Terminal Justice: Chapter 5

Disclaimer: This is a cross between JLA (Season 5) and Rorscharch’s Blot’s Make A Wish Story.

Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling and various publishers. Henchgirl, The Professor, and other such objects are Rorscharch’s creation. DC Comics own the Justice League and associated characters/plot devices. The lack of plot, however, can be attributed to me.

---

An Unusually Powerful Wizard By Any Other Name…

---

“All right, Agent Faraday, I’m listening.  You
said that a detail regarding your last assignment warrants my
attention?”

“Yes, Mr. President,” the secret service agent
replied.  “During the altercation, we were assisted by a
handful of Justice League members, chief among them Ambassador Diana
of Themyscira.  As well as her attendant,” he added.

“And your point is…?” the United States’
leader inquired.

“The attendant is an anomaly,” the agent reported. 
“He introduced himself as Mr. Black, but there is virtually no
information on him, either in their records or ours.  According
to the League’s database, he just showed up a week ago and
‘accidentally’ resolved a hostage situation. 
Apparently, he has joined the League on a trial basis and has been
sent on a couple of missions already.”

“I still don’t see what part of this involves me,”
his superior replied.  “Amanda Waller oversees the
Department of Meta-human Affairs, not I.”

“Yes, sir,” Faraday replied, “I was just getting
to that.  It appears that no one – not even the League’s
inner council – know anything about him.  We have no data
on his origins, abilities, or motivations.  All I have are their
suspicions and my own observations.”  The agent went on to
summarize the reports before informing his superior of the actions at
the Global Warming conference.

“I see…” the President finally said after King
Faraday finished.  “So, we are faced with a possible god –
definitely a supernatural being of some sort – who has no
qualms with using lethal force, and whose powers appear to be
innumerable.  Moreover, for all we know, he might decide
tomorrow that he dislikes this administration enough to warrant its
elimination – and neither the Justice League nor our own
military can stop him?”

“Based on assumptions from the available data… you
are correct, Sir,” Agent Faraday agreed.

“This is unacceptable!” the other man suddenly
shouted.  “I don’t care how old he is, or what power
he possesses.  I will not allow such a potential threat
unrestricted access to this nation.  And what reason on God’s
little green Earth would convince you that selling this man a working
diesel submarine was a good idea?!”

“The vessel has been stripped of all combat equipment. 
We were preparing to scrap her when Mr. Black offered to pay a
premium to purchase the remains – ‘for recreational and
educational purposes’.  It poses no threat, Sir,”
King summarized.  “In fact, my team outfitted the vessel
with a comprehensive tracking system.  Hopefully, this
information will allow us better insight into what his intentions
are.”

The older man took several deep, calming breaths.  “I
apologize for my outburst, Agent Faraday, and I agree with your
reasoning.  Do you know what his first port of call was?”

“No, Sir,” Faraday admitted.  “To the best
of my knowledge, he has not yet sailed the vessel.”

“So he just left the boat behind?” the older man
questioned bewilderedly.

“No, Sir,” the agent said a little more hesitantly. 
“He… pocketed it, Mr. President.”

“Come again?” his commanding officer said lowly.

“The man shrunk the 150 foot vessel down to a six inch model
and placed it in his coat pocket, Sir.”

Silence reigned for the next several seconds in the oval office. 
“I see…” its owner finally mentioned levelly. 
“If that is all?”

King took the hint and quietly dismissed himself, sealing the
Presidential office behind him.

Once he was along, the President reached for his phone and dialed
a number that had received several calls of late.  “Amanda?”
he asked.  “We have a situation.”

---

Batman was just finishing his patrol of Gotham when he heard
Dick’s voice in his communicator.

“Wherever you are, come quickly.  Something happened to
Alfred.”

Upon hearing that, Batman started driving back towards the cave at
a speed that would give anyone certain of his lack of powers second
thoughts.

“What happened?” he inquired on the way.

“No idea.  We came back and found him upstairs pale and
hardly responding.  I left Tim with him and came down to inform
you.  Ambulance is on the way.”

“I’ll be there as soon as possible,” Batman informed
his adopted son.  “Go upstairs in case your assistance is
needed.”

True to his word, in less than two minutes the Caped Crusader was
back in the Batcave.  Stopping only long enough to shed his
costume, Bruce ran up the stone stairs two at a time.

Locating the room housing his second father by following the
stressed voices, Bruce strode to the old man’s side.  “Alfred!” 
Upon a lack of response, his mind hardly registered that he checked
the man’s vital signs.  Pulse was dangerously weak and breathing
shallow.

“Don’t worry, Alfred.  Help is on the way,” he
promised.  As if his words were a signal, the sounds of an
ambulance were heard approaching the manor.

“I’ll get the door!” Tim volunteered.

It seemed to take ages before the medical personal came. 
Bruce listened to the running steps as he held the hand of his
adoptive father.  The trip to the hospital seemed to take even
longer, and the wait for the doctor’s verdict seemed to last an
eternity.

“Mr. Wayne?” an older voice roused his attention.

Bruce jerked his head up to see a gray-haired physician holding a
clipboard.  “Yes?” he demanded urgently.  “Do
you finally know what’s wrong?  Can you help him?  Expense
is not an issue!” Bruce fired off nervously, reading
something in the man’s expression that he didn’t like.

“I’m afraid that this problem cannot be resolved by
any financial means, Mr. Wayne.  Mr. Pennyworth’s malady
stems from his advancing age, and I’m afraid that that
condition simply cannot be treated.”

“Age?” Bruce echoed strangely.

The doctor nodded.  “Yes.  There must have been
slight symptoms – warning signs, of a sort – in recent
weeks, but they would have served no purpose except for informing you
sooner.”

“Informing me of what?” Bruce asked intently.

“That Alfred Pennyworth is dying.  What you witnessed
was the final stage of Macgregor’s Syndrome, and there is no
cure available.”

“Dying?” Bruce uttered duly.  The word somehow
seemed too abstract to fit reality.

“He has only a few hours – perhaps a day – to live,”
the old physician said gently.  “We can’t do anything more
for him.  I’m sorry.”

“There… there has to be something you can do!”
the scion of the Wayne family pleaded.

“I’m afraid that there isn’t.  We have already done
everything we could.  If it is any consolation, we have made his
remaining time in this world peaceful – he won’t suffer. 
You may transport him back to your home if you wish, to pass his
remaining time in more comfortable surroundings.”

Bruce was now paler than the white walls surrounding him. 
“Are you sure there isn’t anything…?” he pleaded
again.

“Mr. Wayne, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but there is
nothing else we humans can do.  One cannot simply buy someone
more life.  When our time comes, we have no choice but to accept
it.  Not even modern medicine can work miracles, and there is no
negotiating with death.”

At that, the Batman’s reportedly stone heart skipped a
beat.  Turning swiftly, he stormed out of hospital while calling
to Dick to arrange the Alfred’s move back to the manor. 
Making his way to an isolated hallway, Bruce dialed the number of a
certain Daily Planet reporter.

“Clark?” Bruce questioned as soon as the connection
was made.

At the other end of the line, the incognito Kryptonian couldn’t
help but pick up on the suppressed strain in his friend’s
voice.  “Bruce? Did something happen?” he
questioned.

“Yes,” Bruce bit out. “Give me the location of
Mr. Black.”

“I’ll get him to the Watchtower.  I should be able to
reach him through Kara.”

---

After an extended field test of the newly re-commissioned USS
Black – extended as in, from the western shore of the United
States to the eastern shore of Japan -, Harry brought the underwater
craft back to the surface and eased up against the Oriental beach. 
Popping the top hatch, the two occupants moved back to dry land
before the wizard recast the shrinking charm and replaced the
re-shrunken vessel within his coat.

“That was so cool!” Kara exclaimed.  “I
didn’t know that the Mariana Trench went that deep!”

Harry made an affirmative noise.  “According to what I
read, if Mount Everest – the highest mountain on Earth – were placed
in the trench, it would be covered by over a mile of water.”

Kara looked at her companion suspiciously.  “I didn’t
think that just any submarine could dive to nearly 36,000 feet.”

Harry ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. 
“Well… I might have… tweaked it a bit,” he
finally admitted.

The blonde girl chuckled slightly.  “I’ll bet you
did, Mr. Black,” she said lowly before stopping with a puzzled
frown.  “You know, I still don’t know your real
name.  I mean, when I’m not wearing the cape, I’m
just ‘Kara’.  Who are you when you’re off the
clock?”

Harry smiled ruefully.  “I’m never ‘off the
clock’.  It is true that I once went by another name, but
that was a lifetime ago.  I was blamed for nearly every bad
thing that happened; I was expected to be a force of nature or a
weapon rather than a person; if I didn’t take steps to disguise
myself in public, I was almost always shunned or mobbed…”

He shook his head sadly.  “I did several things back
then… they weren’t nice, and I didn’t enjoy doing
them, but I don’t regret them either; they were necessary. 
Everything came to a head when I took this one person’s life,
though.  He was an evil creature bent on world domination, and
mass genocide was his answer to everything.  He was so fearsome
that the common people even feared to speak his name, lest they draw
his attention upon themselves.  His power was absolute; every
fighter that went against him, no matter how skilled, failed.”

Harry raised his eyes to Kara’s once more.  “And
I killed him with absolutely no effort.  I raised my hand
against him and all of his power and all of his resources were
useless – not a single attempt that he had taken to strengthen
himself deterred me in the slightest.  It was then, as I looked
down at his lifeless corpse without any feeling whatsoever, that I
had an epiphany.”

The wizard’s emerald eyes seemed to harden even further. 
“I realized that, after all the things I had done, I was as
dead as he was.  So I quit; I left a note for the precious few
people who ever cared about me and I explained that I would be gone
indefinitely and then I left.  The person I was before died that
day; I’ve been Mr. Black – no more and no less – ever since.”

“I’m… sorry,” Kara said softly before
looking away, rubbed at her eyes sharply.

Harry forcibly banished the old – and still painful –
memories to the back of his mind and locked them there.  Forcing
a smile, he laid a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back around to
face him.  “Don’t worry about it.  You didn’t
know, after all.”

The girl smiled brightly – perhaps too brightly –
before a thoughtful expression stole over her face.  “Well,
you can’t go through life with a first name of ‘Mr’,
now can you…?”

Harry thought to inform her that he technically had a first name,
even if it was as irrational as ‘Padamus’, when the
blonde interrupted his thoughts.

“I’ve got it!” she announced.  “How
about… Joe?”

“Joe?” Harry echoed strangely.  ‘Where
on Earth did she get that?’ the mage wondered
bewilderedly.

“Yeah!” she said enthusiastically.  “It
flows really well!  Listen… ‘The name’s
Black.  Joe Black’.  Or how about just ‘Meet
Joe Black’?”

Harry cocked his head to one side.  “Oddly enough, it
does seem to go together,” he thought aloud.

“See!  I told you!” Kara said smugly.

Harry had to chuckle slightly at her attempt to improve his mood. 
“I apologize for ever doubting you,” he announced
humorously.

Kara’s comm. unit suddenly went off, preempting any
rejoinder she had planned to make.  Thanks to his doubly
enhanced hearing, Harry could easily make out Superman’s voice
as he spoke to the blonde Argosian.

“Kara?  Tell Mr. Black that he needs to report to the
Watchtower.  Batman is looking for him and it seems urgent.”

“Sure thing,” Kara replied before shutting off the
device.  “That was Clark.  He said-”

“I heard,” Harry interrupted.  “Thank you
for a wonderful time, Kara.  Shall we go?” he asked.

“Nah,” she finally decided.  “Since it’s
still day time here, I’m got a couple kids to visit.  You
go ahead; I’ll catch up.”

“Ah yes,” Harry said amusedly.  “I forgot
about your avid fan base.  Well then, I won’t keep you any
longer.  Good evening,” he added before Apparating to the
orbiting space station’s teleportation chamber.

The fact that this transportation took place before Kara could
retaliate was completely coincidental.

“You wished to speak with me?” Harry asked
nonchalantly when he spotted the Caped Crusader waiting for him
impatiently.

“It’s a private matter,” the other man said while
steering Harry to the most isolated corner he could find.

“So… what is it?” Harry prompted when the
masked detective seemed to be struggling to say something.

“Listen,” he barked, before making an observable
effort to soften his tone.  “We both know that I take all
you say with a certain dose of skepticism.  But this is the only
chance I have, so I have no alternative but to trust you.”

After such a lead-in, he took a breath to calm down.  “I
don’t know if you’re aware of the fact, but I was raised by my
parent’s butler, Alfred Pennyworth.”

“Yes, after your parents were killed.  You were exiting
a cinema after ‘The Mask of Zorro’ if I remember
correctly,” Harry replied, thinking back to the files he read. 
As anal reten… security conscious as this group seemed to be,
Harry still could not fathom why Superman archived a copy of such an
informative old newspaper article in Batman’s file, especially
protected by the password ‘Kara’ of all things! 
Combined with clues he picked up from the rest of the League’s
dossiers, it was not very difficult to piece together the pieces of
the Batman’s secretive past.

“Yes,” Bruce confirmed uncomfortably, “but now
I’m about to lose a second father…”

Harry did not know what to say and the topic reminded him a bit
too much of his own still-painful loss of Sirius for his liking. 
His expression grew grim.  “And you are telling me this
because…?” he demanded.

“The doctors have said that they can’t do anything further
for Alfred, that none of them have the power to prolong someone’s
natural lifespan like that…”  It was indeed rare to
catch the Batman at a loss for words, but the present circumstances
rendered him precisely that way.  “I was hoping that if
there was any possibility… if you could…”

“Let me think,” Harry responded while reaching into
his pocket, ultimately recovering a small silver hourglass with red
sand.  It was Henchgirl’s idea that he should have a
Philosopher’s Stone with him at all times – ‘just in
case’.  She remained adamant even when he explained that –
as a part-Vampire, part-Werewolf, part-Re’em, part-whatever –
it was doubtful he would ever require the restorative. 
Regardless, the intelligent female insisted that he carry it around
in the inconspicuous hourglass-shaped container, and furthermore
pressed her point by grinding it into powder for easier ingestion.

“You do know that it’s very unwise to interfere
in the matters of life and death, do you not?” Harry finally
asked.

Batman did not answer as his full attention was focused on the
blood red sand slowly slipping downwards in the hourglass.

Harry looked at him, imagining what he would do if there was a
power strong enough to grant Sirius a few more years of life. 
Moreover, considering that the man before him already had an inhuman
number of issues stemming from the loss of his parents…

Harry sighed internally.  ‘Sod the secrecy act!’
he finally decided.  ‘In for a penny, in for a pound!’

“All right,” Harry conceded.  “Take me to
him and I’ll see what I can do.”  Harry grabbed the
chain of the hourglass with one hand while he still held the item
itself with the other and headed towards the teleporter.  After
a few steps, however, he noticed that the other man was not
following.

“Are you planning on programming this thing anytime soon?”
Harry demanded.  “You know, if you feel you need more
time, I can always drop by later on horseback.  It’s up to
you.”

That seemed to get the man moving.  A few seconds later found
both men appearing in the depths of the Batman’s lair. 
Harry followed the sprinting man through the maze of dimly lit
machinery and up a treacherous set of stone stairs to arrive in the
most palatial manor he had ever seen.  Feeling just the
slightest bit inadequate in the posh surrounding, Harry toyed with
his tie as he dogged the other man’s heels.

Two corridors and another staircase later, Harry found himself
entering a room where three young people surrounded the bed of an old
man.  For a second, he just stood there observing the scene –
yet another example of the closely-knit family that he himself had
been denied.  Dismissing the now familiar sense of bitterness at
his own station in life, the wizard decided it was time to take
action.

“Would you mind vacating the room for a few minutes? 
I’ll need to concentrate,” he requested as gently as he
could.

“But… we can’t…” the younger boy
protested.

“Tim, come on!” Bruce ordered.  “Barbara,
Dick, I believe we’d better leave.”

The group complied after sending a few strange looks towards both
Batman and Harry.

When they left, Harry warded the room so as not to be disturbed
and sifted his memories to recall everything Flamel had ever
mentioned about preparing the tincture before setting to work. 
He used most of the ground stone to prepare the elixir, leaving just
a tiny amount in the event of an emergency.  If his calculations
were correct, the potion should give the elderly man an additional
fifteen years.  Perhaps not much in respect to a wizard’s
lifetime, but Harry hoped that it would prove satisfactory to his
elderly Muggle patient.

Finishing the distillation, Harry conjured a goblet and filled it
with the ruby red concoction.  Experimentally, he allowed a few
drops to fall into the man’s mouth.  For a split second, nothing
happened and Harry felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.  Then
– fortunately – the man swallowed.  Pulling the elderly
butler to a half-sitting position, the wizard raised the goblet to
the man’s lips and emptied its contents.  Banishing the used
vessel, Harry laid the man back down and looked on as the Elixir of
Life began to take effect.

---

While Harry was breaking the laws of physics – not to
mention half a dozen Ministry edicts – in the bedroom, Batman
was anxiously pacing in the adjacent hallway.  His mind filling
with the grim possibility of life without Alfred, the world’s
greatest detective could not help but question himself on whether
consulting this… being was a mistake.  After all, it was
only a few short hours ago when he had staunchly opposed those
believing in this Black’s power and now… now, the great
skeptic himself placed his adopted father’s life into the
magician’s hands.

Surely, this was a sign of impending lunacy.

Yet… what choice did he have?  Modern science, the
oh-so-powerful force he had pledged his devotion to for innumerable
years, had failed before they had even begun.  As much as the
scientist in him railed against the concept, the Wayne family scion
could not help but acknowledge that this personage wielded an almost
unholy amount of power.  Moreover, all the Leaguers seemed
convinced as to the man’s identity.  However, could this
supposed ‘Angel of Death’ provide a miracle when none of
his many resources could…?

A voice suddenly cut into his thoughts.

“So… who is this guy again?” his eldest adopted
son, Dick Grayson, inquired.

Bruce looked at Dick speculatively for a moment before making a
decision.  “Perhaps it’s better if you don’t know.”

“But who is he?” Dick pressed.  “Is he some
kind of League doctor?”

Bruce nearly bit his tongue.

Nearly.  He was the Batman, after all.

“No, he most definitely isn’t a doctor,” the man
responded in as even a tone as he could manage.

“Who is he then?” Barbara blurted, finally losing her
patience.

“Let’s just say that he’s someone the doctor advised
me to ask for help,” Bruce dodged.

“The doctors said that nothing could be done,” Tim
piped up.

“The doctors believed that the only thing that could be done
was impossible,” Bruce corrected levelly before sighing
audibly.  “Let us pray that they were mistaken.”

‘I only hope that I wasn’t fooled in my
desperation,’ Bruce added silently.

Just then, the door to the room opened again, rousing the group’s
attention.  They were expecting the unidentified man in the
suit, perhaps bearing news of an improvement in Alfred’s
condition.  What they did not expect was to see one
Alfred Pennyworth striding out of the room – unaided – while looking
healthier than he had in years.

While the three young people crowded around him to express their
happiness in his miraculous recovery, Bruce made his way to the
lurking figure in the doorway.

“Approximately fifteen years,” the wizard whispered. 
“That’s all I could give him.  I could calculate a more
precise time, but I figured that it’s better not to know
sometimes.”

“Thank you.”  It was plainly clear that the man
had a hard time saying that.

Harry just looked over at the celebratory group.  Smiling
sadly at the huddle, the wizard dipped his head in reply and
disappeared as silently as the Batman himself.

Reappearing outside on the well-kept lawn, Harry let his formal
attire dissolve into his typical outdoor cloak and summoned his
ghostly steed.  “I think we should take a look at this
‘Gotham City’ while we’re here, Mortis, just in
case.  Batman will be detained for a while longer,” Harry
said quietly as he mounted.

The stallion whinnied in response before taking to the skies,
bearing his despondent burden towards the sprawling metroplex.

---

After the initial euphoria had died down, Dick’s analytical
mind realized that the man responsible for this wondrous change of
affairs was not present.  Since Bruce seemed content to stay
within three feet of the distinguished gentleman’s gentleman,
Dick took it upon himself to thank their mysterious savior.

Hearing the sound of a nearby horse, he hurried down the stairs
and flung open the doors.  Instead of the loose equines he
expected to find escaping from the stables, however, he froze solid
at a completely unexpected sight.

Looking to the west, Dick Grayson could just barely make out the
receding silhouette of their evening visitor, flying into the night
sky astride a translucent stallion.

All of a sudden, the former acrobat felt very glad that Bruce’s
role as a playboy included maintaining the Wayne family’s wine
cellar.

---

“I… see,” Amanda Waller replied dully after
receiving the distressing news.  “I’ll take care of
it, Sir.”

“See that you do, Amanda,” the President responded. 
“I don’t have to tell you the devastation such a person
could unleash if even half of these stories are true.”

“I understand, Sir.  I’ll start on it
immediately,” the new female Secretary of the Department of
Metahuman Affairs pledged.

“Good.  Keep me informed.”  With that, the
line went dead.

‘Oh, boy!’ the middle-aged woman groaned to
herself.  ‘And I thought that rogue Ultimen were
a headache!’

---

After the three young people had satisfied themselves that Alfred
had indeed recovered, they finally went on their way – leaving
Bruce and Alfred alone.

“Why didn’t you tell us… tell me?” Bruce
demanded.

“A gentleman does not discuss his ailments in public, Master
Bruce,” Alfred answered primly.  “It is
uncivilized.”

Bruce was unable to accept such a defense and pressed the man
further.  “But we could have gotten you a doctor –
the best that money can buy-”

“I had already seen the best doctors, thank you,”
Alfred stated firmly.  “We are each appointed a time to
live and a time to die.  This was my time to die.  However,
I seem to be feeling spryer than I have in years and I have an odd
notion that that you can explain why, Master Bruce.”

“I consulted with your chief physician and he recommended a
specialist.  He, in turn, used an exotic treatment to heal you,”
Bruce answered as evenly as he could manage.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred chastised, “I have known
George Wellington for over forty years, and I have every confidence
in his prognosis.  MacGregor’s Syndrome is terminal, and
my case was rather severe.  He assured me that there was no
cure to be found anywhere.  So I ask again – what did you
do?”

“What I had to, Alfred,” Bruce said darkly, the tones
of the Bat creeping in slightly.  “It was your earlier
observation that gave me the idea, after all.”

“I’ll thank you not to take that tone with me, young
man,” Alfred said sharply.  His frown grew even longer
after he deciphered the other man’s last statement.  “And
I sincerely hope that you are not alluding to that Mr. Black fellow.”

“You were right, Alfred,” Bruce said, not answering
the older man’s question directly.  “He appears to
be precisely who you and the League believed him to be.  Those…
doctors… were of the opinion that there was nothing to be
done, so I got a second opinion.  That is all.”

Alfred shook his head at his charge.  “Master Bruce,
seeking a second opinion is one thing; striking a bargain with the
Grim Reaper himself is quite another matter entirely!”

“What would you have me do, Alfred?!” Bruce demanded. 
“Lose you as well?  I have already buried two parents; I
cannot stand the thought of burying a third!  Modern medicine
failed to cure you so I sought other means, and they worked. 
Your condition is completely healed and you now have a fifteen-year
extension; the fact that I had to… entreat Death to do it is
irrelevant.”

“Oh, my dear boy,” Alfred sighed softly before hugging
the younger man he loved as a son.  “There is no defeat in
death, Master Bruce.  Victory comes in defending what we know is
right while we still live.”

“I just can’t accept that, Alfred, not if there is
something that I can do about it,” Bruce admitted.

“But at what cost, Master Bruce?” Alfred inquired. 
“I sincerely doubt that the Angel of Death accepts credit cards
or cashier’s checks.”

“You are well, Alfred,” Bruce stated again. 
“That is worth any price he could demand.”

Bruce’s pager chose that moment to sound its presence. 
Looking at the display, he read the notice of activity requiring his
attention on the batcomputer.  “Duty calls, old friend,”
Bruce informed the other man unnecessarily before escaping the
embrace and heading for the secreted passageway behind the
grandfather clock.

Bruce Wayne’s life was – for the moment –
stable.  Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Batman’s
world.

---

Harry was flying over the sleeping city trying to sort out his
thoughts.  Though chiefly centered about Sirius – his own
second father -, the wizard’s mind soon drifted to another
tormented man, one who was ready to sacrifice his pride to help his
own second father.  This topic, of course, led to further
ruminations regarding an increasingly confusing subject: his own life
and the sudden isolation he felt appear when the Doctor and Henchgirl
had first theorized a hither-to unconsidered result of the prophecy
regarding him and Voldemort.  Not only was he a combination of
at least three feared ‘dark creatures’ –
unwittingly making him an immortal superhuman hybrid – but his
slaying of the evil wizard bound to him by prophecy introduced a
whole new factor into the equation.

The two women working away at Black Island had stumbled across an
aspect of the prophecy that neither Harry nor Albus had considered
completely by accident.  Ultimately, it was the Doctor that
theorized that – provided the prophecy was valid – if only
Harry could destroy Voldemort, the opposite must also be true. 
Thus, it was that the young wizard learned from a subdued physician
and inventor that the new ‘lease on life’ that he had won
was potentially – a perpetual one.

Needless to say, this small but incontrovertible fact had
tormented him ever since.  He had several good examples proving
that individuals with superhuman powers could still have lives
outside of that role.  Superman was an excellent example; he
could throw on a pair of clear glasses and he was suddenly just one
more member of the herd.  If the rumors could be believed, he
even managed a mostly successful relationship with a completely human
reporter.  Then, there was Diana, who was also immortal, if not
invulnerable.  According to the premiere gossiping news source
known to the rest of the world as Kara Kent, the Amazon Princess had
something of a hit-and-miss relationship with Dark Knight himself.

Harry felt a sudden urge to snort derisively.  Even the
usually emotionless and often fear-inducing Batman had managed
to build a life for himself – even if he refused to acknowledge
the fact.  If such a social misfit as him could ignore
the mortal/immortal divide, what did that mean for Harry’s own
desire for ‘a normal life’?

Assuming that such a thing existed, of course.

As Mortis galloped aimlessly across the sky, Harry’s mind
returned – inevitably, it seemed of late – to a certain
blonde powerhouse who shared a great many maladies with himself. 
She was the last of her kind as well – if you ignored Cadmus’s
little science project / attempt to play God, any way. 
Moreover, as his tempest psyche pointed out, her abilities set her
apart from the crowd as well.

A sudden shrill scream caught his attention, forcing the thoughts
of the appealing young woman into the rearmost recesses of his mind. 
Without prompting, Mortis had changed direction to intercept what
appearing to be an insane clown holding a woman at gunpoint. 
Apparently, she had been out alone tonight and had the misfortune of
being caught by this colorfully dressed figure.  Next to the
strangely clad man – who had just started laughing maniacally – was a
young woman dressed in a form-fitting jester’s outfit,
completely with face paint.

Since he figured that Batman and his ‘family’ was
going to be busy this night with personal business, Harry decided to
intervene.  After all, he was already here.

“I strongly recommend that you let her go,” Harry
ordered from his saddle, choosing not to dismount once Mortis had
landed.

“Who are you?” the green-haired man demanded. 
“You don’t look like a Bat.  Is ole Batsy branching
out?”

“No.  Batman and his apprentices are otherwise detained
for the moment, so you’ll have to make do with me.  So,
how about you let the woman go?” he repeated.

“Batsy’s got more important things to do than come
arrest me?” the man whined in a high-pitched voice that was
quickly getting on Harry’s nerves.   “Ah,
well!” he suddenly said cheerfully.  “Maybe next
time.  Now, where were we?”

“You were about to let the woman go and pray for redemption
of your soul,” Harry supplied darkly.

“Well, since your volunteering… it may be even more
fun to test it on you!” he said before bursting out in another
peal of insane laughter.

Harry was beginning to understand why Batman was always in a
rotten mood.  The man’s laugh was definitely starting to
raise his ire.  On the positive side, the clown duo was
distracted enough to let the woman escape.

“Are you trying to threaten me?” Harry asked with mild
interest.

The other figure placed his fist under his chin in the classic
‘Thinker’ pose.  “Hmm… even better! 
I’m promising an evening of fun!”  Lowering his
hand, he added lowly, “For me, anyway.”

Pointing the odd-shaped device at him, the clown asked, “Any
last requests?”

“Odd,” Harry said mildly, “normally I’m
the one asking that question.”  The wizard looked intently
at the other two for a few moments.  “None?  For
either of you?  Even better.”

“You have to be Bat’s buddy!  He’s not got
a sense of humor, either,” the man pouted.  “You
don’t even know what fun is, do you?” he asked as he moved
closer.

“Oh, I can appreciate a good joke just fine,” Harry
confided, “but this conversation is starting to get boring;
we’ll have to work on that…”  Noticing the
clown’s hand slowly moving towards what was likely a weapon of
some sort, Harry slid his wand into his hand and said, “For
example… Acme!”

Whatever move Joker had planned, it never came to fruition as the
unmistakable sound of a large falling object and the sight of swift
moving shadows drew the clowns’ attention to a rapidly
approaching object from overhead.  Apparently, the ‘Clown
prince of crime’ could be greatly inconvenienced with a hundred
pound anvil landing on his foot.

Who knew?

“Puddin’!” the woman cried as she rushed to the
fallen man’s side and helped shift the heavy weight off the
criminal’s foot.

The two costumed villains soon became aware of Harry’s quiet
laughter a few moments later.  “Now, I would call that
funny!” Harry finally said after watching the man in the purple
coat dance around with his hands around the injured foot.

“Amateur!” the man said in a posh tone.  “You
obviously come from a line of sub-standard pranksters.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed and the Joker suddenly wondered if
deliberately heckling someone who could pull anvils out of nowhere
was such a brilliant idea after all.  The answer to his inner
ponderings soon arrived in the form of the chant, “Acme. 
Acme!  ACME!”

“Was that enough of a prank for you?” Harry
rhetorically asked the pile consisting of another anvil, a concert
grand piano, and a tugboat.  The only reply came in the form of
a small white flag waved weakly by a gloved hand extending from
beneath the pile.

Sending a quick Reductor curse at the discarded purple weapon
lying on the ground, Harry sketched a short bow at the wide-eyed –
and unarmed – clown woman before guiding Mortis back to the sky. 
He felt satisfied at having ensured that at least one criminal in
this city would not escape prosecution for his crimes. 

After only a few moments into his flight, however, Harry found
another incident requiring his intervention, this time in the form of
a beautiful redheaded woman in a skin-tight green outfit.  The
femme fatale was apparently stalking an isolated man while attempting
to kiss him.  If the man’s nervous backpedaling was any
indication, he was not all that interested in her spirited approach.

Intrigued despite himself, Harry instructed Mortis to land. 
Dismounting, he approached the pair.

“You know,” Harry offered helpfully, “he may be
more inclined to reciprocate your feelings if you were a little less
persistent.”

The woman turned towards the new arrival and the man took the
opportunity to escape.

“I could be wrong, of course,” Harry offered as his
senses picked up an odd scent coming from the slowly approaching
female.  Deciding to make certain of his suspicions, the wizard
consciously sharpened his senses, unaware that his front incisors did
the same.

“Hmm… dark and mysterious,” the vixen said
throatily as she continued glided in his direction.  “Just
my type.”

Harry bit his lip, his confusion interrupted by the sudden stab of
pain as he accidentally pierced his lip with his elongated fangs. 
Now sure that this woman was no creature of the night, the
inter-dimensional traveler quickly willed his teeth back to their
usual length.

“Well, handsome, I believe that you deserve a kiss…”
the woman continued in a sultry tone.

Harry blinked at the forward woman.  “You know, I
believe that this approach is what scared him away.  If you
tried to be… uh… less straightforward-” the woman
got closer.  “Uhm…, I really don’t believe that
this is a good idea…”

“I think it’s perfect,” she drawled as she drew close
enough to run one hand down his chest.

“You don’t understand,” Harry pleaded.  “I…
uhm-” Any further protests were cut off as the woman rose up
onto the balls of her feet and kissed him passionately.

As soon as the shock wore off, Harry backed off quickly. 
“Err… no offense, but I have to go now!” 
Suiting actions to words, he hurriedly jumped onto Mortis’s
back and flew away quickly, never once looking back at the
Bellatrix-esque woman.  Even Harry had his limits, and he was
sure that some law enforcement official could help the woman –
eventually.

He continued his frantic pace for the next several moments until
yet another costumed individual drew his attention.  A
strange man, also dressed in green, was working over a suspicious
package adjacent to a building’s main entryway.  Harry was
not necessarily conversant in Muggle weaponry, but he suspected that
the unidentified man was in the process of planting a bomb. 
Playing it safe around the unfamiliar device, Harry activated the
electronic surveillance counter device in his coat and silently
prodded Mortis lower to investigate.

“And who would you be?” he asked the man intently. 
Now that the wizard was closer, he could tell that the other man’s
green clothing was covered in black question marks.  The loony
spun around quickly and generally seemed startled by the sight of a
stranger on a pale horse.

“Try to guess if you want to know.  What they call me
is what I am.  And I am called what I represent.  I’m
a riddle myself.”

Harry snorted ruefully.  Apparently, there were more
parallels between his world and this one than he initially
suspected.  The most interesting coincidence, however, was the
apparent fact of the man seeming lack of magic.  Perhaps not as
great a threat as the felled Voldemort, but the risk was still there.

“While we’re asking questions,” Harry
interrupted, “may I ask your views on homicide?”

“Oh, ho!” this world’s Riddle exclaimed. 
“How did you come to know about my hobby?”

‘Hmm… a Muggle Voldemort,’ Harry groaned
silently.  ‘Will l never escape his thrice damned
influence?!’

“All right, mate, what did the world ever do to you?”
Harry demanded dully.

“They dared to spurn my genius!” the Riddler exclaimed
while placing his fists on his hips.  “They are unable to
appreciate my intellectual superiority and-”

Harry would never get the rest of his explanation for, at that
moment, the already activated bomb detonated, completely atomizing
the green-clad figure and spraying Harry and Mortis with a fine
coating of gore.

“Well, that didn’t seem too intelligent,” Harry
noted as he cleaned his steed and himself of the mess.  Mortis
gave what Harry could almost believe was a groan – if he didn’t
know better – before he nudged the pooka again.

“Come on, Mortis,” he encouraged.  “I think
we’ve helped Batman enough for one evening.  It’s
past time we headed back to the Watchtower.  Not even this
loony city could contain any more individuals like that! 
Though,” he pondered, “I’m beginning to understand
why Batman’s always in a bad mood.”

---

“Commissioner Gordon?” the Batman asked from the
shadows atop Police headquarters.  In his usual fashion, the
Caped Crusader had managed to scale the tall building and sneak to
within ten feet of the aging police chief without detection.

“I was wondering if you’d show,” Gordon said by
way of greeting.  “According to one of our new guests, you
and your team were going to be busy tonight.  You might remember
her – Harley Quinn?”

“Indeed?” Batman inquired flatly.  “Interesting
source of information.  Why do you believe her privy to my
schedule?”

“Apparently, she was tipped off by one of your type, but
I’ll get to her in a minute,” Gordon answered.  “You
wouldn’t happen to know anyone who dresses in a black robe and has a
flying ghost horse, do you?”

“And does he carry a giant scythe around as well?” the
Batman demanded levelly.

“I wasn’t joking!” Gordon said flatly.

“Neither was I,” Batman answered in a similar tone. 
“I assume that he is why you called for me?”

“For one incident, anyway,” Gordon admitted.  “I
don’t have any witnesses for the others…”

“Others?” the world’s greatest detective
demanded.

“A few of the more… ironic crimes we’ve seen in
a while,” the commissioner answered as he threw a packet of
photographs at the cowled figure.  “Poison Ivy was found a
few hours ago – poisoned.  The toxin was apparently introduced
orally, and in a concentration great enough to kill a herd of
elephants.  Several herds, actually.  She’s catatonic
at the moment and the medics don’t know whether she’s
gonna pull through.”

“And then we have this little mess,” the old man
continued handing over another photograph.  This latest image
showed a gory sidewalk amidst evidence of a bomb blast.  “You’re
looking at all that remains of the Riddler,” Gordon supplied. 
“We know this from surveillance footage shot from across the
street.  In the middle of planting an explosive, Riddler
appeared to turn around and start carrying on an animated
conversation.  He kept talking for the next few minutes until
his explosive charge went off, consuming him in the blast.”

Gordon grunted.  “Strange thing is, the cameras didn’t
pick up a soul – other than Riddler himself. He must have
finally flipped – carrying on conversations with himself.”

“Anyway, that one is strange enough, but these next two…” 
More photographs were exchanged.  “We also have a few more
unexplainable accidents.  After following up on a civil
disturbance call, a couple of my boys found Scarecrow’s remains
– he accidentally breathed a large dose of his own fear gas
and died from a massive heart attack as a result.”

“And to make it even more fun, at what we estimate to be the
exact same time, there was another incident clear on the other side
of town.  Two-Face was driving away from a robbery when his car
ran over an extremely low suspended cable.  For currently
unknown reasons, the stranded wire was suspended barely four feet off
the ground when he drove through it; he was cut literally into two
halves, along with his gang and their car.

“And for the piece de resistance, we have this mess,”
Gordon nearly groaned before passing the last picture.  “Earlier
tonight, Harley Quinn came running in downstairs in a panic and
demanded protection.  It seems that a cloaked assailant
assaulted the Joker by hereto-unknown means; the clown is currently
in Gotham General in Intensive Care.  From the initial reports,
every bone from the waist down was broken – any crime sprees he
pulls from now on will be launched from a wheelchair.” 

Gordon shook his head disbelievingly.  “I won’t ever be
able to look at the Roadrunner the same way again,” he
concluded.

Batman was momentarily struck speechless at the sheer audacity of
what he was seeing.

“Is that a grand piano?” he finally demanded.

“Yes,” Gordon answered tiredly.  “Concert
grand piano, to be exact.  And just in case you’re
interested, I’ve already checked on those weights.  They
aren’t produced anywhere in the known world.  However,
even if they were, they’d be hell to transport, even for
Superman.  Here’s the transcript of what Harley told us,
by the way,” he finished while brandishing a folded wad of
paper.

The Caped Crusader perused the document.  “So…”
he trailed off a few minutes later.

“I was hoping you could tell me more,” the
Commissioner confided.  “Whoever the man is… he
seems to know you.”

“We’ve met,” Bruce said shortly.

“So who is he?” Gordon queried anxiously.  “Some
sort of super assassin with a unique sense of humor?”

Batman felt the sudden urge to snort derisively, but withheld it
at the last minute.  “The world’s foremost assassins
could only dream of reaching his level.”

“He’s that dangerous?!” Gordon asked wide-eyed.

“Extremely,” the caped man confirmed.  “However,
his actions are not nearly as flamboyant as they were a few thousand
years ago.”

Gordon nearly choked on that bit of news.  “I’m
sorry,” the aging police officer commented after checking his
ears for obstructions.  “Did you say a few thousand?”

“Correct,” Batman said calmly, as if discussing
immortal forces of nature were every day’s business. 
‘Unfortunately,’ he reviewed mentally, ‘that
assessment is not far off the mark.’

“W-who is he?” Gordon asked a few moments later. 
“I need some more information just to fill out all the
paperwork your mysterious long-lived friend has so kindly generated
for me.”

Preparing to disembark, Batman said, “I suggest ‘Death
of natural causes’.”

“And why is that?” the other man demanded crossly.

“Those criminals were eliminated by the Grim Reaper
himself,” Bruce answered resignedly.  “It would be
difficult to achieve a more natural death than that.”  A
near silent discharge from his grapple gun whisked the Batman away,
leaving the aging and now dumbfounded Police Commissioner standing
atop the building alone.

The gray-haired official continued to stand on the windswept roof
for several more minutes, until his unofficial ace-in-the-hole’s
final comment fully registered.

“My God!” Jim Gordon exclaimed softly.  “Did
the Batman just make a joke?”

---

Amanda Waller flashed her credentials to the gate guards before
continuing her nocturnal journey to the Belle Reeve facility itself. 
The one-time presidential fallout shelter looked even less assuming
in the black of night than during the waking hours; from the outside,
it certainly did not resemble the sophisticated subterranean complex
that it was in reality.

Exiting her vehicle, the Secretary of Meta-human Affairs followed
the waiting aide through countless security checkpoints. 
Eventually, the duo reached an elaborate elevator still bearing the
presidential seal.  Showing proof of their identification and
purpose of visit – again – to the pair of soldiers
guarding the sole means of access to the facility, Amanda followed
her escort inside the transport.  A final swipe of the aide’s
security card sent the pair plummeting down to the depths of the
installation.

After an exhilarating 1,500-foot drop, the silent assistant led
Amanda through a series of concrete-and-steel blast doors –
more leftovers of the facility’s former purpose.  Finally,
the short Director found herself facing a final vault door with a
combination handprint-retinal scanner.  While waiting for the
aide to open this latest barrier, Amanda amused herself by reading
the various warnings about what lay beyond the door.

“This is it, Madame Secretary,” the male attendant
confirmed.  She heard the loud click of locks disengaging before
the steel behemoths slowly ground apart to reveal a small block of
prison cells, only one of which was currently inhabited. 
Leaving the attendant standing outside, Amanda strode to the red-lit
dormitory.  Clearing her throat, the short Director roused the
lone occupant’s attention.

“Hello, Galatea,” Amanda Waller greeted.  “How
would you like an early parole?”

---

Allowing Mortis to return to… wherever pookas went to graze
when wizards were not riding them, Harry Apparated back to the
Watchtower.  Almost instantly upon his return, the depressing
thoughts that had settled down during the flight returned with a
vengeance.

Having no other items on his agenda for the evening, Harry decided
to scavenge the cafeteria for coffee in hopes that the miracle
beverage could ward off the troublesome thoughts.  Unfortunately
for the wizard, the commissary was deserted of both occupants and
coffee.  Before he could launch into a fresh tirade against the
individuals responsible for replacing the foodstuffs, he was accosted
by a passing Wonder Woman.

“Still out of coffee?” she asked impishly. 
Sensing Harry’s rather grim mood, her playful streak rapidly
withered.  “Did something happen?” she asked
anxiously.

“No, not exactly,” Harry assured her.  “It’s
just that I helped someone earlier this evening and it stirred up
some old ghosts I thought had already been put to rest.”

Diana looked curious.  “How can helping someone remind
you of bad things?”

“I’m not sure if I should be the one to tell you,”
the wizard answered after a moment.  “It’s rather
personal for Batman.  You’ll have to ask him for the
details.”

Mentally snorting at the likelihood of Batman ever
volunteering personal information, Diana redirected her inquiry. 
“Are you going to be alright?”

Harry smiled slightly.  “I’ll be fine.” 
After a few moments, he added softly, “I always am.”

“Can I help?” the Amazon asked honestly.

This time the wizard’s smile was more genuine.  “No,
but I appreciate your offer nonetheless.  I think that I’ll
just hole up in one of your viewing decks for a while.  Have a
good evening, Diana.”

Nodding to the immortal female warrior, Harry Apparated to the
uppermost viewing lounge where he found himself once more alone with
his thoughts.

---

Superman was concerned.

This was nothing new, as the Man of Steel was known to watch over
the planet.  He was both an advocate and an advisor, leaving him
privy to more secrets both on and off the planet than most people
suspected.  Not to mention his being – in secret – a reporter
who followed the old rules of ‘report the story, don’t be
the story’.  In other words, he was a worrywart who did
the right thing for the right reasons instead of doing it the easy
way.

Right now, he was worried about his little cousin Kara who, he
felt, was too young to be a hero, much too young to start dating, and
definitely not ready for her first beau to be the living
incarnation of Death.  If he had his way, his adopted little
sister/cousin would not date until he was long dead, buried, and
forgotten.  By his best estimates, Kara should be mature enough
to handle a relationship by the 30^th century.

Thinking back to some of the mischief he had overheard his
‘parents’ discussing when they spoke of the girl’s
attempts at blending in with the humans, Clark revised that estimate
to the 40^th century – just to be safe.

To that end, he was combing the Watchtower in an attempt to find
the mysterious Mr. Black, said incarnation of Death itself. 
Diana had tipped him off earlier that she had spotted the strange man
on his return from Batman’s summons heading towards the upper
decks.  The Amazon had also mentioned that he seemed to be
saddened by something, but had no indication as to what the trouble
was.

Clark finally caught up with the supposed wizard in a small
observation deck.  The person in question was wearing his
traditional pair of jeans, a t-shirt with a skull on it, and his
ever-present jacket, all the while casually lounging in a lawn
chair.  To the Kryptonian’s growing unease, the figure
happened to be idly playing with his scythe while gazing at the
planet beneath them.  To finish off this increasingly sinister
scene, a small table supporting what looked like alcohol accompanied
the chair.  This alcohol, however, had fire winding its way
though the glass with brief bursts of flames occasionally bubbling to
the top.

Clark ignored the feeling of dread that permeated the room and
went up to the man.  Given that the other man had the scythe out
and that the face reflected in the window was pensive, Clark decided
that he should keep this discussion low-key, at least for now. 
If worse turned to worst, he could up the ante later.  “Mr.
Black?”

Harry looked up at the interruption in surprise before conjuring a
chair for the blue-clad hero.  “Is there a mission,
Superman?”

Clark shook his head and took the offered seat.  “No, I
just wanted to speak with you privately.  We haven’t
really had the chance to sit down and just talk, what with all the
crises here of late.”

Harry nodded, his scythe melting back into its sword form before
returning to his bottomless pocket.  “True enough,”
the wizard agreed.  “It would be good to talk.  I
don’t get a chance to do that too often.”

Despite the misconception people held of him as all brawn and no
brain – especially when compared to Batman – Superman was not
stupid.  Headstrong?  Certainly.  Impulsive? 
Definitely.  But never stupid.

“You looked like you had the cares of the world on your
shoulders,” the caped man noted.  “And I can tell
you from experience that that never ends well.  Want to talk
about it?”

Harry chuckled grimly.  “Oh… I was just
polishing my scythe while wandering down memory lane – it
wasn’t a pleasant journey and most of my recollections I would
prefer not to remember.  Feeling regret for all those people who
couldn’t be saved despite my best efforts are probably the
worst to recall, however.  The truly sad thing is that most of
their deaths were so pointless, merely products of their own corrupt
governments.”

The wizard shook his head.  “It’s unreal how much
damage a few power hungry politicians can unleash if given the
chance.  The people should not fear their governments; the
governments should fear their people.”

“I know what you mean,” Clark sighed as he uneasily
accepted the… drink… that the other man offered him. 
“There are just some things that we can’t interfere with,
no matter how powerful we may be.”

“Too true!” Harry answered sadly.  “There
was one political leader in England that I had the misfortune to
know, and he felt that his constituents should bow to him, instead of
ensuring that they were not endangered.  He even went so far as
to persecute all of those who disagreed with him.  He was
removed from office in disgrace at the end, but not before he caused
irreparable harm.  He died shortly thereafter…
apparently, the idiot mistook an extremely acidic poison for beer and
killed his fool self.  That is an old regret of mine, by the
way.  If I could have, I would rather have had him alive to face
the results of his own misdeeds but…  It was his time to
die.”

Superman raised an eyebrow.  The mercenary that was Mr. Black
seemed to possess as cold and unforgiving a sense of justice as the
Batman himself.  “So… you dislike killing people?”

“To be perfectly honest with you, I am disgusted with
killing people.  Unfortunately, it seems to be my curse to be
very talented at the craft.  I have come to realize that there
are times when death is the only solution,” Harry mused. 
“Certainly, other avenues should be explored first if they
exist, but there are many souls who follow the path of evil so
completely that their destruction becomes the only option.”

Harry downed a good portion of his own beverage as he observed the
other man’s reaction to his tale.  Not seeing the
revulsion he half-expected the ‘boy scout’ to exhibit,
the wizard continued.  “The hypocrisy is not easy to bear,
knowing that you must kill certain people so that others may live. 
It sets you apart from people… apart from the world and
everything in it.  You end up not having a home; you are forever
denied rest.  Ultimately, the self-disgust follows you
everywhere as a constant reminder that you are isolated – a
wolf among sheep, as it was.”

Harry then set his cup down and met the other man’s gaze. 
“What’s even worse is how other people begin to treat
you.  I’ve been lucky enough to make a few true friends
over the years, but they are very rare.  As for the rest…
some openly revile you as the monster you really are while others are
exceedingly polite in their dealings with you – all the while
praying that they escape from you unscathed.”

The wizard smiled sadly.  “Sort of like what you’re
doing right now,” he said bluntly.  At Superman’s
sharp look, Harry cracked a slight grin.  “I can sort of…
smell others’ fear… among other things.  It’s
something of a gift.”  The grin left his face.  “I’ve
been meaning to thank you all for the effort, however.  To be
perfectly honest, I can barely remember a time when people didn’t
fear me to some extent.”  He snorted before murmuring, “No
doubt even someone as understanding as Kara would flee if she truly
knew what a monster I could be.”

The blue-clad figure across the table gave a nearly imperceptible
twinge, but Harry’s thrice-enhanced senses noticed the motion
nonetheless.  Understanding its cause almost instantly, he
quickly added, “I enjoy my time with your cousin – I
can’t tell you how pleasant it is to be treated as a person
rather than a dangerous viper that may strike at any moment. 
However, I also know that she will eventually realize exactly who –
and what – I am and this respite will end.  Until then,
however, you have my solemn vow that no harm shall befall her if it
is within my power to prevent it.  You have my word of honor on
it.”

Clark Kent blinked repeatedly, floored by what had just been
shared with him.  He had envisioned many outcomes of this
inevitable conversation – few ended peaceably – but never
had he really considered the topic from any point of view but his
cousin’s or his own.  In fact, Mr. Black’s oration
struck several uncomfortable chords with his own tenuous relationship
with the entirely human Lois Lane.  Granted, the scale was
entirely different, but the Kryptonian still feared that the
accident-prone reporter would suddenly realize that she was flirting
with an alien far different from herself and call things off. 
In fact, he was still amazed that the woman had taken his dual nature
as well as she had.  Of course, he now served as the woman’s
chief means of transportation and errand boy, but still…

Forcing his mind back on track, he tackled the problem as
logically as he could.  The knowledge that the little blonde
girl he had watched over for so many years had succeeded in making
such a feared entity more personable filled him with pride.  His
instincts, however, still urged him to fly the girl to the farthest
reaches of known space and pray that this menace in human guise could
not follow after them.  This latest information, however, forced
him to re-evaluate his position.

Superman frowned and took a sip of the drink to gather his
thoughts.  He reluctantly admitted that Kara’s feelings
seemed genuine; at least, he had been unable to find any evidence of
tampering or manipulation.  Moreover, it appeared that Mr.
Black’s intentions towards her were equally honorable.  If
Diana’s information regarding the nature of oaths given by
magical beings was to be believed, Kara had just gained the
penultimate guardian angel.  Oddly enough, Clark somehow just
knew that the offer was legitimate and well within this…
person’s power to grant.

Considering all of this information, Clark used both his head and
his heart to arrive at a decision.

“Kara is one of the people closest to my heart,” the
Man of Steel announced.  As the other man nodded and seemed to
close further into himself, Clark added, “I’ll hold you
to your promise and… I wish the two of you the best of luck.”

The invulnerable superhuman felt as if his side would burst from
holding in the laughter the other man’s dumbfounded expression
generated.  Apparently, omniscience was not one of
Death’s many powers.

“Thank you,” his fellow Leaguer got out when he
composed himself a few moments later.

Clark nodded and dropped the topic.  Choosing a more
light-hearted point of conversation, he nodded towards the impressive
view port and mentioned, “So, I see you found my favorite
method of unwinding.  Have you tried any other means of getting
your mind off things?”

Harry dipped his head.  “I go on vacation.  I’ve
always been fascinated to learn about new cultures.  In fact, if
I could have a normal occupation, I would choose to be an
archaeologist.  While I’m ‘out and about’, I
try to help out where I can, but it doesn’t always work out
exactly as I intend.”

The Man of Steel also did not miss how this admission oddly
coincided with a conversation he had with Kara some years prior
regarding her future career.   “Believe it or not,”
Clark mentioned, “Kara has expressed similar interests.”

Harry looked interested.  “Really?” he asked. 
“I’ll have to remember that.  Exploring really is
interesting.”

When no further comments seemed to be forthcoming, the inquisitive
reporter pressed, “And how, exactly, do things not ‘work
out’ when you’re vacationing?”

His query was greeted with laughter.  “Well,” the
mage deliberated, “there was this one little misadventure that
popped up on the last uninterrupted vacation I took.  I
started out in Greece and everything was going alright – at
least, at first.  See, there was this girl – Helen I think her
name was – who started the whole thing.  I was in a bar, sipping
some freshly made Ouzo – which, by the way, is the best way to drink
it – and minding my own business when she came in.  At
first, I thought nothing of it, but she started flirting with
everyone there.  Any way, she eventually latched onto me and –
when she discovered who I was – she refused to leave me alone.”

The wizard made an indecipherable gesture with one hand. 
“When I was ready to leave and she still wouldn’t turn
loose, I offered to get her a little something and meet up with her
again later.  You should have seen her face light up; it was as
if she won a prize or something.  That did the trick, though,
and I managed to get out of the bar without anything more happening. 
Now, I always keep my word, but I really wanted avoid this particular
promise for a while.  Unfortunately, Henchgirl disagreed and the
Professor wanted to do something right then and there.  It was
about then when the Doctor mentioned that she wanted to visit Santa
Claus.  Since I couldn’t get any decisions from the
others, we tagged along with her.”

“Wait a minute,” Clark interrupted.  “You
mean that you actually visited Santa Claus?”

“Yes…” Harry said questioningly.  When the
other man did nothing more than blink owlishly, the wizard
continued.  “Anyway, I went along for the ride and ended
up visiting the most charming village I have ever seen.  You
wouldn’t believe how many elves live there – more than I have
ever seem in my life – and all of them doting and kind.  They
showed me a quaint workshop where the Professor and Henchgirl were
overjoyed with all of the equipment available.  We ended
spending more time there than I expected, which was the start of my
next batch of troubles.”

Harry chuckled embarrassedly.  “You see, at the time, I
was not that good with potions.  I’m still not, to be
perfectly honest.  Anyway, to make matters worse, the other
people – and especially the elves – expected me to be some sort of
potions’ master.  Reputations can be very unhelpful in
certain instances, let me tell you.  At any rate, they gave me a
bench and some ingredients to work with; I gave it my best shot and
tried for something easy.  I had decided that I would try to
make a simple drink cocktail using Fire Whiskey and some local
ingredients.  Unfortunately, there was an explosion not two
minutes later.  No one was injured – thankfully – but
having an entire building come raining down around you in flaming
bits is never a good thing.  As things turned out, the fact that
the workshop was next to a stable wasn’t very fortuitous
either.  You wouldn’t believe how flammable frozen straw
can be…”

“You- you burned Santa Claus out of business?!”
Superman demanded disbelievingly.

“Not completely!” Harry answered immediately.  A
thoughtful expression crossed his face for a second before he
grudgingly admitted, “Well, I suppose that I technically
did, now that you mention it – but I put it back to rights! 
Granted, the old owner was pretty mad – especially about this flying
sled he only used once a year that was stored in the stable – but the
Professor and Henchgirl only took about a week to create a new one. 
You’d think the fact that the new one is even faster than the
original would please him, but he was still angry!”

Harry shrugged and continued in a lower tone.  “As I
recall, the elves weren’t exactly pleased either, and I spent
that week looking around corners to avoid being pelted with coal –
the little buggers had unfortunately taken to carrying around large
pails full of the stuff and throwing it at me.”

“But… you burned down Santa Claus!” Clark
persisted.

“It was an accident!” Harry muttered irritably. 
“Anyway,” he said in a more normal tone, “we
decided to make a quick getaway and ended up in Hell.  I would
recommend against your going there; it’s far from any of the
nicer places I’ve visited and the shops were too expensive to
get anything.  I swear, they were charging an arm and a leg for
their merchandise, if not out-and-out demanding your soul. 
Granted, they do have a rather high tourist industry but I was not
impressed.  I was even less amused with the weather there –
it’s always overcast, humid, and they have the largest
assortment of blood suckers that I’ve ever seen. 
Considering that I’m good friends with a vampire count in
Transylvania, that’s saying something!”

“Anyway, after the Doctor treated a few people – for what
ailment, I could not say – we went to a little place called Troy. 
My usual luck held up and we ran into Helen again, who was wondering
if I had gotten her that gift yet.  To make matters even more
interesting, she managed to get me caught in the middle of a rather
nasty domestic dispute.  You see, she had left her former
husband and remarried, fleeing to her new lover’s home in
Troy.  The jilted hubby didn’t care for this notion very
much and had followed after her.  When he and his friends caught
up to Helen and her new hosts, the fur really started to fly. 
At her pleading, I tried to play mediator, but – unfortunately
– both of the guys involved thought that they were better for the
girl than the other and gathered large numbers of friends to defend
their claims.”

Clark could feel the now familiar headache coming on again. 
Curiously, the sensation seemed to appear whenever Mr. Black began
reminiscing.  Attempting to make conversation, he noted, “I
suppose the fighting got pretty messy, then?”

“Boy, did it ever!” Harry snorted.  “The
fighting eventually took to the streets and ended up wrecking the
entire city!  Things got so bad that even the authorities got in
on the act instead of helping to settle things between the two
instigators.  Before anyone knew it, all-out war had broken out
between the two factions.  What should have been a simple issue
to discuss instead took a long time to resolve, and the entire town
was lost as a result.  I finally washed my hands of the mess; I
gave Helen a book on poetry that I had picked up and then I left in
disgust.”

“Well, I hope that things worked out for her,” Clark
finally said after a few moments.

“I suppose they did,” Harry replied.  “I
heard through the grape vine that she and her new beau survived the
impromptu war, for whatever that’s worth.”

The wizard shrugged.  “As I said, I pretty much put her
out of my mind after that.  On the bright side, I met another
person at Troy.  Ully was nearly as disgusted with the state of
things as I, so I bid my friends farewell and the two of us left. 
In hindsight, that was one of my poorer decisions.”  Harry
shook his head and chuckled briefly.  “I swear, that boy
was born under an unlucky star.  You wouldn’t believe the
messes he somehow landed us in on our way back to his home in
Greece.  First, he decided that he wanted to sail back, so we
got a boat and went on our way.  Unfortunately, he had to be the
single worst navigator that I have ever met; it was almost like he
wanted to get lost!”

Clark tried to withhold comment, but his childhood fascination
with the Odyssey caused one question slipped out regardless. 
“I don’t suppose that  ‘Ully’ stood for
‘Ulysses’, did it?”

Harry searched through his memories for a moment.  “I
think that it did, now that you mention it,” he said idly. 
Ignoring the curious noise issuing from his companion, the wizard
continued, “In any case, we finally got back to Greece after
several mishaps, and I took the opportunity to say goodbye.  I
decided that I had enough excitement for one trip and headed on back
home.”

“Long story short,” Harry finished, “never get
involved with an exceptionally pretty girl with unresolved issues –
they seem to cause nothing but trouble.”

Superman looked at the man beside him and barely kept from
gaping.  It was rare that you heard a story like this, and even
more rare when it came from a person who was there.  He could
not help but wonder what other ‘tall tales’ this man had
witnessed firsthand.  Drinking the rest of the whiskey, he got
up.  “Well, I’ve got to get back on duty now.  If you
should ever feel troubled or just need to talk to someone, feel free
to look me up.  This has been very… enlightening.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied, touched at this show of
kindness.  “I’ll remember that.”

Looking at his watch, Harry noticed the time.  “I
suppose that I should call it quits as well.  It’s getting
late, and I have some information I wanted to review before knocking
it off for the evening.”

As Harry was leaving, Clark called back to him.  “Aren’t
you going to take your drink?”

Harry turned around. “You keep it.  I have plenty
more,” he said while patting his coat.  “Besides,
you seem to enjoy the taste.”

Clark watched as Harry left through the door – again
ignoring the simple fact that it was shut.  He had to admit – if
only to himself – that he did like the taste of this… fire
whiskey.  It was another fact that few would believe when
regarding the league’s ‘Boy Scout’, but he did
enjoy the occasional glass of wine.  Never to excess, of course.

He was Superman, after all.

---

Leaving the Commissioner, Batman returned to the latest
incarnation of the Batmobile and set it to return him immediately to
the Cave.  It appeared that his work in Gotham was done for the
night – for the next several nights, actually – and he
needed the solitude to contemplate this new conundrum.

His mood was not helped in the slightest at the upcoming ‘I
told you so’ look that his father-cum-butler was sure to level
at him.

Finally arriving at the Cave, the Caped Crusader exited his
vehicle and immediately noticed the silhouette of his recently healed
butler standing aside the giant Batcomputer – as was his custom.

“Back so soon, Sir?” Alfred asked as his employer
strode to his usual seat, sweeping the black cape aside in the
process.  “The Commissioner’s concerns must have
been exceptionally brief.”

“One could say that,” Bruce replied as he removed the
cowl from his head.  “Gordon wanted to inform me that
Gotham’s sordid nightlife had an unpleasant run-in with our
last houseguest.”

“Really?” Alfred asked in an interested manner. 
“How so?”

The billionaire scion of the Wayne family relayed Gordon’s
information to the elderly man.  When he finished, Bruce leaned
back in his seat and asked, “Any suggestions?”

“Well, apparently Death has gained a sense of humor,”
the Englishman noted.  “Every single at-large villain was
soundly trounced in a manner reminiscent of their own murderous crime
sprees.”

“Except Quinn, Cobblepot, and Selena,” Bruce replied.

“Miss Quinn is hardly a danger of the likes of Poison Ivy,
Master Bruce,” Alfred mentioned, “and perhaps Miss Selena
was spared due to her more heroic exploits.  The Penguin, as
shady as he seems, appears to be making an honest living for once. 
I would hazard that that is why he was left unmolested.”

“Perhaps,” Bruce allowed, “but I am still at a
loss as to how to respond to this situation.”

“I think it best to simply let it go, Sir,” the
gentleman’s gentleman suggested.  “Our Mr. Black
went to some lengths to avoid leaving any evidence of his involvement
– if what you say of the Riddler’s untimely end is accurate. 
Pressing the issue further can only earn his ire, and I find myself
unable to feel remorseful that such villainous individuals are no
longer among us.”

“That may be so,” the Batman allowed, “but he
still broke the law and circumvented justice.”

Alfred just looked at the younger man in askance.  “Do
many people not say the same of the Batman, who wages a vigilante
crusade against the criminal element?  You operate by your own
rules, which frequently conflict with the written law.”

He gestured at the city off in the distance.  “This
situation is no different.  I have always believed, Master
Bruce, that there are certain forces that affect our lives that are
completely beyond man’s control or comprehension.  Women
are one such element,” he said with a slight smile, “and
the powers of Heaven and Hell are another.  We know that they
exist, we can see evidence of them in our lives, but we rarely
understand the reasons why they act as they do.”

Bruce looked thoughtful for a few moments.  “Perhaps
you have a point,” he finally acknowledged before turning to
the computer console and updating his records, the topic of
conversation now closed.

Alfred, picking up on his employer’s not-so-subtle clue,
turned around and began the journey back to the manor house above the
cavern.  While it remained unsaid, both he and Bruce realized
that the entire ordeal was likely the repayment for Death’s
services on his behalf earlier that evening.  As his more
energetic frame continued his ascension up the stone stairway, the
butler could not help but wonder – despite his comments to his
charge – if they would come to regret their bargain.

---

An hour later – or two thousand, seven hundred and thirty
nine hours if you were a certain wizard -, Harry finished reviewing
the entire League database pertaining to their foes.  Muttering
to himself, he shook his head at the sheer number of intergalactic
criminals the League had encountered during their short time of
operation.

And Henchgirl called him a trouble magnet?

The passing thought of his creative friend reminded him that he
had not heard from anyone on Black Island since his discovery in
Zatanna’s dressing room.  Removing his Zippo from the
confines of his voluminous coat, Harry spun the wheel and called out
his friend’s name.

“Hello, this is Henchgirl,” a youthful female spoke.

“Hey, Henchgirl!” Harry greeted.  “I hadn’t
heard from you in a while and thought that I’d check in. 
How is everyone?”

“As well as can be expected, considering,” she
replied.

Harry felt a sense of worry overcome him.  “Considering?”
he prompted in a calm voice.

“There was a slight… miscommunication regarding the
repairs to the new PortTrans system,” the inventor answered
reluctantly.

“And what form did this error take?” the wizard
queried, manner still outwardly composed.

“It’s a funny story,” the woman replied quickly,
“sort of.  You see, the Professor was able to salvage most
of the old machine and was nearly finished repairing it when the
Architect… broke it.”  The last statement came out
in a rush, but Harry managed to catch the general idea.

“He did what?” Harry asked levelly.

“It was an honest mistake, really,” Henchgirl
pleaded.  “He was working on a new type of warding to
block those pesky drunk Australian boaters and accidentally sent one
of the new warding monoliths crashing through the lab ceiling.”

“I see,” he answered a few moments later.  “I
hope that everyone was unharmed.”

“Oh, we’re all fine, but I’m afraid that the
transporter is a total loss,” Henchgirl confided
disappointedly.  “The Professor has already begun making a
new model, but it may take some time before it is ready.”

“That’s alright,” Harry reassured the distraught
young woman.  “I’ve found several things to occupy
my time here; I’ll be fine.  Have you made any headway on
expanding this inter-dimensional connection we have?”

“Actually, I have,” she answered in a much lighter
tone.  “We should be able to send inanimate matter through
the floo connection without a problem now.  As you know, we
still can’t use it to bring you home, but at least we can send
you supplies now.”

“That’s good news!” Harry encouraged the
inventor.  “There’s a young witch here who is in
desperate need of some decent self-study spell books.  Do you
happen to have anything along those lines?”

“I believe I do,” she said after a few moments’
thought.  “Any particular subject?”

“Just general topics for now; she’s doing well for a
self-taught witch, but her theory could use some help.”

“I’ve got just the thing!” Henchgirl replied
happily.  “Heads up!”

Harry quickly pointed the Zippo away from him just in time to
avoid a series of books as they flew out of the tiny green flame.

“Got ‘em!” Harry confirmed after a few moments
passed without any new projectiles emerging.

He could just barely hear the woman doing a victory cheer in the
background.  “Great!  Those are pretty self
explanatory, so she should be set.”

“Excellent!” Harry praised.  “I appreciate
it.”

“Not a problem,” she replied happily, before adding,
“And I’ve got a couple more things for you, too.”

“Really?” the wizard inquired.

“Yep!” Henchgirl confirmed.  “The first is
a new toy from the Professor.  It’s been lying around for
a while now but he’s never found much of a use for it.  He
called it a Universal Remote Control.”

“Oh, you mean for controlling televisions and VCRs and the
like, right?” Harry questioned.

The witch paused for a moment before replying with confusion thick
in her voice, “No, the Professor said he made it to remote
control the universe.”

Harry could feel his jaw sagging.  “Come again?”

“He said it’s a combination of your watch’s
temporal abilities and the Hex quarter’s analyzing
capabilities,” she explained.  “It’s supposed
to let you rewind and fast forward time, and it’s got menus to
explain pretty much anything.”

“Any bugs I need to watch out for?” Harry finally
asked in as normal a tone he could manage.

“No,” she said cheerfully, “apparently he
already tweaked it.”  She then muttered something along
the lines of, “though what use a Muggle architect could be, I
have no idea…”

“Okie dokee!” Harry said quickly.  “If
you’re sure about it, I’ll give it a go.”

“Great!” she exclaimed.  “Here it comes!” 
An instant later, a blue and gray object shot out of the lighter. 
Fortunately for the device, however, Harry’s Seeker reflexes
were up to the job.

“Cool!” he admitted as he turned the odd remote over
in his hands.  “I’ll let you know how it works out,”
he promised.

“Thanks a lot,” she called back.  “Now, I
have a new spell I just finished that might come in handy,” the
witch mentioned.

“Oh?” the inquisitive wizard prodded.  “What
does it do?”

“It’s a silent and wandless flight charm,” the
woman answered proudly.  “The incantation is ‘Protego
Leviosa’ and it surrounds you in the traditional Protego
shield.  The difference is that my spell allows you to
shape the shield in whatever manner you desire and then levitate the
shield in whatever direction you want.  The harder you
concentrate, the faster you go.”

Harry just blinked dumbly at the apparent duplication of Green
Lantern’s signature method of transportation.  “Yes,”
he said a little distractedly, “I believe that your spell will
prove most useful!”

“You mean it?” she asked in a little girl voice. 
“The Professor thought that it was a waste of time when we
already have brooms and the like, but still…”

“No, I thank you for sharing it,” the wizard replied
quickly, silently vowing to practice this new spell as soon as
possible.

“You’re welcome!” she answered.  “I’ll
let you go; I hear the Professor bellowing something about Goblin
pies…”

Harry chuckled at the antics that so commonly infested his island
retreat.  “Well, good luck sorting them out,” Harry
pledged.  “If you need something to distract the Architect
with, ask him if he’s ever considered building a space
station.  I’m staying on one right now and the view is
truly spectacular.”

“I will,” the witch promised.  “Until next
time, Mr. Black.”

“Good night, Henchgirl,” Harry returned before the
connection went dead.  Falling into a nearby recliner, the
wizard once more found his attention drifting to the ‘Universal
Remote’.  While the general concept barely phased him
after his long exposure to the inventive duo, there was one thing
that confused him regarding the device.

What did the power button do?

---

A/N:  Well, this concludes Chapter Five of Terminal
Justice.  It’s been a long time coming, and I hope you
found it entertaining.

On the list of congratulations, kudos go to Chris for the title. 
I would also like to thank James and Patrick for their assistance
with proofreading this chapter.  Finally, thanks go out to all
of you who contributed the inspiring drabbles and other suggestions
that I incorporated into this chapter (such as the Desperate
Measures scene submitted by Luinlothana or Hitomi’s version
of Superman and Harry’s little chat).  Additionally, I
wish to confess that I borrowed certain references/plot devices from
two motion pictures (Click! and Meet Joe Black) besides
the obvious borrowed conversation between Alfred and Bruce from
Batman & Robin.

I hope you found this latest submission to be worth the wait, and
I await your reviews/suggestions/etc.