The Last Daughter of Krypton Series diverges significantly from accepted canon for the Harry Potter series from the outset, as in addition to the crossover elements, there are several deviations from the books that will be covered where they fit into the narrative. The timeline of the DC Comics elements borrows heavily from Young Justice (2011) and may adapt elements and characters from the comics and several additional other media instalments including but not limited to Smallville (2001) and the upcoming Superman and Lois (2021) and relocates the series to the Eighties and early Nineties rather than the New Tens as screened and includes several 'legacy' and original characters as a result.
Due to features peculiar to this fic that well become evident as it progresses, some technologies and practices are more consistent with real world technologies of the 2010s.
Thanks to mystic_magic88 and other members of the Caer Azkaban group for their help on this chapter.
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Harry Potter: Alchemy | ||||||
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Category: Alternate Universe, Cursed Child and beyond Characters:All Genres: Action/Adventure, Crossover Warnings: Disturbing Imagery, Mental Abuse, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations, Violence Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 19 Summary: After twelve years with his foster family, the time for Harry Potter to return to Britain and begin his journey towards his destiny! Hitcount: Story Total: 7467; Chapter Total: 809 Author's Notes: |
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Death Valley Stadium, CA 92328. July 24, 20:00 PDT. The American Quidditch League's portkey dropped her in front of the Players and Staff Entrance to the Stadium. A second or two after her appearance, two swarthy men headed towards her, one — a slim man about four inches taller than her — wore the drab robes and cloak that appeared to be standard for Ministry personnel worldwide, whereas the other — who appeared to be the younger of the two — wore what she guessed was traditional Native civilian clothing and towered over her by a head. The older of the two men spoke first, “Rolanda Hooch?” “That’s me,” she confirmed with a grin. He didn’t return it. “Zachariah Lopez, I’m with the MACUSA Department of International Magical Co-operation. This is my colleague, Sergeant Sebastian Little Wind, he’s with the Kansas Magical Investigation Division. We’d like to talk with you about your enquiry into Lang family if you can spare a moment?” “Of course,” agreed Rolanda. “What do you need to know?” “What is the nature of your interest?” “The boy, Hank, has an invitation to attend Hogwarts,” Rolanda replied. “The headmaster was curious why, so he asked me to look into it. I thought it would be polite to check in with MACUSA and the Kansas authorities before approaching the family in case there was anything that I need to know?” Lopez had an excellent poker face, so it was hard to tell, but she thought he was surprised and even a little impressed. “I see,” he replied eventually, “MACUSA is not aware of any issues regarding that family specifically, so I am happy for you to proceed.” “Thank you, Senor Lopez,” Rolanda said, then she turned to the younger man. “And the KMID?” “We believe that the mother is distantly related to the Potter family,” replied the sergeant. “But recent generations have been No-Majs.” Rolanda nodded. “That fits with the headmaster’s theory about Hank Lang’s history.” “I had a feeling it might,” said the sergeant with a slight smile. “However, we do have concerns about the town… Smallville and the surrounding area has a considerable history of odd occurrences, even by our standards, so we would prefer if I escorted you.” “No problem,” said Rolanda. “Do you like Quidditch?” “I prefer the Wakarusa Wampuses,” admitted the sergeant. “Senor Lopez?” “No, gracias, senora,” he replied. “I will return to New York and make my report.” Once he had departed, Rolanda and Little Wind turned back to the stadium and entered. **** 20:45 PDT. "Hello everyone, in today's semi-final match the heavily-favoured All-Stars take on the Pukwudgies! I’m your announcer, Marcus Garde," declared the announcer. "And I’ve got today’s line-ups for you… Playing in red and blue today for All-Stars today are… Olafsen, Valquez, Westfield, Westfield, Walker, Stoakes aaannnd CONROY!" The All-Stars' supporters cheered loudly. "And in orange and black, for the Pukwudgies are… Blade, Quinn, Heidler, Oldham, Naga, Wilson aaannnd NEEDLES!" A smaller crowd wearing orange or waving orange-and-black banners cheered. “Today’s match-day referee will be Rolanda Hooch of Hogwarts School,” continued Marcus. "She has released the Bludgers... and the Golden Snitch. The Quaffle is in the air... and they're off. The All-Stars immediately take possession, Conroy with the Quaffle, passes it back to Walker, who takes off on a breakaway… Boy, she can really fly – the superior speed of the Nimbus 2000 is really making a difference here – she ducks a Bludger, sent her way by Beater Wilson of the Pukwudgies. Pukwudgies’ Chasers Blade and Quinn are attempting to get her alongside her, but a Bludger from Beater Olafsen of the All-Stars forces them back just in time. That girl has some arm on her." Rolanda snorted, while she was sure they weren’t related, the announcer strongly reminded her of Lee Jordan, the Hogwarts’ announcer. "Walker executes an impressive vertical loop to avoid another Bludger, hit her way by Captain Miles Needles... she shoots... Keeper Naga dives to intercept... but Walker takes her first goal for All-Stars and they now lead ten to zero!" The All-Star’s early lead appeared to infuriate the other team and moments later she spotted two of the Pukwudgies’ Chasers barrelling into the All-Stars Keeper, nearly knocking him off his broom. She blew her whistle, but not before the third Chaser, Heidler, managed to slot the Quaffle in one of the hoops. "Pukwudgies score, bringing it to ten-ten.” “Penalty to All-Stars for Stooging,” Rolanda declared, then watched with a certain amount of satisfaction as their captain, Gordon Conroy, easily put it away and then one of his fellow Chaser snagged it as it fell. “The All-Stars still in possession, Walker with the Quaffle, she passes to Stoakes, who takes aim at the Pukwudgies’ goal. Hey that's a foul! Chaser Stoakes is down…” “Penalty to the All-Stars for Blatching!” declared Rolanda. Rather than take it himself, Conroy gave the nod to his female winger, Lyla Walker. "Excellent Porskoff Play by Walker, and she scores again,” confirmed Garde a few seconds later. “That brings the score to forty-twenty to the All-Stars. The Pukwudgies take possession… but Heidler loses the Quaffle to Walker… she reverse-passes to Stoakes, who puts it through easily. All-Stars now lead by thirty, at fifty-to-twenty and are still in possession. Walker with the Quaffle again. Oh… she drops it as Pukwudgies execute a Dopplebeater Defence against her! Blade snags the Quaffle and flies for the All-Stars’ goal... Heidler, Quinn and Stoakes in pursuit. The Pukwudgies’ Chasers form up in a classic Hawkshead Attacking Formation and zero in on rookie Keeper Jimmy Westfield. Heidler shots and Westfield blocks it. He throws it right into the air, deflecting it off the broomstick off All-Stars’ Seeker, Anne Westfield, and towards Peter Stoakes... who immediately shoot up the field and passes it to fellow Chaser, Lyla Walker, who shoots… and just barely slips it past the Pukwudgies’ Keeper." That’s a new one… mused Rolanda. I wonder what it’s called? "The Pukwudgies are in position, Heider on a breakaway up the centre of the field, he shoots... and scores. The Pukwudgies narrow the point's gap to thirty and bring the score to thirty-to-sixty. All-Stars are possession." "Chaser Blade snatches the Quaffle from Walker, dodges Stoakes… and Conroy…. and scores again, bringing it to forty-to-eighty. The All-Stars are back in possession... Walker with the Quaffle... passes to Conroy... reverse pass to Stoakes... he shoots, and scores! All-Stars now lead ninety-to-forty." Glancing over the players, she could tell many of them were flagging, so when Conroy signalled for a time-out, she granted it. Mercifully, the match lasted only a few minutes after that and ended with the All-Stars on two-hundred-and-ten to the Pukwidgies’ forty. **** La Cáliz Vacío, Los Angeles. CA 90012 July 25, 08:40 PDT. When Rolanda made it down to the dining room for breakfast the next morning, the sergeant was already waiting for her at one of the tables. “I prefer a light breakfast myself,” Little Wind said, indicating the bread and fruit juice in front of him. “But the kitchen can do most things if you’d prefer something else, ma’am.” Rolanda sat down and helped herself to some juice, then when the waitress came over to their table, she ordered a full American breakfast. “What?” she asked, when she noticed Little Wind looking at her plate in askance a few minutes later. “I’m over a hundred years old, I don’t exactly have to worry about my girlish figure.” “Really?” said her temporary partner. “I wouldn’t have put you much over fifty, ma’am.” “You’re cute,” replied Rolanda as she dug into her breakfast. “I was thinking about our visit to Smallville, and I think we should wait a few hours.” “Any particular reason why?” “It’s Sunday.” “And?” “Well, I’ll admit it’s a little different in the magical areas — particularly on the reservations — but most of the No-Majs, especially the families attend church on Sunday mornings,” explained the sergeant. “So, there’s probably no-one at home right now.” “I hadn’t thought of that,” admitted Rolanda. “When would you suggest?” “Well, we’re two hours behind Kansas here,” Little Wind explained. “So, I suggest we play tourist here for a few hours and then Apparate back to my station. We can pick up a car there and drive the rest of the way to Smallville.” “I was planning on Apparating directly there,” said Rolanda. “There’s an enchantment on the letter for that.” The sergeant shook his head, “Not a good idea, ma’am. We’re not like Britain where you can just show up, folks can be pretty trigger-happy if they’re startled.” “Very well,” agreed Rolanda. “I bow to your superior local knowledge.” “Thank you kindly, ma’am,” said Little Wind. “I aim to please.” **** Lowell County, KS 67524. 14:05 CDT. A slightly smoky smell greeted her as she drifted into conscious. “What’s the smell?” The sergeant sniffed and pondered for a moment. “Grass fire probably,” he replied. “We get them fairly often. This one’s probably been put out. We’re almost there, by the way.” Rolanda looked up and saw a blue sign on the left side of the road with a pair of sweetcorn ears on it with the legend “Welcome to Smallville, Kansas. The Creamed Corn Capital of the World! Population 45,000.” “Only a couple of minutes now, ma’am,” Little Wind told her as they passed the town’s park. A moment later he turned the car to the left, heading back towards the farmland. “What’s the house number, ma’am?” Rolanda fished into her bag and drew out the envelope, “82 South Main Street.” Little Wind nodded and drove for about a minute, passing through several junctions, before slowing their car and parked it outside a low wooden house set well back from the road. “We’re here.” The pair got out of their vehicle and walked up to the door, Little Wind knocked on it. At first there was no response, so he tried again without any success. However, a third attempt brought a middle-aged man in black trousers and a crumpled blue shirt with a metal badge on it to the door. “What?!” he demanded, groggily. “Can’t a man get some sleep around here!” Rolanda resisted the temptation to comment on that and focused on their purpose. “We’re looking for Hank Lang and his legal guardian? Is that you, sir?” “Nope,” slurred the man. “That’s my wife’s business. She and the boy are out at the Kent farm today.” “Do you know the address, sir?” asked Rolanda. “Three-twenty-one Hickory,” supplied the man. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going back to bed!” Without waiting for an answer, he stepped back and slammed the door in their faces. “Pleasant man,” noted Rolanda drily, as they returned to their car. “Did he seem drunk to you?” Little Wind shook his head. “I wondered that… but that’s a firefighter’s uniform he’s wearing. If he was fighting the grass fires, he could have been on the go flat out for days.” Hooch nodded, a little relieved. They got into their car and Little Wind pulled up the directions to Hickory Lane on the car’s navigation system, then they set off. **** 14:11 CDT They were drifting to a stop just inside the open gates of the property when a young woman — a tall redhead that looked around nineteen but had the confidence of someone slightly older — walked up to them. “Megan Morse, can I help you?” “I hope so, Miss Morse,” replied the sergeant. “We’re looking for Lana Lang, we’d like to talk to her about her son Hank’s education?” “Really?” replied Megan, then paused as if considering something. “Well, she’s in the kitchen helping Pa get ready for the party.” “What party?” asked Rolanda, wondering if they’d made a mistake coming that day. “You didn’t,” Megan assured her confidently. “Didn’t what?” “Make a mistake,” replied Megan as she opened the front door and lead them through the house towards the kitchen. “We’ve got plenty of secrets of our own, yours aren’t going to be a problem.” For some reason, the explanation didn’t make her feel any better. As they wandered through the house, Rolanda glanced over the photos on display, which showed a huge variety of different faces which she was easily able to separate into three generations: the oldest featured a married couple, who were later joined by a tall, dark-haired boy with startlingly blue eyes, sometimes accompanied by a blond-haired boy, a red-headed girl or both in his teens, a brunette wife at some point in his twenties. Comparatively recent photos added a timeline of shots of a black-haired, green-eyed boy that she assumed was her ‘target’; a teenage boy who could — other than age — have been a twin of the older one; Megan Morse; a truly enormous wolf; a green-skinned pre-teen and later teen boy; another baby boy with the two brunette boys’ blue eyes, and finally a tall, auburn-haired girl whose round glasses hid similar startingly blue eyes to most of the males. “Uh, Miss Morse?” “Yes?” “The green-skinned boy…” Rolanda said, then trailed off, not sure what to ask. “One of your secrets?” Megan shook her head. “That’s Garfield Logan, my adopted brother. We don’t make a big fuss about it, but it’s not secret. He had a medical incident a few years back and ended up looking like that and gained a couple of special abilities.” This was an explanation, but it was equivocal enough that her feeling of unease still remained. The feeling wasn’t improved when the first person that she encountered as she entered the kitchen was a tall, regal-looking, red-headed woman in her mid-thirties, who positively exuded power second only to the headmaster, who was sitting at the scrubbed pine worktable in the middle of the room. Rolanda swallowed and looking up a little at the woman and tried hard to keep the nervousness from her features. “Lana Lang?” “No,” she replied. “I am Mera Orinaina, Hank’s mentor.” Then she motioned towards the other red-head in the room — a slightly older woman of perhaps forty-five years, and a little taller and heavier than she, but not unusually so, who wore jeans, a check-shirt and an apron — who was standing beside the older man from the photos in the hall at the large range that dominated one wall of the kitchen. “My name is Rolanda Hooch, Mrs Lang,” said Rolanda. “And this is Sergeant Little Wind…” “Have a seat, Miss Hooch,” said Mrs Lang as she moved into the middle of the room and took one herself. “And it’s Mrs Lang-Cushing, Ms Lang or you can just call me Lana. What can we help you with?” “Madam Hooch, please, Mrs Lang-Cushing,” Rolanda clarified. “The sergeant is here as my escort. I’m not particularly familiar with the area and it apparently has something of a reputation?” The locals — including Megan Morse, who’d gone around the table and taken a seat opposite Rolanda’s own — exchanged significant glances at this comment but said nothing. “Before I can answer that…” continued Rolanda. “I have a couple of questions of my own if you don’t mind?” “Okay,” agreed Mrs Lang-Cushing, comfortably. “Go ahead.” “First of all,” said Rolanda. “We believe your son, Hank, was born under a different name and if you can confirm this, my headmaster and potentially the Ministry would like to know how he got here. And secondly, do you believe in magic?” Mrs Lang-Cushing smiled. “Well, I’d be a fool not to believe in magic considering that my son, one of his best friends, his friend’s mother…” At this she nodded to the regal-looking woman. “… several of his babysitters and friends of my childhood best friend Clark all have magical powers.” Rolanda considered this, nodded, and relaxed a little. “And your son?” Mrs Lang-Cushing nodded. “I assume you think that he’s Harry Potter?” Roland nodded. “Is he? How did he get here?” “He is,” confirmed Mrs Lang-Cushing. “I was in London for a conference on advanced technologies in October of eighty-one, when I was approached by one of Clark’s friends Dinah Lance and a Surrey police detective who told me that another of Clark’s friends, Giovanni Zatara…” she broke off as Little Wind made an odd noise. “Is there a problem, Sergeant?” “Not a problem, as such, ma’am…” he replied, then turned to Rolanda. “Zatara is known to us… he’s a formidable talent, rumoured to be even more powerful than your headmaster. In my opinion we can trust his findings and I believe that the government would agree.” “What can you tell about the school you represent, Madam Hooch?” asked Mera Orinaina. “I would have preferred to teach Harry alongside my son and my other students… but his talent for elemental magic is limited… so I am willing to support him going elsewhere.” Rolanda bristled a little at the suggestion that Hogwarts should be anyone’s second choice, but she’d learned enough diplomacy not to voice her concerns — though she got an odd look from Miss Morse that reminded her a little of the ones that preceded some of the headmaster’s uncanny declarations — and chose to answer the question in good faith. When she finished, the three women had a range of expressions, Miss Morse was relatively indifferent; Mera Orinaina was pensive; Mrs Lang-Cushing conflicted, but at the same time a little resigned. “I’m not entirely convinced,” declared the latter. “But if Hank wants to go… I’ll support him.” Again, Rolanda was tempted to argue, while the potential involvement of MACUSA complicated things — she wasn’t sure what their rules on the subject were — as far as she and the Ministry were concerned, muggle parents didn’t have the right to prevent their magical children from attending and adoptive parents even less so. At that moment, the back door creaked open and two teenagers walked in, both smiling and curious and dressed for a summer party. The boy, unmistakably a Potter, was a couple of inches shorter than she was, with the scruffy, black hair, lean build and knobbly knees of that family and his birth mother’s startlingly green eyes; while the girl, who stood a head taller even barefoot, had a voluminous curtain of chestnut hair, bright blue eyes and wore similar round glasses to Harry. “You’ve got an adventure for me, Megan?” he asked eagerly. The youngest of the three redheads smiled slightly. “Madam Hooch wonders if you’d be interested in attending the school she works at in Britain. They specialise in teaching magic, and she thinks that it will be more your thing than Mera’s classes.” “That sounds like fun!” declared the boy, then his mood dipped a little and he glanced at the older girl beside him. She appeared to immediately understand his thoughts and offered him a reassuring smile and nod. Harry turned back to her and beamed. “How do I sign up?” **** Atlantean Embassy, Plymouth PL4. July 31st 04:30 BST "Rise and shine, Hank," said Karen as she shook him firmly on the shoulder, her curtain of curly dark brown hair framing her face as she bent over. "What time is it?" murmured Harry. "Four-thirty," Karen replied. "Four-thirty!" exclaimed Harry and sat up abruptly. "Why are we…?" Then he paused. "I remember now." "You've got fifteen minutes to get dressed," Karen told him. "We'll be waiting in the car." Harry paused for a moment until she was out of even her hearing unless she was paying attention. "Kryptonians…" he muttered darkly, as he scrambled for his clothing. "Far too energetic this early in the morning." **** London WC2, 09:55 BST. The air was still a little cool, but not unbearably so, when they exited the Tatra 613 — on loan with a driver from the Vlatavan Embassy — in a garage behind Charing Cross Road. Neither Mera nor Karen seemed to be bothered by it at all, but Harry huddled into his jacket and jammed his hands in his pockets to keep them warm. Smallville got a lot cooler than this in winter but this was July! It took a little backtracking, but Karen eventually spotted their destination and headed over to it. The Leaky Cauldron, a tiny, grubby-looking pub, was sandwiched between a big bookshop and a music store that was thoroughly ignored by the patrons of the surrounding businesses. Karen opened the door for them, and they went in, Mera in the lead with Harry behind her and Karen bringing up the rear. Harry glanced immediately glanced around the dark and shabby interior, trying to pick out Madam Hooch… but while he was able to note a group of old women — one of them was smoking a long pipe — sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry; a pale young man in dark robes; a little man in a top hat; and the old barman — who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut — before the silence distracted him… she wasn't in sight. "Can I help?" asked the barman. Then he paused to consider something. "Good Lord. is this… can this be…?" He paused again. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Mera shifting her weight, he guessed that she was a little anxious. "Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry Potter... what an honour." He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry, dodged around Mera, and seized his hand, tears in his eyes. "Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back." Harry didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at him. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out. Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Harry found himself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron. "Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last." "So proud, Mr. Potter, I'm just so proud." "Always wanted to shake your hand… I'm all of a flutter." "Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle." This went on for ten or fifteen minutes and if hadn't been for the arrival of a massive, but relatively amiable man that claimed 'Hogwarts business' in a booming voice, then Harry rather suspected that one of his companions — probably Karen — might have done something rash to get them out of it. "Thanks for the save," said Karen, between breaths to steady herself. She stepped up to the large man and glanced him over. "You said something about Hogwarts… do you know where we can find Madam Hooch?" The giant chuckled. "Knew I fergot summat. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper o' Key an' Grounds." He held out an enormous hand and shook her whole arm, and then promptly repeated the process with Harry. He paused in front of Mera, apparently considering doing the same, but changed his mind and grasped her hand, raising it to his lips and kissing it. "Hooch is busy with a family emergency. As I was comin' down to run an' errand fer him anyway, Professor Dumbledore asked me to step in." "Lead the way then, Mr Hagrid," said Mera, after she reclaimed her hand. "Call me Hagrid, ma'am, everyone does," replied the giant. "Where's me umbrella?" He started counting bricks and after a moment he told them to stand back and tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella. The brick he had touched quivered… it wriggled… and then in the middle, a small hole appeared… it grew wider and wider… a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight. Hagrid paused for a moment for effect, and then spoke, "Welcome… t' Diagon Alley." |
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