VERDANT MAGIC

CHAPTER 2:

MOTHER AND SON

Harry Potter had thought he had experienced everything in his short but, in the past four years or so, eventful life. He had had no less than three near-fatal encounters with a psychotic dark wizard who didn't have the decency to die, he had duelled, flown in a car, on broomstick, travelled through fireplaces, faced off a werewolf, got roped into a tournament meant for people older than he was and, of course, could do magic. And now, with Cedric dead and his friends being oddly reticent about contacting him while Voldemort was running around, he thought his year was probably going to get worse.

This situation, though…he wasn't sure what to make of it. One of the most infamous supercriminals of Gotham City was claiming to be his mother. A mother, he had been told, had sacrificed her life to save his own from Voldemort. And yet, he couldn't deny it. In fact, he was wondering how he could have been so blind. The only difference between the photos of Lily Potter and the face of Poison Ivy standing right in front of him was the green skin colour. That, and the fact that Ivy was currently wearing little more than what looked like a leotard made of leaves.

Oh, and standing next to her was Harley Quinn, the infamous paramour of the even more infamous Joker. Complete with a figure-hugging red and black jester suit. And who was currently peering at Harry in what seemed like concern, before she said, "Red, I think you broke him."

"It's a lot to take in, Harley," Ivy said quietly. "I've practically walked up to him and said, 'Hi, I'm your mother, and I'm an infamous supervillain!' I think anyone would be taken aback by that. Especially as he's no doubt wondering why I never came back for him all these years."

After a moment, Harry said, "A Memory Charm?"

"Not exactly. But thanks for even considering that. The truth was…it was basically a high-powered version of a Memory Charm, allowing one to rewrite one's memories from the ground up. Even give a new identity. It's almost like the Fidelius, used for extreme cases of witness protection. It's almost never used, though, with the wizards believing a Fidelius or other magic will suffice. And I had it used against me without my consent. Lily Evans became Pamela Isley, a botanist working in Seattle with Alec Holland under Jason Woodrue. Woodrue's experiments on me didn't undo that spell, but they undid bindings on powers I already had." Poison Ivy looked into Harry's eyes both ruefully and proudly. "Powers you yourself have. Harry…I know you have many questions, but…I want to have your powers awakened first, so that you're ready to have the answers."

Harry had a lot of questions, but one stood out in his mind, a question he wanted answered for years. As Ivy turned to pluck a hypodermic from a kidney dish, he said, "Just one thing. Dumbledore's been evasive about why Voldemort has been after me. I thought you'd know. Can you tell me?"

Ivy considered this, before nodding. "I can tell you that," she said as she filled the syringe from a bottle filled with green liquid. "There was…a prophecy, uttered by a woman by the name of Trelawney. Voldemort heard part of it through one of his spies. In summary, it stated that the one with the power to defeat Voldemort would be born in the dying hours of July. Voldemort would mark that person as his equal, and neither would be able to live while the other survived. There was one other child who fit the prophecy, a boy by the name of Neville Longbottom."

"Neville?!"

"So you know him. Anyway, Voldemort began targeting us, so that's when we went into hiding. Now, I know you're going to ask me what's in this syringe. It's a refined form of the same substances Woodrue injected into me, plus a sedative. You won't go through anywhere as much pain or suffering as I did, Harry. I promise you that. And I refuse to let you die. It'll just break the bonds placed on you."

Harry got the feeling that, whether he wanted to or not, she was going to inject him anyway. And she at least had told him about this prophecy. Trelawney uttering a true prophecy? Dumbledore had claimed that she had uttered two so far, including that one about Pettigrew. Resignedly, he said, "Okay. It can't be any worse than Basilisk venom."

After a moment, Ivy said, quietly, "You and I are going to have a lot of catching up to do, Harry." And with that, she actually kissed the crook of his elbow, before putting the syringe in. He realised she had done that deliberately, because his elbow was now numb, and he couldn't feel the injection. He could feel the sedative, and whatever was in the concoction she had used, beginning to creep through his veins, ice and fire mingling in his blood, until darkness claimed him, a darkness filled with pain and warmth…

"A Basilisk," Ivy hissed as her son fell unconscious. "How the hell did my son end up fighting a Basilisk?!"

"Is that a bad thing, Ivy?" Harley asked.

"A Basilisk is a massive snake with venom even more lethal than anything I secrete from my lips. I'm surprised it didn't get rid of his bindings. Or maybe it did, and the old wether put them back. The only cure for Basilisk venom poisoning are Phoenix tears. I know Dumbledore has a Phoenix as a familiar…or a slave. Of course, getting bitten is one thing. If you look into a Basilisk's eyes, you die, unless you're lucky to see it either in a reflection or through some other means like a lens. Then you only get petrified."

"Wow. Y'know, imagine Killer Croc having somethin' like that."

"Thank you, Harley. I was getting tired of being able to sleep soundly at night." Ivy sighed. "I'm going to have to pay Zatanna a visit, see if she has anything to tell me about what's been happening in Magical Britain for the last little while, particularly from when Harry first attended Hogwarts."

"You sure, Red? I mean, she's probably gonna try to take you in," Harley said.

"Then I'll ask her for the location of the nearest magical enclave," Ivy said. "Gotham probably has an equivalent to Diagon. They probably deal more openly here than in Magical Britain. I thought the Yanks were even more closed-up than we were, but I guess in Gotham, it'll be more lax. I mean, you've got a man running around dressed as a bat, another man dressed as a clown, you've got a witch operating overtly in the Justice League, and so many strange people in and around Gotham. And that's without going into Metropolis or some of those other cities. Actually, scratch Zatanna. There's two people who would know where the local enclave is that we can trust more than her."

"Who?"

"Nygma may know. So too may Cobblepot. They've got connections and know where to find these things. I'll call Nygma up first. He owes me for not feeding him to Seymour after that insult he made." Ivy then walked out of the infirmary, and over to a phone. She dialled a special number, and waited.

After a while, the familiar smug, haughty tones of Edward Nashton, aka Edward 'Riddler' Nygma, came down the line. "Hi, you've reached the voicemail of the Riddler. Please, don't leave a message after the tone unless it's actually interesting. Kthanxbye."

Ivy growled quietly, before saying, "Listen to me, Nygma. This is Ivy, and if you're listening, you had better answer my call very soon, or Merlin help me, I will use my plants to make you the unwilling star of a botanical-themed tentacle hentai."

Almost immediately, the Riddler picked up the phone. Clearly, he had been screening his calls. "Well, you've gotten my attention, Pamela, and not just because of the threat. Because while I know that's your voice, I also noticed you are speaking with a British accent. It sounds a little Northern, actually. And you just said 'Merlin help me'. Now, while the magical world does not interest me that much, I have a niece who is a British witch, and I know they all but revere Merlin as a deity in Britain's magical society."

Ivy blinked. "You have a niece who is a witch?"

"Yes, but you didn't call up to talk about her, Pamela. You called me up for some reason. Well? What does Poison Ivy want with the Riddler?"

"Information. If you know about the magical world, that makes it easier. Where's the nearest magical enclave?"

"Ah, straight to the point. Well, normally I charge a hefty fee for my services, or else deliver them as a riddle…but I guess I can cut you a break. To mend bridges after our last encounter. Kovurt Alley isn't the best of locations, but you'd be right at home there. Most of us would, by all accounts. I hear Scarecrow sometimes goes there to get ingredients to put into his fear poisons. I went there once, to satisfy my curiosity, and to buy some books. The entrance is in Crime Alley, right near where the Waynes got shot. You tap the memorial plaque with the 'shave and a haircut' riff, so I am told. Just don't be there when Bruce Wayne pays his respects. He gets a bit tetchy over people trampling over where his parents got shot."

Ivy scoffed. Since her memories and faculties as Lily Evans had returned, she had a few ideas of her own about Bruce Wayne. "Thank you, Nygma. Consider the debt you incurred with your insult repaid."

"Very well, but a word of advice, Pamela. They're not that fond of what they call 'No-Majs', that is, people without magic like you or me. Or maybe it's just me, given you swearing by Merlin's name."

"No-Maj is the Yank term for what we call Muggles back in Britain. It's short for 'No Magic'," Ivy said. "And I'll be fine. Goodbye, Nygma." She hung up.

"You're not headin' there now, are you, Red?" Harley asked.

"No. I want to wait until Harry's out of danger first. It'll be at least a day before he's ready, if not more." She watched as beads of sweat broke out on his face. "Few metamorphoses are painless, at least initially. You and I both know that, Harley. But my son needs to get stronger if he needs to face his enemies. Enemies that make the Batman pale by comparison. At least he's honest about what he does."

"Uh, Red, he beats the crap outta people like you and me while wearin' a mask. That don't sound very honest to me."

"True, but his agenda isn't hidden. He's a vigilante who works outside the law. He's honest in that regard. All he hides is his face and public identity. But Voldemort wants supreme power, and he doesn't care about blood purity, save that it gives him an agenda. He treats mages and Muggles with contempt equally. And Dumbledore…he cloaks his own ambitions in righteousness. A chessmaster, a spider at the centre of a web, playing with the lives of others as he sees fit. He played with my life, and he played with Harry's. I will end them both, Dumbledore and Voldemort."

Suddenly, Harry convulsed, crying out even when unconscious. He began to spasm, and then, a cloud of black smoke emanated from his scar, screaming. Ivy thought that it seemed to form a face briefly, the all-too-familiar ophidian face of Voldemort. "Uhh, Red, did I just see living smoke come from your boy's scar?" Harley asked.

"You did," Ivy said. She looked at Harry, who was too still, no pulse or breathing. Immediately, she began performing resuscitation on him, breathing air into his lungs, and pumping his chest. EAR and CPR. Harley, after a moment, began performing the CPR while Ivy did the EAR. Both were qualified in first aid, with Harley having been taught it as part of her training at Arkham Asylum, back when she was an employee rather than an inmate.

It's an interesting fact that CPR is not 100% reliable, or even has the high success rate portrayed in fiction. Indeed, used without any medical equipment to supplement the resuscitation, the actual success rate is surprisingly low. It is, of course, better than doing nothing(1). But Harry showed that he was one of the lucky ones. After a few minutes, Harry's heart began beating on its own. He began to breathe again. His skin was beginning to take on a slight green pallor, but Ivy knew that that was because the serum was working. "Son of a bitch," Ivy muttered. "I think I know what that thing was."

"Whaddya mean, Ivy?"

"While I was fighting Voldemort all those years ago, I researched ways he could have become immortal, as he was infamous for desiring it. Even then, I had heard of the Lazarus Pits Ra's al Ghul uses. And there's the Elixir of Life, said to be the sole creation of Nicholas Flamel using the Philosopher's Stone. But I think Voldemort has used something else. That was a fragment of his soul, Harley. You ever heard of the tale of Koschei the Deathless?"

Harley frowned. After a moment, she said, "Whaddya know, I think I do. That's the Russian folktale about the guy who put his soul into a needle, and hid it away in a lotta things, right?"

"Right. I believe it was based on rumours about what Horcruxes are. A Horcrux is a soul fragment you split from your own soul. You undergo a vile ritual first, then commit murder, and then put part of your soul into an object that is then called a Horcrux. If your body dies, then as long as there's at least one Horcrux around, you'll survive as a spirit."

"And Voldemort made your kid into one? Yeesh."

"No, I don't think he did that on purpose. I reckon he would have used my son's death to create a Horcrux, but not Harry himself. I wouldn't put it past Voldemort to make multiple Horcruxes. He wanted to be more immortal than Solomon Grundy or Ra's al Ghul. Maybe he made so many, what was left of his soul was unstable enough so that, when he tried to kill Harry, the backlash shattered his soul and caused part of it to reside within my son."

"Yeah, I gotta ask you, Red, you've only told me so much about Voldemort and Dumbledore. I gotta lot of questions."

"So will my son," Ivy said. "I'll explain it when he wakes up." She smiled when she saw that the green of his skin was deepening. "Yes…he's very much his mother's child," she said softly, gently reaching over and caressing his cheek. "And soon, we are all going to make our mark on the world…"

CHAPTER 2 ANNOTATIONS:

So, here you have it. Harry's now becoming like Ivy, the Horcrux has been removed, and the Riddler has a niece who is a witch. Explanations will come later.

1. This is actually true. CPR is actually less effective than it is portrayed as being on TV. That being said, using CPR is far better than doing nothing. It can buy time long enough for proper medical intervention to take place. It may not be a miracle cure, but it has saved lives. Learning it is thus not a waste of time.