Harry Wayne and the Batman of Hogwarts
Chapter 32-A Stitch in Time Saves Neville
Later that night, after sitting up with Neville, Harry finally fell asleep. While he slept, strange thoughts went through his mind. He began to see things happening differently than they had during the day. He thought back to when he was entangled in the vines, watching what had happened to Neville and his dad. Instead of seeing the mysterious figure save Neville, he saw Neville die just like his nightmare had predicted the night before. He woke up in a cold sweat. When he looked over towards Neville's bed, Neville wasn't there.
He woke up Harvey and asked him if he had seen Neville. Harvey looked at him strangely. "You know exactly what happened to Neville. You were the one who told us all what happened. You said you were tangled up in vines when you witnessed Neville and his father's death."
Harry shook his head in disbelief. "That's not what happened. Neville lived. I saw it!"
Harry remembered Ivy being there, so he grabbed his Cloak of Shadows, snuck into Slytherin, and woke her up. After trying to get her to admit to sabotaging him, Ivy told him she didn't know what he was talking about and then told him to leave her alone before she reported him for sneaking into her dorm.
"You lie!" he declared, nearly waking up Ivy's other roommates.
"I swear to you, Harry, I have no idea of what you're talking about," she repeated. "We all feel sorry for what happened to Neville today. But there isn't anything anyone can do about it. He's gone. Now... please go. Before you get caught."
Harry was utterly perplexed. He couldn't figure out what was going on. He knew exactly what he saw. Finally, he realized the only thing he could do was sneak into Hermione's quarters and seek out her magical Time-Turner. He then used the Time-Turner to go back to the moment he had seen Neville about to die. He wanted to go back further, but the Time-Turner showed him he could only go back seven hours, which was exactly when Neville had died.
In a rush against time, Harry threw his Cloak of Shadows over his shoulders and turned the clocks back as far as it would allow. Harry then emerged from a magical portal just as the towering masked man was about to kill Neville.
The battle that unfolded was unlike anything Harry had ever experienced. The masked man loomed over him, his muscular frame exuding an aura of raw power and menace. His eyes, barely visible through the slits of his mask, burned with cold determination. He swung a massive, enchanted blade, its edge glowing with a faint, sickly green light. Harry barely dodged, the weapon slicing through the air with a sound that made his skin crawl.
Harry retaliated with a flurry of spells, his wand movements precise and desperate. Stunners and Blasting Hexes lit up the dark forest, but the masked man seemed almost impervious. He moved with a calculated grace, deflecting Harry's spells with a magical shield embedded in his gauntlet. The force of his counters sent shockwaves through the ground, knocking Harry off balance.
Gritting his teeth, Harry summoned all his courage. "You won't touch him!" he shouted, sending a powerful Expelliarmus towards the masked man. The spell connected, causing the man to stumble slightly, but it wasn't enough to disarm him. Instead, the man let out a guttural growl and charged at Harry, his blade raised high.
Thinking quickly, Harry ducked under the swing and cast a Conjunctivitis Curse, aiming for the man's eyes. This time, the masked man faltered, clutching at his face as the curse took effect. Seizing the opportunity, Harry summoned a nearby fallen tree branch, animating it to wrap around the man's legs and immobilize him. But the man's strength was beyond anything Harry anticipated; with a roar, he shattered the wooden restraints as if they were twigs.
As the fight dragged on, Harry realized brute force wouldn't be enough. He needed to out-think his opponent. Spotting the river's edge, he cast an Aguamenti spell, directing a torrent of water at the man's feet. The ground became slick, and the masked man slipped, crashing onto one knee. Harry followed up with a powerful Stunning Spell, the impact finally forcing the man to drop his weapon.
The masked man growled, his voice deep and distorted. "This isn't over, boy."
Before Harry could respond, the man slammed his fist into the ground, creating a shockwave of dark energy that sent Harry flying backward. By the time Harry regained his footing, the man had retreated into the shadows of the forest, his figure disappearing into the gloom.
Harry looked beyond the river and saw his past self entangled in vines before going back into the time portal. That's when it dawned on him. He realised the enigmatic, cloaked rescuer of Neville was himself, time-traveling via the Time-Turner.
Exhausted but relieved, Harry made his way back to his dorm room. As he opened the door, he stopped in his tracks, his heart pounding. Neville was there, sleeping soundly in his bed, his chest rising and falling peacefully. Harry let out a shaky breath, tears of relief prickling his eyes.
Slipping into his own bed, Harry couldn't shake the feeling of unreality. He had done it—he had saved Neville. But the lingering questions about the masked man and why it had all happened refused to let him rest. For now, though, Neville was alive, and that was enough.
As Harry stared at the ceiling, his mind returned to the towering masked man. Who was he, and why had he targeted Neville and his father? There had to be more to it than what Harry had witnessed. He thought back to the man's cold, deliberate movements, the sheer brutality he had displayed. It wasn't random—it felt personal. But what connection could Neville and his father possibly have to someone like that? Harry's thoughts spiraled, the questions piling on top of one another. The image of the masked man's piercing gaze burned in his memory. Whoever he was, Harry knew he wasn't finished. And neither was Harry's search for answers.
Flashback: Bane of Azrael
Deep within the dark, foreboding walls of Nurmengard, the wizarding prison infamous for its unbreakable wards, a young man sat in the shadows of his cell. His name was Bane, though the guards rarely used it—they preferred to call him "the curse's spawn." He had been sent there as a child, accused of crimes his father had committed. Bane grew up in that cold, unforgiving place, his body and spirit molded by years of isolation and the harsh cruelty of the prison keepers.
One day, the sound of footsteps broke the monotonous hum of despair echoing through the stone corridors. A figure emerged, cloaked in green and black, with piercing eyes that seemed to cut through the dim light. It was Tom Nygma, known to just a few as the Riddler. He walked with a confident air, his staff tapping rhythmically against the ground as he approached Bane's cell.
"Bane," Nygma said, his voice smooth as silk, "Do you know why you're here?"
Bane stared at him, his massive hands clenched into fists. "Because the world is unjust," he growled. "Because they needed someone to blame."
Nygma smirked. "Not quite. You're here because of Azrael."
The name hung in the air, unfamiliar yet heavy with significance. Bane's brow furrowed. "Who is Azrael?"
"Not a who," Nygma corrected, "but a what. Azrael is a spirit—a warrior of divine vengeance. A being that inhabits hosts, granting them strength and purpose. And one of its hosts was a man you might have heard of: Frank Longbottom. Neville Longbottom's father."
Bane's eyes narrowed, his mind racing. "What does that have to do with me?"
Nygma leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It was Azrael who exposed your father's plans to incite a revolution. Azrael who ensured he was captured and executed. And it was Neville's father who wielded that power."
Rage flickered in Bane's eyes, the years of anger and pain bubbling to the surface. "Then they're the reason I'm here."
"Exactly," Nygma said, his grin widening. "But I can help you. I can free you from this prison. All I ask in return is that you do something for me."
Bane stood, his imposing frame towering over the Riddler despite the cell's cramped confines. "What do you want?"
"Simple," Nygma replied, his tone casual but his eyes gleaming with intensity. "Kill Neville Longbottom and his father. Erase Azrael's line from existence."
For a moment, Bane was silent, his massive fists trembling with barely contained fury. Then he nodded. "If you get me out of here, I'll do it."
Nygma stepped back, raising his staff. A series of intricate runes glowed along its length as he chanted under his breath. The wards on Bane's cell dissolved, the magical chains that bound him shattering into sparks of light. The door creaked open, and Bane stepped out, his chains falling to the floor with a resounding clang.
"Good," Nygma said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Let's begin."
And so, the towering masked man was unleashed upon the world, his path of vengeance set in motion by the cunning words of the Riddler.
Present Day
Bane stormed into the dimly lit chamber, his heavy footsteps reverberating off the stone walls. The room was filled with the eerie glow of green torches, their flames flickering ominously. At the far end of the room stood the Riddler, his staff in hand, the runes along its length pulsing with a faint, rhythmic light.
"I failed," Bane growled, his voice a mixture of fury and frustration. "The boy's father is dead, but Neville Longbottom lives."
The Riddler turned slowly, a sly smile curling his lips. "Failed? Oh, my dear Bane, you've done no such thing."
Bane's brow furrowed, his fists clenching. "What do you mean? The mission was to kill them both."
"And you will," Riddler said, his tone calm yet laced with intrigue. "But first, you've provided me with something far more valuable: a glimpse of Harry Wayne's true power."
Bane's confusion turned to curiosity as Riddler approached him, the staff's light intensifying. "Witnessing Harry's potential was part of the plan," Riddler continued. "Now, it's time to prepare you for the next phase."
Riddler raised his staff, chanting an incantation in a language older than Nurmengard itself. Bane's body began to glow with an otherworldly light, his muscles bulging, his veins coursing with raw magical energy. He roared as the venomous transformation took hold, his already imposing frame becoming even more formidable.
When the light subsided, Bane stood taller, his presence even more menacing. He flexed his hands, feeling the immense power coursing through him. "What now?" he rumbled.
Riddler's grin widened. "Now, we set our sights on the ultimate goal: the resurrection of Ra's al Ghul."
Bane tilted his head, intrigued. "And how do we do that?"
"It's quite simple," Riddler said, his voice dripping with malice. "We'll need three things: a bone from Ra's al Ghul's grave, the flesh of Langstrom Pettigrew, and the blood of Harry Wayne. But before we extract his blood, Harry must suffer. He must endure pain unlike anything he's ever known. Only then will his sacrifice have the power we require. People know him as the boy who lived, but soon they will know him as the boy Bane broke!"
Bane nodded, a sinister smile spreading across his face. "Then let the suffering begin."
The following morning was shrouded in somber silence as the students gathered to watch Neville leave. His grandmother had arrived early, her face set in a mask of grief as she packed Neville's belongings into a car. The sight of him, pale and solemn, standing next to her was almost unbearable. His classmates, many of whom had known Neville for years, stood at a distance, their faces marked with sadness and unease.
Harry, standing among them, couldn't shake the heaviness in his chest. As Neville prepared to step into the car, Harry pushed through the crowd, his steps urgent. He reached the window just before it closed, motioning for Neville to roll it down.
"Neville," Harry said, his voice firm despite the lump in his throat. "I swear to you—I won't let your father's death be in vain. I'll find out why this happened, and I'll make sure it doesn't happen to anyone else."
Neville's eyes, glassy with unshed tears, met Harry's. He nodded once, the smallest flicker of gratitude breaking through his grief. "Thank you, Harry," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
The car pulled away, its wheels crunching on the gravel path. Harry stood there, watching until it disappeared from view, the weight of his promise settling heavily on his shoulders.
Later that morning, the students gathered in the Great Hall, the atmosphere still thick with the previous day's tragedy. Dumbledore rose from his seat at the head table, his expression grave as he addressed the room.
"Despite the recent events, the Goblet of Fire has decided that the Triwizard Tournament will continue," he announced, his voice carrying over the murmurs of disbelief and anger that rippled through the hall.
Harry shot to his feet, his hands slamming against the table. "What? After everything that's happened? Who decided this?"
Dumbledore's gaze fell on Harry, a hint of regret in his eyes. "The decision was made by the council overseeing the tournament."
"And who was it on this council that made the decision?" Harry pressed, his voice edged with defiance.
Dumbledore hesitated, then answered, "Barty Strange Jr."
The name sent a chill down Harry's spine. He sank back into his seat, his mind racing. Something about this decision felt wrong—calculated. He clenched his fists under the table, a surge of determination rising within him. Whatever was happening, he was going to uncover the truth.
To be continued…