Yeah, it's readable. But I have no fucking idea what is going on or what any of those terms mean. Without some sort of explenation or context this is confusing as hell.

 

Yeah, it's really involved and an incoherent brain fart at that, hence my posting it here. Might add an extra scene as an exposition-that-isn't-but-kind-of-is at some point today.

 

When the illustrious - and in some circles, notorious - Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry climbed to his feet, a hush settled over the Great Hall. It had been a long day - hours spent on the Hogwart's Express had sapped most students of the hyperactivity that had consumed them earlier in the day, and the Sorting had been tedious, especially for those in the older years, who had been through the event several times already.

Still, all the students immediately turned their head in interest at what the - assuredly wise - headmaster had to say. They all knew of him, had all been told stories of his greatness, been regaled with the tails of his success, of the battles he had won and the respect he commanded. They all knew that if he wanted to, he could take over as Minister for Magic with only a few words, but that instead he had relegated himself to a position as a simple Headmaster.

Undoubtedly, he was the greatest man they would ever encounter.

"I'll try and keep this brief, as I'm not one for long speeches," the Headmaster began. "For those who are here for the first time, welcome to Hogwarts. I hope you enjoy your time here, and find a second home within the school's halls. I know that I did. For those who are returning - welcome back! Believe me, I'm so glad none of you died. Would have been a real depressing start to the new school year."

The Headmaster offered a crooked grin, and paused in his speech, as if allowing time for the students to laugh. None of them did. To his right, Professor Longbottom, Deputy Headmaster sighed. The smirk fell from Professor Potter's face.

"Admittedly, that joke came out better in my head... but come on, not even a pitty laugh? Come on you guys, it's just some black humor to start of the year, nothing serious. My godfather would've thought it was funny. Come to think of it, so would my old dorm mate, Dean."

Professor Longbottom was holding his head in his hands.

"Well, whatever. Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak, and all that. Have a good year, hopefully none of you get attacked by a troll or something. That would be an awkward letter..."

Headmaster Harry James Potter, century-old teenager returned to his seat, and turned to Professor Longbottom. The hall remained dead silent.

"I swear, Dumbledore always made those things look easy..." Professor Potter paused, seeming to notice that everyone was still staring at him. He motioned to them with his hands. "That was a signal to begin eating!" He turned back to Professor Longbottom. "Is it just me, or do these brats get dumber and dumber every year?"

The hall was still silent enough to allow the students to hear every word.​

===

From a series of drabbles and one shots I have stored on my computer, featuring a Harry that was made immortal at the battle of Hogwarts, and ended up becoming Headmaster. Have some more stuff written, but most of it's rather short and unpolished. May post more in the future, but will probably never end up as a full story... hence my posting it here.

 

Haha I enjoyed that. At first I was like Dumbledore? Then I was like close, but not quite. Then I went AHA! Harry Potter!

 

Andrela Looked at the beast before her.

You see a Basilisk.

A basilisk? She hadn't fought any before, but she was up for the challenge. She vaguely recalled some rumors that such a creature could be found in the old mines below Kazordoon and could change into stone anyone looking it in the eyes.

She grinned. As if that would be a problem. She faced dragon lords and demons before, an over-sized snake was nothing special.

More interesting were the people in the room.

Two boys and a girl, the latter which was currently unconscious and on the floor.

Looking once more, Andrela identified the two boys as Harry Potter and Tom Marvolo Riddle. What was intriguing was the fact that Harry had the vocation of a Sorcerer, while Tom was identified as an 'unknown'.

That was disappointing, she very rarely got an unknown result.

Said unknown seemed displeased by her appearance as he asked "What magic is this? Who is this, Potter?!"

The other boy meanwhile was just as surprised.

"Please! Help me, he's going to kill her!" Harry pleaded pointing at the girl.

Well, that just wouldn't do. Andrela was a knight and knights were to protect the innocent and weak.

She raised her Magic Sword.

Tom laughed. "A sword against the might of Lord Voldemort? Pathetic."

He then started hissing in very strange, unsettling tones.

The basilisk moved.

"Utani Tempo Hur!" Andrela shouted and felt her body speed double immediately. Within seconds, she was at the beast's side, slashing with her weapon.

But the big snake proved to be made of sterner stuff and would not fall easily. It quickly moved its head and one of its fangs hit the knight in her left arm.

You lose 583 hitpoints due to an attack by a basilisk.

You are poisoned.

"Exana Pox!" was the next spell and Andrela felt the poison in her body evaporate immediately.

Not waiting for the basilisk to hit her once more, she repeated the the Charge spell and moved away from the beast. Quickly pulling out a small bottle from her backpack, she uncorked it and drank the entire purple liquid from it.

Having her mana restored, she once more ran to the snake and this time wasted no precious seconds.

"Exori Gran!" was the final spell, and hundreds of microscopic needles appeared in a meter radius around her. Unfortunately for the basilisk, it was close enough to her to be affected.

It fell dead to the floor with many small wounds in its body bleeding heavily.

You gain 1200 experience points.

"Well, that's not much." Andrela said.​

 

Is there any specific RPG that's from?

 

Mmorpg called Tibia.

Andrela is my knight character.

 

A little snippet of a HP/space sci-fi crossover idea, applicable quite broadly.

My dear Elise,

Education is the most important pursuit of the young mind, or so Professor Dumbledore might have argued in one of his customary speeches filled with eloquence and wit, to a hall full of bored teenagers with more interest in their empty stomachs than philosophical debates. Perhaps it is a sign of my age that I’ve been considering such ancient people and ideas anew - or perhaps it's the centennial that's fast approaching. I shudder to think of the festivities in my name.

I never thought I’d get very nostalgic, truth be told. I wasn’t prone to it in my youth, growing up in a household that held little of value to remember, much less cherish. Existing in the moment was far more important to me than dwelling on the past, and my years at Hogwarts scarcely allowed me a moment to reflect before a new threat loomed on the horizon. I am afraid to consider what a carnival of horrors a Foe Glass would have displayed at any given moment. You have surely heard the tales from your mother or your uncle, since they never did seem to get tired of hearing them...

I should refrain from meandering to and fro as my contemporaries are prone to, lest I am confused for one of their equal. I am not. They are all, I fully confess, greater people than I have ever pretended to be, and likely greater than I have ever been. You may take that as you will. Many of them have long chugged off to the great beyond - I thought the metaphor appropriate, given my own experiences - but I fully expect I shall see them again, someday.

It is with no small amount of guilt that I admit to feeling a certain sense of gratitude that Ron and Hermione Weasley, my oldest friends - in both senses of the word - still remain with me in life. There is some poetic justice to such an arrangement, I think. Your great-uncle Draco’s continued presence is my punishment for this state of affairs, of course. I kid, I kid; I know he has long left behind his sordid past. He’s also quite bald, and it seems hairpieces never seem to care for his vacant scalp. Curious. (There are very few wands which could have accomplished such wonderful trickery, and you have surely heard of mine. I shall admit to no wrongdoing - not in print, at any rate.)

This message was not intended to be quite this long, or quite this full of diversions. I seem to have too much to say, and not enough parchment to write it on. The curse of living in a new age where paper has now become the standard among the young. I can understand now, all too well, those wizards who once frowned in disdain at the ballpoint pen.

To my point, then. This letter is intended first and foremost, and quite by necessity, as an apology. I'm afraid I shall not be present at your Sorting, one of the most important days of a young witch’s life, and I cannot claim any motive but selfishness. Admittedly, very few would expect me to go to social events at my age - or do very much but croak my last breath - but I still feel you should know the truth. There are certain things that you should be aware of.

Steady now, Potter. (Consider that a worthwhile litany for the both of us.)

In truth, I am young. Truly young. I might not look it, courtesy of Hermione’s rather spectacular spellwork, but I can feel it in my bones. There is sprightly eagerness there, an ease of motion that I have stubbornly ignored for many years, in deference to my age and my desire to live out my days with those I care for. I take effort to moderate myself, but I know my lack of aches and pains is ever a target of Ron’s envy. He does like to have something to complain about, the old codger.

With my apologies, I shall not describe to you the reasons for my deception, such as it is, beyond a dedication to my friends that borders on the fanatical. Neither shall I describe the cause of my condition, beyond that it relates to terrible events from my early years and their fortuitous repercussions. I do not believe that these events, even known in full, would make much difference. Suffice to say, though, even my existence will end, someday. An old acquaintance of mine, a chap by the name of Riddle, taught me the value of proper endings - but I do not expect I shall need one soon.

Before the week is out, I shall be departing from this world. I refrain from metaphor, just this once. I imagine that a shrewd mind like yours can figure it out, if it turns out that you too have inherited your great-grandmother’s guile. I do not know if I shall return, but I expect not to - my obituary would make such a thing somewhat problematic. The reasons for my departure are many, but I believe that they can be summed up, quite neatly, by referring to the opening of my letter. It is never too late to learn. Remember that.

If you ever wish to come find me, please do not be a stranger.

I shall see you in the black.

H. J. Potter, Order of Merlin (First Class), former Headmaster of Hogwarts, Grand Sorcerer, Quite Excellent at Quidditch, honorary member of S.P.E.W., Very Important Great-grandfather.​

 

This is actually part of Holly Polter, but I may cut the scene as it shifts the mood the wrong way.

To set the scene: Ginny Weasley was last seen having the life sucked out of her by something like the Thing from another world. Since Pansy Parkinson was the last to see her (having kicked both her and the creature down a stairwell), she reported her concerns in a very vague way to Snape who brought it to the Headmaster and McGonagall.

Dumbledore assures both Professors that Ginny is still in the castle and because of that they should only be concerned with her circumstances if Molly Weasley contacts them.

[[[]]]

Snape sneered. "Why? Because of the family barometer? That ridiculous clock didn't help the Weasley girl three years ago!"

"Of course it did," McGonagall corrected him. "Mrs. Weasley contacted me right about the same time as the last message appeared on the wall, warning that Ginny was in mortal peril. That's why we knew it was her who had been taken into the Chamber of Secrets."

"Have a little faith, Severus," Dumbledore said, "There are greater magics at play here than what we teach. The Weasleys' remarkable clock is only one example."

Green fire flared in the hearth, heralding the tremulous voice of Molly Weasley. "P-professor Dumbledore? Oh, please tell me you're there. Ginny... my daughter is... lost."

Both professors glared at the headmaster. He kneeled down to the fire and said, "Lost, you say?"

"She was briefly in Mortal Peril, but now she's just Lost. You didn't send her into the Forbidden Forest, did you?"

[[[]]]

Hermione was the first to find out, as the Prefects gathered for their weekly meeting just after dinner. Partway through Erin Moore's briefing they were interrupted by Professor Umbridge, who insisted that their primary role was to keep the other students from panicking or trying to interfere with the search by the professors. To that end, they were forbidden to speak of it to anyone who wasn't already in the know.

Professor Umbridge then dismissed them, but decided to escort the Gryffindor prefects back to their tower. While pacing the sullen and silent students, the professor asked after their Quidditch team's chances in their next match with another player off the roster.

Hermione said, "We'll find her. We'll get her back."

"Still, it's best to plan for alternatives," Umbridge simpered. "Perhaps you should follow the example of your sister prefects and join the team, Miss Granger. In fact, I'll do you the favour and put you down as designated substitute. No need to thank me."

"I don't care what it takes," Angelina muttered, "We're finding Ginny before next Saturday."

Once back in the common room and away from Umbridge, the prefects quite unofficially explained everything they knew. The twins and Hermione gave Harry meaningful looks until he noticed, and finally led them up to his trunk to get the Marauder's Map. The four of them scoured every corner and crevice that the map revealed, but found no trace of Ginny.

"We need to search but can't be seen."

Harry nodded, but then he said, "Actually, we need someone unseen to search for us. Dobby!"

The house-elf popped into existence by the bed where they had assembled.
"The great Harry Potter calls for Dobby! Dobby is very pleased to--"

"Time is short. Ginny Weasley has gone missing and we need you to help us find her."

Dobby paled.

"What?"

Dobby said, "Miss Ginevra is... lost."

Fred groaned. "Yeah, we know!"

"Dobby is sorry but there is only one place in great Hogwarts where one cannot be found."

Hermione sucked in a gasp and said, "The Chamber of Secrets!"

Dobby scowled at her. "Dobby was sure that the great Harry Potter had found that one."

"Then where?" demanded George.

"The Come-and-Go room. When things cannot be found, they are in the Come-and-Go room."

Harry sighed and said, "Take us there."

"Dobby is sorry but Dobby can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because it is lost! It cannot be found!"

Hermione said, "How can Ginny have gotten into a room that no one has ever found, but that you're certain exists and that she's there?"

"It cannot be found now. Other times it can be."

"When?" asked Fred.

"When it no longer needs to be lost."

"You're making no sense, Dobby."

The elf's lip quivered. "Dobby does not know how much clearer he can be!"

There was much arguing between Fred, George and Hermione as to what the elf was trying to say. Harry raised both hands and said, "Shut it!"

All four turned to him.

"Dobby, is there anything you can tell us to reassure us that Ginny will be okay?"

"Dobby is certain that she will be found as soon as she is no longer lost."

[[[]]]

Pretty sure I just recreated 'Who's on First?'

 

Harry was lost. Very, very lost.

That wasn’t in itself a huge problem. While all the various travelling methods available to wizards meant that getting interestingly lost was much easier it also meant that getting un-lost was similarly easier.

The problem, if it could be called that, was that the place he’d ended up looked so damnably interesting.

He’d always been a sucker for huge balloons.

He stared about himself at the unusual city. It certainly didn’t look like London or anywhere in the UK. Some vague and unplaceable knowledge, that had probably originally come from Hermione in some fashion, suggested that the city looked at least a little Japanese. It had the… swirly roof ends that he was sure had something to do with Japanese architecture.

What was confusing, though, was the half the street signs were in English, while the other half were in some Japanese looking script. It was like the city had no idea what it was supposed to be.

It was also eerily empty. It probably wasn’t all that late at night and the street he’d appeared on moments earlier in a swirl of colour was completely deserted.

Nearly deserted. A car had just pulled up at the street corner nearby.

Two kids and a woman got out, it was obvious that the kids were on the receiving end of a lecture. It was also obvious that it had been going on for some time. It had taken on the wandering cadence of a lecture that had long ago lost its way.

“Have I been perfect?” the woman asked in a high pitched voice. “No. Do I know anything about children? No! Should I have picked up a book on parenting? Probably.”

They stopped at the door to a café called the Lucky Cat.

“Where was I going with this?” she asked the air in confusion. “I had a point…”

Harry couldn’t help but grin as he listened. It was the obvious mark of an amateur haranguer to lose the thread so easily. The only thing that could put Hermione off such a lecture was starvation or a library fire.

“Sorry,” said the elder of the two boys in a sorrowful tone.

“We love you, Aunt Cass,” supplied the younger.

“Well I love you too!” she said in the same tone as the earlier lecture. To Harry’s disappointment the side-show then disappeared into the café with the merry jingle of the doorbell.

He wandered over to the café where he could still see the kids being given the sharp end of the woman’s tongue and just before they disappeared into the back rooms he knocked on the door.

The woman, ‘Aunt Cass’ opened the door after a moment looking just as stressed as Harry would have guessed. She was holding a donut in one hand with a couple of bites taken out of it and was also sporting the beginnings of a chocolate moustache from the topping.

“Can I help you!” she said in the exasperated voice she’d used on the two kids. She winced and then asked in a more normal tone of voice, “Sorry, I mean, can I help you?”

Harry smiled his best ingratiating smile, one developed over long years of practice. “Hi there, I’m a little lost. Would you might telling me where I am?”

As Harry was speaking she blinked, then smiled and took another bite out of the donut. Then she nodded cheerily when Harry finished his question.

Then she kept nodding as she chewed on the bite of donut. She swallowed and seemed to return to the land of the living as her eyes refocused on Harry.

“Uh, can you say that again?” she smiled embarrassedly. “I think I was a little distracted.”

“That must be a really good donut,” said Harry understandingly.

“Mmhhm. You have no idea,” she said with a happy reflective smile.

“I was asking if you would tell me where I am?” he tried again.

“Well, this is Waseda Street and down there is Hibiya Street, it goes down to the shore,” said Cass with no hint of impatience. It was only then that she actually took a moment to look at who it was she was speaking to and Harry caught the glance as she quickly looked him up and down.

Harry smiled an embarrassed smile. “And if I was to ask the name of the city?”

She frowned in confusion. “San Fransokyo?” she said after a long pause.

Well at least that sounded… Wait.

“San Fransokyo?” he repeated.

__________________________________________

I watched Big Hero Six a while ago. After doing so I decided that Harry Potter/Aunt Cass was a thing that had to happen. My enthusiasm didn't last long enough to get anywhere.

 

Not sure if this isn't a bit too long to qualify for drabble vomit, but what the hell.

Just Another Saturday at Gotham Central Bank

The queue of customers was stretching back almost fully to the door. Rick Cooper concealed a sigh as he buzzed the next one over. The hour between eleven and noon on a Saturday was definitely the worst time to work as a bank clerk; the combination of late risers and citizens getting their business out of the way before a leisurely afternoon made for a stressful time. Particularly after the good time he’d had the night before.


He let the guy he was serving think the slight smile the memory brought him was just good customer service, and drifted through the transaction on autopilot as he thought back to the bar, and especially after the bar. She’d been stunning, and flexible, and he was seriously considering calling her up after his shift ended.


He pressed his buzzer again, and rolled his eyes as the next customers strolled over. Some fat cat in a pinstripe suit under an expensive looking coat, still wearing his fedora even indoors, and a heavily made up blonde chick hanging on his arm. Stay classy, Gotham. It wasn’t even a good suit – who wore a purple suit outside a fancy dress party, for God’s sake? Then it stuck him. Purple? It was pure instinct that had his hand wandering below his counter, scrabbling for the button that would ring a very different system to his buzzer, but by the time he’d found it, the couple had arrived at his counter. The chick pulled a face, and wagged her finger.


“Ah, ah, ah! Hands where we can see ‘em, pal!”


Her partner leant in close, tipped his hat back a little to reveal more of his face. His very, very pale face, which was defined by a grin wider than should really be humanly possible.


“Good morning good sir! I’m here to make a withdrawal…”


Even though his words weren’t funny, weren’t funny at all, the man laughed long and hard, a high-pitched cackle that shook the man physically. Everyone around the counter turned to stare at him, and he whirled, tossing his hat and coat aside to reveal his more familiar appearance, and a large barrelled pistol that didn’t quite look real.


“Hello ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to our matinee performance! This is an audience participation piece, so if you’d all just follow the directions of our stage hands, we’re sure to have an absolute blast!”


The Joker trailed off into a quieter chuckle, more sinister than the previous insanity; his companion – Harley Quinn, Rick presumed – vaulted onto the counter, pulling a machine gun from her own coat and glaring down at the frozen staff. On the other side of the counter, a couple of men stepped up to the guards, clearly stopping them from attempting something foolishly heroic. Not that they would. Gotham’s supervillains had an interesting knock-on effect to certain areas of employment in the city. Rick’s own, for example. Given the relative frequency of costumed maniacs trying to line their own pockets, it was hard for banks to keep hold of staff for very long, and in an effort to counter this measures had been put in place. Guards were strictly instructed not to intervene in the event of costumed crime, although regular criminals were fair game. And Rick was on a very handsome salary, nearly double what he’d make in the same job in, say, Chicago. All the staff knew the score – keep quiet, do what they were told, and hope that this wasn’t the day that the villain decided they wanted to up their notoriety with a body count.


The only problem was working out whether the civilians knew how to play the game. In a city with as many vigilantes as Gotham, it wasn’t impossible that there would be a wannabe hero in the middle of them all. Rick prayed that wasn’t the case today.


As he and his colleagues worked silently to fill up bags with cash, it seemed they were in luck. The Joker’s goons were robbing the customers blind, and Rick could see several of them holding back their fury, but no-one was doing anything stupid. Joker himself was strolling around the bag, twirling his ridiculous looking gun casually around a finger, occasionally chuckling to himself, seemingly at nothing at all. After a while though, Rick decided that the Joker had his eye on someone. It took a minute to work out who that was, but he finally pinned them down. A younger man, maybe a student, clutching the desk in the middle of the lobby so hard his knuckles were almost as white as the Joker’s face. He was clearly terrified, the sweat on his forehead gleaming in the bank’s harsh light. He closed his eyes as the Joker stopped next to him, letting out a little sob audible from the other side of the room, such was the quiet.


“Aw kid, what’s the matter? Nobody’s hurt you, have they?”


“N-no…” The younger man stuttered. Rick couldn’t blame him. The Joker slung an arm over his shoulder, almost friendly, were it not for the shark like grin.


“Then why you scared? Not of little old me, surely?”


The kid’s eyes flickered to meet Joker’s, before flicking away again quickly. Joker leant in closer.


“Am I scary, hmm?”


“You…you kill people. Sir.” He added the honorific hastily, obviously hoping it might soften his other words. Joker jerked back, the grin leaving his face. He looked honestly offended.


“Moi? Kill people? Never! Well. Hardly ever. And why on earth would I want to kill you?”


The kid closed his eyes again. “I don’t…I don’t know.”


“You’re not going to try anything stupid, are you?”


“No sir!”


“Then why would I kill you?” For the first time, there wasn’t a hint of laughter in the Joker’s voice. He actually sounded reasonable, honestly curious.


“I don’t…they say you…that you just do.”


“Oh honestly,” the Joker snapped. He wrapped his arm around the kid’s shoulders again. “What’s your name, kid?”


“Billy. Billy Robinson.”


“Billy. Y’see Billy, I’m hard done by. The media gets me all wrong! They see what I do, and they say ‘Maniac’. Murderer. Psychopath. Criminally insane. And a lot of that’s true, but I’m not just some nutjob who goes around killing people at random – I’m an artist! All I want to do is make people laugh. That’s when I kill people – when it’s funny. And come on, Billy. What could possibly be funny about killing you?”


He shot Billy an encouraging look, and the younger man managed a nervous smile. “Nothing, I guess.”


“Exactly! You’re just a menial bystander. Completely beneath my notice. I promise you, do what you’re told and you’ll go home tonight with nothing more serious than some sweat stains and – ” he sniffed “ – maybe a new pair of pants, am I right?”


He held his hand out, open, to Billy. Rick’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to call out, but he was too late. Billy took the Joker’s hand.


Nothing happened for a moment. Billy stood there, oddly still. Then he whimpered. Then he started to convulse, gently at first then ever more violently. Smoke started to rise from his hand, and the smell of something burning began to waft through the lobby. Rick closed his eyes, unable to watch as the electric current charged through the young man’s body. He didn’t need to see it. He could visualise it perfectly through the Joker’s shrieking cackle, louder than anything he had ever heard in his life.


But not quite loud enough to drown out Billy’s final wail of agony, abruptly cut off. There was a thud, and Rick opened his eyes. Billy was lying on the floor, smoke wafting up from his body. His eyes were still open, but they were blank. Lifeless. The Joker was leaning against the desk, almost weeping with laughter now.


“But…you said you weren’t going to kill him. You promised,” one of the remaining customers whispered. The Joker’s laughter ceased instantly, and he pushed himself upright, whirling to look at his…at his audience, Rick realised.


“APRIL FOOL!”


And he started laughing again.


“Erm…Mister J?”


“What, Harley?!”


“It…It’s September.”


Joker sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose, weary exasperation evident. “I know that, Harley, that’s the JOKE!”


“Oh!” Harley giggled a little nervously. “Gotcha, Mister J! Good one!”


“Honestly, some people just don’t know jokes…” Joker muttered. There was serious displeasure in the look he threw at Harley, and she shuffled atop the counter. She was almost as scared of him as the rest of them, Rick realised, although probably mixed with something else that he didn’t really want to think about. Trying to put Billy out of his head, he turned back to his bag, which was nearly full.


There was a faint crack, like a car backfiring a few blocks away. Rick looked up, curious despite himself. Glass tinkled to the floor, and Joker’s goons looked up, aiming guns at something he couldn’t see – before one of them was knocked to the floor by a black shape that dropped through the skylight like a stone. Before the hired thugs could re-train their weapons on it, the shape had spun away, revealing a hint of grey beneath the darkness. There was a sudden motion, and smaller shapes flew out from the black mass, and two of the thugs cursed.


One of the shapes let out a pitched whine, and there was a sudden flash of light bright enough that Rick thought he might just have looked directly at the sun. There came the sound of efficient violence, and several pained grunts before the light cleared. When Rick could see again, the black shape was nowhere to be seen, and while the thugs were still on their feet, they were notably lacking in guns.


The Joker started to laugh again, clapping his hands in something like glee.
“Oh, I do love it when he does this!”


One of the thugs reached into his jacket, his hand coming out wrapped around a vicious looking knife, but before he did anything else the black shape cannoned out from behind a desk, hitting the thug hard enough in the stomach that he doubled over. The other thugs slowly spread out in a circle around their fallen friend, as the black shape straightened. It wasn’t a shape at all. It was a man, the black mass actually a cloak, over a lighter jumpsuit, with a glaring yellow and black emblem on the chest. The only hint of normality was a square jaw exposed beneath a black hood over the rest of the man’s face.


Batman.


Rick’s pulse raced. The situation was not necessarily better now. Accepted wisdom and training said that once the Bat arrived, you were probably safe…but there was always that chance that today would be the day he lost. And there was always the probability of being taken hostage in the Joker’s attempt to escape, of course.


Still on top of the counter, Harley tossed her gun aside to land near the Joker, who scooped it up – although he didn’t do anything with it. To replace it, she pulled something out of the pocket of her pants; with a flick of her wrist, it extended, expanded, until she was holding something closely resembling a baseball bat. Rick had never heard of a baseball bat that hummed though; it didn’t take a genius to work out that one of the other supervillains in Gotham had cooked something up for her.


“Boys, Harley…” the Joker said, his voice dripping with dark enthusiasm, “I wanna see something funny.”


The circle of thugs charged, while Harley somersaulted – somersaulted – off the counter to join the fray. Batman dodged the goons’ frantic arm-waving effortlessly, lashing out at one with a closed fist that struck him in the face like a hammer. The goon crumpled to the floor without a sound, blood streaming from his nose, and his companions redoubled their efforts. Their opponent skipped away from one, who was trying to get him in a grapple, and flipped over another’s head, pushing his makeshift vault into his friend as he did so.


Batman landed directly in front of Harley, who swung out with the bat, shouting something Rick couldn’t understand. Batman blocked the blow, but staggered back as the hum from the bat increased in volume. It looked like there was electric current running through it. Taken off guard, one of the goons was able to grab hold of Batman, restraining him long enough for Harley to take a jab at him. The force of the blow, added to presumably another jolt of electricity, caused the vigilante to sag a little, and the Joker giggled.


“That’s it! Hit him again, Harley!”


“Sure thing, puddin’!” she sang out, and hefted the bat for another blow…but something shot down from the ceiling, a thin wire that coiled around the bat. She looked up in dismay as another figure dropped through the skylight, this one clad in red and yellow, although still darker tones. Rick felt a jolt of surprise. Batman hadn’t been seen with a partner in a year or so, and although he wasn’t an avid follower of the costumed news pieces, there was something different about this one. A new recruit to Batman’s personal war?


The younger man yanked on the wire, and Harley was pulled off her feet, slamming into one of the counters with a gasp. The new Robin tossed the bat to the other side of the lobby, then joined the fray around Batman, who had recovered himself. One of the goons split off to brawl with the new arrival, while Batman dispatched the one who had been holding him down for Harley. As his current foe sank to the floor, whimpering in pain, one of the last trio of goons grabbed at the Bat’s cloak; Rick swore that the vigilante almost smiled as he just pulled at his cloak himself, sending the goon stumbling towards his waiting fist. There was a crunch as fist met throat, and Rick almost felt sorry for the criminal.


“Bats! A new Boy Blunder?!”


Rick looked over at the Joker. He was standing up straight now, his eyes wide with excitement.


“You shouldn’t have! All for me? It’s Christmas come early, Harley, fetch me my crowbar!”


Robin ignored the villain, concentrating on knocking his opponent into the middle of next week, but Batman glared at the Joker. If it was possible, his gaze became even more stony-faced than it already was. The last standing goon ran at him, but Batman didn’t even look at him, just kicking out; he was knocked back, tumbling over to land near Robin, who promptly clubbed him in the face to put him out for the count. Meanwhile, Batman was stalking towards Joker, who was now convulsed with laughter, apparently at some private joke. As the vigilante got close, the Joker suddenly stopped laughing, reaching to a flower on his jacket lapel. Something gushed out, and Batman whirled his cloak in front of his face. The cloak sizzled where the liquid touched it, and Batman tossed it aside, his fist flying towards the Joker’s face. There was a crunch, and Joker staggered back, more red spattered over his face than was normal even for him.


He giggled again, a shrill sound, and threw his own clumsy blow at his nemesis. Batman dodged with ease, grabbed Joker’s arm and twisted. Instead of screaming, or even just gasping in pain, the Joker just smiled.


“Oh Bats, I really felt that one! Do it again…”


With a sudden viciousness he jerked his head forward, slamming into Batman’s face. Batman released him, grunting in pain, but he didn’t fall back. He ducked beneath the Joker’s follow up blow, and grabbed his jacket. With what seemed to be little effort, he hefted the supervillain into the air, and threw him clear across the lobby. He landed on top of the counter, right in front of Rick, and slid to the floor with a dazed expression. Rick leapt back, horrified at being so close to the lunatic clown. Joker looked up at him, his gaze a little vacant, and grinned.


“Tough crowd today!”


He leapt to his feet with surprising speed, reaching out to grab at Rick, but he was intercepted by Robin, who’d acquired a long steel pole from somewhere. One end of it whacked into the Joker’s stomach, so hard it lifted him off his feet again. Robin used it to spin the Joker away and slam him against a wall. He sprang away, the pole shrinking down to a more manageable size somehow, and as the Joker staggered forward Batman vaulted over the counter, feet first. What looked like very solid boots hit the Joker straight in the face, and he collapsed, bleeding now from the mouth and a few cuts all over his face.


“What’s the matter…Batsy…Did I touch a nerve?”


With that, he fell mostly silent, save for sporadic chuckles as Batman bound him in rope. The vigilante worked in silence, despite his partner’s clearly curious gaze.


Rick heaved a sigh of relief, and turned to his colleagues. Some of the newer recruits were still staring around in shocked horror, but the more experienced among them were briskly putting the money back in their tills. Rick joined them. As his till clicked open, he realised that the clock had just hit noon.


He was definitely going to call that girl, he decided. He’d be sure of a second date with this story to tell.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Not quite happy with the last bit of it - I was trying to show that outside of the terror he'd be feeling at the time, something like a supervillain bank heist is actually almost run of the mill for Rick and his colleages. Hey ho.

Spoiler

For those not familiar with Bat-canon, or if I just didn't hint at it well enough, the Robin here is supposed to be Tim Drake; the request for a crowbar is a reference to the Joker beating the shit out of Jason Todd, Tim's predecessor, with a crowbar before blowing him up. This is the private joke, and the reason Batman loses his cool (relatively).

 

Batman with the yellow symbol? 0/10 would not read again.

 

But where's the Harry Potter element in the story?

 

There isn't one; hadn't realised this was just for HP. I'll repost it elsewhere if people really have an issue with it.

 

Well obviously the only way the Joker can continue to get away as consistently as he does is because he's imbibing an insane amount of Felix Felicis. Drinking that much is enough to drive anyone insane, so can we really blame the Joker?

 

There is no Drabble Vomit thread for other fandoms, so it's okay to post them in this thread. I guess?

 

There is one, actually.

 

I stand corrected then.

 

Have never written any sort of fiction before in my life, but have decided to start writing a few things as (primarily) an exploration into the technical aspects of writing, using different perspectives, etc etc and hopefully improving my English in general.

Would appreciate advice on how to improve.

With that said, I include this thing that I done gone and wrote:

------

"I know, I know! I'm not retarded, I can fucking read alright? I'm asking WHY. It makes no fucking sense Hermione! Look, IF the inverse of each matrix must abide Young's Dastardly Law of Gaussian Equations, and the eigen vector MUST also be -"

She cuts me off with a look... That look she always gives when she's frustrated with me.

"Oh Harry," Oh no... Not that tone. "if you really want to know why, I'm sure there will be a proof for it in Most Horrid Equations And How To Abuse Them, but its not on the syllabus for our OWLs and right now Harry, THAT is what you need to worry about! You got an E on the mock for Heaven's sake!"

Of course, Hermione doesn't know that I have recently taken to attempting to achieve specific scores in exams. As it turned out I got a 75 while aiming for 70, a score which was quite impossible; I am sure I got exactly 70%, no more, no less. Those dirty cheats had marked on a curve and - lets be honest - because everyone else is so stupid, they had bumped up the marks.

"I already looked! The only mention I could find was that -" Keep her focused on the Theory. She loves Theory.

"Are you listening to me Harry? You got an E! We both know you are capable of an O if you do the work, just DO the work!"

Of course, getting an O is trivial. Most of the marks come from pure memorization and most of the exercises are trivially achieved with even the smallest amount of practice. How anyone ever fails, I will never know.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah... All in due time. Aaaaaaaaall in due time. Now, if lambda is greater than 7..."

She sighs. That's it. I know I've broken her spirit. Now, lets see if she's in the mood for some actual work. Not this OWL bullshit.

"Ok. Fine. Lets see if we can figure it out the old fashioned way. Where are your workings?"

Uh oh. I have in front of me a three week late Charms essay I started at lunch and forgot about immediately. Oh - she's just noticed what it is. She looks pissed. Fuck my life. And to make matters worse...

"In my head of course."

She sighs again, but longer, quieter... Probably wants me to think she doesn't want me to hear. But she does. 'Her suffering is great'. Yadda yadda yadda. Shut up woman.


------


"No! It just doesn't make any sense!" It's been hours. I hate not understanding something, and this whole thing is fucking with my brain. I am angry. And exhilarated; this is what I live for after-all. The real challenge. Those rare occasions when truly, my mind is pushed to its absolute limit. Something that the official curriculum has sadly lacked.

"I know... Harry, we'll just have to ask Professor Vector." For the last hour, she has been suspiciously quiet and just sort of humming her agreement with the things I say. I can't tell whether we've reached a point beyond her current skill level, or she just doesn't care anymore. I don't mind either way - who else would suffer with me?

I know just how to perk her up. "Professor Vector can suck my hairy fucking testicles. I am going to figure this out right here, right fucking now."

She fakes a horrified look at my language, but I know her secret. She loves it; she's always loved that I speak to her like she's one of the guys. Of course, I don't sneak glances down my guy friends tops every time they lean over to look at my work, but that is a small detail I will keep to myself.
------

"Right... Fuck it. Lets go and see Vector." Vector will be puzzled about why I - a 'lazy' student who has never handed in a piece of homework - am working on such hard Theory. I'll try to pass it off as Hermione's question with myself merely along for the ride. Don't need her to start getting ideas and assigning me work, or God forbid, calling for me in class.

"Harry..." Huh. She's normally super excited to go and see teachers. Time for some of my charm.

"NO! I'm fucking done. She had better be able to explain this or I'm going to give her AIDS. I'm fucking serious Hermione. I am DONE."

"Harry! That is horrible!" She's fucking smiling. Stop faking it Hermione. "Now, if we're going to ask our Professor a question, it is most certainly not going to be at three in the morning."

What the fuck? "Huh... Is it really three? When did that happen?"

"I've been trying to tell you for hours... Come on now, we should both go to bed, or we'll get nothing done tomorrow."

No deal.

"You go... Maybe there is an answer in The Troublingly Terrifyingly Terrifically Theoretical Guide - now that I think about it, isn't that where Parvati found the proof that all N class spells in Y are a a subse-"

"Urgh, maybe... But you should really sleep Harr-"

"Don't worry, don't worry! I'm right behind you I swear. I just need five more minutes..."

Its not in the book, I already checked, but I have to send her off to bed somehow - I'll not sleep until this is done. I never can.

 

Maybe include some context? Because, while this is amusing, I have no idea what is going on. You drop down names of books, laws and a Hogwarts professor and this is supposed to tell us something? Okay, it does, but only that it has to deal with arithmancy.