Harry Wayne and the Batman of Hogwarts
Chapter 28: The Knight Before Christmas

Christmas heavy snowflakes fell in quiet, swirling patterns as Harry Wayne stood at the edge of the driveway, staring at the Cobblepot family house in the distance. The air was bitterly cold, more than usual for a December evening, and Harry had to shove his hands deep into his pockets to ward off the chill. It wasn't just the temperature that made him feel uneasy; it was the oppressive feeling of returning to a place he had always found uncomfortable and, now, even more so.

The house loomed in front of him, a large, looming structure with windows that seemed to watch him with suspicion, as though the house itself knew he didn't belong there. He hadn't planned on returning home, not really. But Christmas was a time for family, and even though his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had grown suspicious of him after the bizarre transformations that had occurred to Dudley, he couldn't avoid them forever.

His fist clenched around the handle of his suitcase. He had hoped that, perhaps, with Dudley still in his penguin form, there might be a moment of peace. But as Harry stepped onto the cobblestone path leading to the front door, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open.

Vernon Cobblepot was standing there, arms crossed, looking both frustrated and resigned. His graying hair was slightly mussed, his face pinched in irritation. "Harry, you're late," he grumbled, the words sharp in his throat.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Vernon. The train was delayed," Harry said, trying his best to sound apologetic. The last thing he needed was to irritate the man further.

"Don't start," Vernon said, stepping aside to let him in. "I don't know why you insist on dragging your nonsense with you every time. But it's Christmas. We don't need more drama."

Harry followed Vernon inside, noting how quiet the house felt. There was a tense stillness in the air, as if everyone was walking on eggshells.

Petunia Cobblepot was in the kitchen, wiping down the counters with a cloth. She barely looked up as Harry entered the room. "You're here. Good. I suppose dinner will be cold now."

"Sorry, Aunt Petunia," Harry said with a small shrug, taking a seat at the table. The room smelled faintly of roast turkey, but the tension in the air made it hard to enjoy.

"It's fine," Petunia muttered, though her tone was less than kind. "You can apologize by not causing any more trouble for us."

Harry winced at the words. The last few visits had been filled with awkward silences, uncomfortable conversations, and barely veiled accusations. He couldn't blame them entirely. They didn't understand, couldn't possibly understand what had happened to him or why things had turned out the way they had. But still, he wished for just a few moments of normalcy—just a few hours where he didn't have to worry about his powers or the constant battle for control over them.

"Where's Dudley?" Harry asked, unable to avoid the question.

Vernon's face twisted in annoyance. "He's upstairs. We're not happy about the way things have turned out, but there's nothing to be done about it. He's not exactly... himself anymore."

Harry nodded silently, feeling a twinge of guilt. It had been his fault, after all. He had been the one to trigger the curse that had sent Dudley into his current penguin-like state. But as much as Harry hated it, there was nothing he could do about it now.

The sound of a car door slamming shut interrupted Harry's thoughts. He glanced out the window and saw a familiar black sedan pulling into the driveway.

"That's Marge," Petunia said, her voice laced with irritation. "She's staying with us for Christmas."

Harry didn't need to be told twice. His Aunt Marge's arrival meant only one thing: an increase in the insults and venom that were usually hurled his way. He braced himself for her arrival, hoping that the visit wouldn't be as unbearable as the last.

The door swung open, and in walked Marge, her loud, brash voice filling the room. She was a large woman, her graying hair piled high in a beehive, and her tight, ill-fitting clothing only added to her imposing presence.

"Well, well, well," Marge said, her eyes scanning Harry with exaggerated scrutiny. "If it isn't Harry Wayne, the troublemaker. You still causing trouble, boy?"

"Not today, Aunt Marge," Harry said, trying to sound as neutral as possible.

She gave him a look of complete disdain. "I still don't know why your parents ever had you. You're nothing but a nuisance."

Harry's hand clenched around the edge of the chair. He hated how much Marge could get under his skin with just a few words. But he had learned over the years to hold his tongue. It wasn't worth arguing. Not now.

As Marge continued to berate him, Harry's mind wandered. The last few months had been filled with increasingly strange and dangerous occurrences. The strange powers that he had come into contact with, the manipulations by Nygma, and the recent trials with Hermione, Harvey and Ginny had all been swirling in his mind like a storm he couldn't escape.

He just wanted to forget it all for a moment.

But as Marge began ranting again, something inside him snapped. He could feel his anger boiling over, threatening to spill out.

"I'm not a troublemaker," Harry said, his voice low but steady. "And I don't appreciate the way you talk about me."

Marge smirked. "Oh, so now you're standing up for yourself, are you? How cute."

That was the final straw. Harry's hand shot out, and with a flick of his wrist, he muttered an incantation under his breath. A wave of magic rippled through the air.

The room seemed to hold its breath. Marge froze for a moment, her eyes widening in surprise. Then, with a loud, startled gasp, she began to float.

"What—what's happening?" Marge screeched as she rose higher and higher, her feet leaving the ground.

Harry's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't meant to cause this. His spell had been intended to get her to stop insulting him, to force her to leave him alone. But instead, it had caused her to levitate—first a few inches, then a foot, then more.

"Harry!" Vernon shouted from the other room. "What are you doing?"

But Harry was too horrified by what was happening to answer. Marge's shrill screams filled the air as she continued to float, panicking.

"I can't stop it!" Harry shouted, his wand shaking in his hand as he tried to undo the spell. But it was too late. In her panic, Marge flew straight out the open window with a crash.

Harry's breath caught in his throat as he rushed to the window, peering out into the night. He could just make out her flailing form as she floated further and further away into the snowy sky.

He had no idea what to do. This had gone far beyond what he had intended.

The first blast of winter air hit Harry Wayne like a slap as he stepped out into the frigid night. His breath puffed out in thick clouds, and the world seemed wrapped in a soft, eerie silence. It was as if the night itself had swallowed the sounds of the world, leaving only the occasional rustle of branches in the wind and the distant hum of a city that didn't care about his problems. He couldn't shake the tension in his chest from the confrontation with Aunt Marge. Of all the people who could've visited, why did it have to be her?

In his frustration, he hadn't thought to grab the Belt of Chiroptera before leaving Hogwarts, the one item that usually kept him grounded. It had always helped him when things got out of control, but he'd left it behind, hoping for a sense of normalcy—just for once. He should've known better. Normalcy was an illusion.

A sudden thought made him look up at the night sky, hoping to steady his nerves. Instead, the cold wind whipped through his hair, and he could hear the distant sound of thunder—an ominous rumble. Before he had time to react, a flash of purple lights blinded him for an instant, followed by the screeching sound of tires. A massive purple double-decker bus appeared out of nowhere, careening down the street at an alarming speed, nearly skidding off the road.

Harry barely had time to react. With a wave of his arm, instinctively trying to summon any means of escape, the bus screeched to a halt right in front of him, a massive cloud of dust and steam enveloping him. He blinked, momentarily blinded by the bright, flashing lights that adorned the front of the bus.

Before he could fully process what had just happened, the doors swung open with a great creak, and a disheveled, plump conductor stood in the doorway, grinning broadly.

"Night, mate! You look like you could use a lift," the conductor said, his voice booming above the engine's noise. "Knight Bus! Emergency transportation for wizards in distress!"

Harry froze. "Uh… what just happened?" he stammered.

"Just get in, lad! It'll save you the walk," the conductor insisted, his hand waving toward the bus's interior. "Nothing to worry about! Fastest ride in the wizarding world. We'll get you where you need to go in no time."

Harry hesitated for a moment, glancing back toward the house, wondering if he should just try to make things right with the Dursleys. But something in him pushed the thought aside. Maybe it was because he felt completely out of control. Or maybe he just needed a break from everything. Either way, he didn't need to be at the mercy of people like Aunt Marge.

Reluctantly, Harry climbed aboard the bus. The interior was like nothing he had ever seen. The seats were stacked in a haphazard fashion, each row crammed together like mismatched furniture in an odd jumble. The floor beneath him vibrated as though the bus itself was powered by something unholy—something driven by an engine that had no business being in the magical world.

Before he could sit down, a shrill voice cut through the noise. "Oi! Watch out! You're in my seat!"

Harry turned toward the voice, startled to find a small, blonde-haired man sitting in one of the cramped chairs. His oversized glasses made him look like a confused bug, and he was clutching a bag of what appeared to be floating snacks. They bounced around in midair, bobbing as though caught in some sort of invisible breeze. Harry hadn't seen magic quite like this before.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, quickly moving to the back of the bus. There, he found a seat near the window that looked somewhat less chaotic.

The doors slammed shut behind him with a finality that almost felt personal, and the bus roared back to life, jerking Harry forward against the seatbelt as it shot into motion.

The bus shot down the streets at breakneck speed, so fast that Harry's stomach lurched with every sudden turn. The buildings blurred past him, twisting and contorting like something out of a nightmare. The windows rattled, and the faint smell of burnt rubber mixed with a strange, unidentifiable aroma that was only enhanced by the slight scent of wet dog. Harry was so stunned by the speed of the bus that he barely had time to take in his surroundings.

The other passengers on the bus—some of them wearing robes that were a bit too big for them—chatted loudly, seemingly unfazed by the chaos. Harry noticed a few witches in the corner, laughing over what seemed to be some sort of card game, while a man in the front was enthusiastically discussing a bizarre conspiracy theory about a magical plot to turn all wizards into penguins. Harry didn't know whether he should be relieved that these people had it together or terrified that they were somehow more comfortable with this ride than he was.

With a loud, ear-splitting screech, the bus made a sharp turn down a narrow alley, and Harry almost felt his heart stop. "Oi, hold on!" shouted the conductor, "We're almost there!"

Before Harry could process what was happening, the bus came to an abrupt stop, its front doors opening with a jolt. The noise of the bus faded as Harry was nearly thrown forward in his seat.

"We're here, mate," the conductor called cheerfully, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Leaky Cauldron. Home sweet home for any wizard in need."

Harry quickly gathered himself, shakily getting to his feet. The door swung open, and he hesitated for a moment before stepping out onto the cold cobblestone streets of London. The Leaky Cauldron loomed in front of him—its rickety exterior a familiar, comforting sight.

He didn't know what he expected, but when he stepped through the door of the Leaky Cauldron, the warmth and the low hum of conversation didn't quite offer the refuge he was hoping for. The usual, friendly faces were absent tonight, replaced by shadowy figures who lingered in the corners of the room. A couple of old witches muttered quietly to each other as they sipped at their drinks. The air was thick with mystery. Harry felt out of place.

Before he could even sit at one of the tables, the familiar voice of Tom, the innkeeper, rang out.

"Harry Wayne! It's good to see you, lad! Quite a ride you had, eh?" Tom said, his voice warm and welcoming.

"Yeah, you could say that," Harry replied, glancing back over his shoulder at the door.

The man sitting at the counter, who appeared to be reading a parchment, raised his head slightly, catching Harry's attention. A middle-aged man with scruffy white hair and an expression that hinted at years of experience in the magical world. He had a distinct aura about him—a quiet authority that immediately caught Harry's attention. The man's eyes narrowed as they met Harry's.

"Harry Wayne," the man said with a slight smile, "I'm Cornelius Fridge. I've been waiting for you."

Harry stiffened. "Waiting for me? How did you—?"

Cornelius stood up, placing the parchment down and stepping toward him. "I'm here to help you with the situation you just left behind. You might not realize it, but your little 'incident' with your aunt is... quite complicated."

"What do you mean?"

Cornelius' smile never wavered. "I intercepted your aunt, Marge. The spell you put on her—well, let's just say it's more of a mess than you realize. You used helium, yes? Condensing it with your magic in an unexpected way. I can help, but it's not going to be easy."

Harry blinked. "So... what do you want me to do?"

Cornelius paused before answering, his eyes thoughtful. "I'll handle it, young man. You need to return to Hogwarts, as planned. I'll take care of the rest." He gave Harry a wink and turned to the side. "Now, sit down. We've got to talk."

Harry hesitated but complied, taking a seat at the counter. Cornelius settled into the chair next to him, his gaze now serious.

"Now," Cornelius said, lowering his voice, "there's something more you need to know. There's a matter of great importance regarding Sionis Black."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. "Sionis Black? You mean... my godfather?"

Cornelius nodded, his expression darkening. "He's escaped Arkham Asylum. And we believe he has ties to your parents' deaths. It's more complicated than you might think, Harry. Sionis Black isn't just some criminal on the run—he's a key player in a much larger game. A game that's only just beginning."

Harry felt his blood run cold. "I need to find him. I need to know what he knows."

Cornelius raised an eyebrow. "You're not the only one searching for answers, but be careful. Sionis is dangerous. If he's involved in the death of your parents, you'll need more than just your wits to handle him. The truth you seek will not be easy to find."

Harry stood up, his resolve firming. "I'll take my chances."

Cornelius smiled knowingly. "I thought you might. Good luck, Harry. You're going to need it."

Before Harry could say another word, he turned and left the Leaky Cauldron, heading into the unknown. His quest for answers was just beginning—and the night ahead would change everything.

To be continued….