, "Black Mask, aka Roman Sionis. Probably one of the lesser criminals of Gotham, if only because he has no metahuman abilities, and is really little more than a mob boss with a gimmick."

Harry whirled to find a rather attractive, dark-haired woman who had come up behind them. He soon recognised her from Hermione's files. "Dr Young, I presume?"

"Yes, Mr Potter. Good afternoon. Cash, should you remain nearby as an escort for later, or do you have other duties? I heard Waylon Jones is undergoing another therapy session today."

Cash scoffed. "The only therapy that animal is getting is electroshock, from that collar we've got on him, Dr Young. I know you wanna cure him and a lot of the people here, but there's a lot of lost causes here."

"If I truly believed that, Cash, I wouldn't be here. Did you need to be there for the transfer?"

"Yeah. Just call security when you need someone to escort Harry here back. See you later, Harry." And with that, Cash left.

Dr Young sighed as she brought him into her office and had him sit down. "Sorry, I have disputes with some of the more experienced guards. I understand their worries, but they're not psychiatrists. Though Cash's attitude towards Waylon Jones is understandable, given that Cash lost a hand to his charge. In any case, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Potter. Your friend Hermione has told me much about you, and probably more than she should have. I swear, those wizards treated me like I was a child at best, calling me a No-Maj while reading me the riot act."

"It's worse in Britain. They call you a…"

"Muggle, yes, I'm well-aware. It sounds like a racial slur, in my opinion," Young said. "So, Mr Potter…"

"Call me Harry, please. I hate being called Mr Potter. I used to be called that by my teachers, including one I despised."

"Ah, yes, I believe Hermione told me about that one. Severus Snape, I believe. A brilliant potion-maker, but an appalling excuse of a human being and a terrorist who escaped conviction because of connections. Sadly, Gotham, especially before the Batman came along, wasn't much better, and for all that I wonder about how he encourages these people, Gotham is a somewhat better place after his crusade in some regards, I will admit. Very well, Harry. Now, let's discuss your condition. While I cannot guarantee that I can cure you, I will promise to give your case as much time and effort as I can. Hermione told me that you were one of the best men she ever knew, trapped by the prejudice and bigotry of the wizards. So, let's discuss the problem…"

CHAPTER 1 ANNOTATIONS:

So, there you have it. A werewolf Harry has come to Gotham on Hermione's advice. Let's hope he doesn't regret it…

No numbered annotations this time.