Peverell Industries HQ, New York
Talia Tate was not the kind of CEO who tolerated fluff. Small talk? Forget it. Meetings that didn't move the needle? Absolutely not. Incompetence? It was as if she had a sixth sense for it, and it got the boot faster than you could say "layoffs." Standing at the head of the sleek, glass conference table, her arms crossed, her eyes sharp enough to cut glass, the room was silently tense. The kind of silence where you could almost hear the weight of your own thoughts... unless you were Sirius Black, in which case you'd be twirling a quill and making your own fun.
"Alright," Talia began, her voice smooth and controlled, like the calm before a storm. "Let's do this one last time, people, before we sign off on the Lily Potter Foundation centers in Metropolis, Gotham, and Central City." Her fingers swiped across the console, and with a soft beep, a holographic map of the United States flickered to life. Three red markers lit up like bullseyes: Metropolis, Gotham, and Central City. No pressure.
Across from her, Sirius Black—aka the man who could ruin a corporate meeting without breaking a sweat—had his feet kicked up on the table like he was at a bar, not a multi-million-dollar headquarters. His hands were busy twirling a quill in the air. It didn't even make sense; this was 2025. Who still used a quill? Sirius did, apparently.
Talia gave him a look that could've melted a lesser man into a puddle. But Sirius? He just grinned back, that devil-may-care smirk of his in full force. "What's the rush? We've got a plan, haven't we?"
Talia's eyebrow arched, but it was more of a "don't test me" look than a "really?" look. She wasn't amused, not one bit. "Let's run through the details again. Quickly."
Remus Lupin, ever the calm, measured voice of reason (even when facing off against Sirius' antics), adjusted his glasses and leaned forward. His posture was that of someone who had been dragged into too many of these 'meetings' and yet, somehow, always had to clean up the mess. He spoke with that slightly resigned air, like he'd been doing this longer than he'd care to admit. "Security's lined up. We're doing a mix of Foundation personnel with independent contractors we trust. People who know how to handle Gotham, Metropolis, and Central City. Each city's got its own challenges."
Talia's eyes flicked over to Sirius, who was now definitely looking like he was about to drift into a daydream. "And by 'trust,' you mean people who aren't going to get us killed by Gotham's favorite crazy clown or Luthor's evil plots, right?"
Remus nodded without missing a beat. "Yes. Exactly." Then he turned to Sirius, whose quill was now doing little spins in the air like some kind of wizarding magic trick. "We're covering the cities where it's needed most. But—"
Sirius immediately cut in. "Oh, come on. Risk is half the fun! Think of it like a—what do you call it?—adventure? The high stakes are what make the story interesting."
"Like the story of how you get us all killed?" Talia's voice was sharp, her patience fraying. She'd worked with Sirius long enough to know that while he liked to joke, there were very real consequences when things went sideways in these cities.
Sirius looked innocently at her. "What? I'm just saying, if things go wrong, they go wrong in spectacular fashion. How boring would it be if we just had a smooth, safe operation?"
Remus had an almost imperceptible eye roll before continuing. "Gotham is, of course, our biggest concern. Joker. That guy who calls himself the Riddler. The usual madness. Not to mention a certain brooding vigilante who tends to get... territorial."
"Brooding vigilante?" Sirius chuckled. "I love how you describe Batman like he's the dark, mysterious type. All 'I'm a man of few words, but I'll haunt your nightmares for weeks.'"
Talia didn't flinch. She'd heard all the Batman jokes, and honestly, she was getting a little tired of them. "He will behave," she said, her tone cutting through the noise like a hot knife through butter. She didn't believe it for a second, but sometimes, you had to say things like that for the sake of team morale.
Sirius, of course, wasn't convinced. "Yeah, sure. And I'm the king of France. Just wait until he decides to show up with all his angst and gadgets."
Talia shot him a look. "I don't need you encouraging him."
Remus cleared his throat, clearly in 'mediator mode' again. "Metropolis should be more stable. Superman will keep the peace—plus, Luthor's got bigger things to focus on these days."
Sirius, who'd apparently only been half-listening, perked up at the mention of Luthor. "Right, the guy with the big ego and the even bigger bank account. Yeah, no problem, that'll be a walk in the park."
Talia shot him a pointed look. "And Central City?"
"Barry Allen's already reached out," Remus said, ignoring Sirius' sarcasm like it was a fly buzzing in the room. "The Flash is on board. He offered to help with logistics, which, honestly, is more useful than half the volunteers we've had."
Sirius grinned at that. "'The fastest volunteer we'll ever have.' That's good. I like the sound of that."
Talia exhaled through her nose, almost like she was bracing herself for something. "Alright. That just leaves Gotham."
Sirius cracked his knuckles. "We should probably assume something is going to go wrong. I mean, it's Gotham. It's kind of guaranteed that something's going to blow up or get set on fire." He gave Remus a wink. "No offense to the Gotham people, but they're like the city's unofficial mascot at this point."
Remus didn't flinch. "Something always goes wrong. That's the nature of this business. But we'll be ready."
Talia's gaze hardened, a steel edge creeping into her voice. "Then let's make sure we're ready. Because whether they like it or not, the Lily Potter Foundation will succeed in Gotham. And I will make sure it happens. Got it?"
Sirius, looking far too amused for his own good, leaned back in his chair and grinned. "Oh, I like you."
Talia's eyes narrowed slightly, but her lips curved up into a knowing smirk. "I know."
—
Mount Justice had never seen a night like this before. The hum of activity had faded, leaving the place unusually quiet. No alarms, no villains, no supervillain plots. It was a calm evening, just a bunch of superheroes, snacks, and gossip.
The living room was a chaotic haven of snacks. Kara (Supergirl) was in a full-on binge mode, her hands moving faster than a speeding bullet as she worked her way through a mountain of chips and dip. She was practically buried under the heap, her blonde curls peeking out from the sea of snacks like a happy sunbeam.
"Oh my God, guys," Kara said, voice muffled by a mouthful of chips. "You won't believe this—cheese in a can. It's the best thing I've ever tasted." She looked up, eyes wide with newfound revelation. "How have I lived my whole life without it?"
Kori (Starfire) leaned forward eagerly, her green eyes lighting up as she clutched a can of spray cheese. "It is… magnificent! It is as though the stars themselves have blessed this Earth with a gift of glory!" Her enthusiasm could have powered a city.
Mareena, the daughter of Aquaman and Mera, sipped her kale-green smoothie with an elegant air, her expression one of calm amusement. "I still don't quite understand how you can enjoy this processed... concoction. But I do admire your zeal."
"Oh, it's good," Kara insisted. "Just try it! Live a little!"
Deedee, aka Death herself (the goth girl version, naturally), leaned against the armrest, still a stark contrast to the rest of the lively group. Her cheerfulness was unsettling to anyone who didn't know her, but it was so genuine that you couldn't help but like her. She was, after all, literally a cosmic entity who had seen everything. "I mean, death loves cheese in a can," she said with a wink, twirling a black lace skirt in the air, looking way too chipper for the personification of the end of all things.
Sitting next to her was Zatanna, who was, as usual, playing around with her magical skills. She levitated a pretzel into the air and turned it into a butterfly, watching it flit around before snapping it back to its original shape. "Y'know, I think this entire night would be more fun if we turned this room into a disco."
Megan (Miss Martian), sitting cross-legged on the couch with a gossip magazine, stared at the page with the kind of intense focus usually reserved for deciphering alien languages. "Guys, guys... Did you know everyone in Hollywood is apparently dating someone else's ex? And they've been doing it for years? Whoa, that's a lot of drama for just one planet."
"Well, the Earth's entire ecosystem is a soap opera," Zatanna quipped, tossing a handful of popcorn in the air and catching it in her mouth. "If it wasn't so much fun to watch, I'd definitely be worried."
Raven, in her usual brooding mood, sat far away from the center of the chaos, staring at her knees like they were the most interesting things in the world. She didn't quite understand why people thought she was supposed to be a part of these girl-talk sessions. She wasn't here for this. But no one would leave her alone, so she did her best to ignore it.
But of course, Kara was the first one to break the silence. She leaned in, her voice playful yet piercing. "So, Raven... how's it going with Harry?"
Raven's head snapped up so fast it was a wonder she didn't get whiplash. Her face reddened. "What—what do you mean?"
"Oh, you know," Kara said, grinning like the cat that got the cream. "Every time his name comes up, you get all... twitchy. It's like watching a kettle boil. You know, just about to explode."
Kori leaned forward with an eager expression that could only be described as "innocently suspicious." "Yes! Your heartbeat is so loud, I can hear it from here, Raven!" She placed a hand dramatically over her chest, pretending to be overwhelmed with the shock of it all. "It is so obvious!"
Mareena raised an eyebrow, playfully crossing her arms. "And don't think we haven't noticed your little reactions when we bring up his name." She gave Raven a teasing look. "You're not fooling anyone."
Deedee grinned widely, her cheerfulness bordering on eerie. "Oh, I love teasing about crushes. It's so much fun. Especially when you're all, 'I'm too dark and mysterious for this,' but you secretly blush every time he walks in." She twirled her skirt in a little spin, completely oblivious to the fact that she was literally Death. "It's adorable."
Zatanna smirked, raising her eyebrows. "Come on, Rae. I mean, even I can see it, and I never get the emotions thing. But you? You're glowing every time Harry's around."
Megan, flipping through her gossip mag, piped up with her usual innocent curiosity. "You're definitely blushing right now."
Raven's eyes darted around at the group, her face flaming with embarrassment. She crossed her arms over her chest like it would somehow shield her from their relentless teasing. "There's nothing between Harry and me," she said, her voice a little too defensive. "We're just... friends."
Kori gave Raven a look that practically screamed, "we know better," but she was mercifully quiet for a moment. Until the opportunity to pounce on Raven's obvious discomfort arose again.
"Friends?" Kara repeated, leaning in and winking. "Then why is it that every time we bring him up, you look like you're about to short-circuit? Huh? Tell us, Rae."
"I do not—" Raven stopped mid-sentence when she realized how much her voice had pitched in defense. "Look, I just... maybe like him a little, okay? But it's complicated. Very complicated." She buried her face in her hands, thoroughly defeated.
The room erupted into laughter, the girls all practically doubling over. Zatanna snorted. "A little? Please. You practically implode whenever we talk about him!"
"You know," Deedee said thoughtfully, "I think you secretly want to break him. Not like in the bad way. But, like... make him feel something for you. I can already see the plans forming in your head, like some dark, mysterious seduction ritual."
Raven groaned. "Can we please stop talking about this?"
Tia (Galatea), ever the pragmatic one, casually tossed a piece of popcorn into her mouth. "Honestly, Raven, you're allowed to like him. I mean, who wouldn't like Harry?"
Megan, who had clearly been having a great time watching the whole ordeal unfold, nodded sagely. "Look, if anyone can make Harry fall for you, it's you. You've got this whole 'I'm brooding and dark' thing going on."
Raven sighed in defeat but allowed herself a small, reluctant smile. "Fine. Fine, I like him, okay? Can we please move on now?"
"Only if you admit that you want to make him your boyfriend," Kara teased, nudging her shoulder against Raven's.
"Oh my God," Raven muttered, but deep down, she couldn't help but feel a little warmth spreading in her chest at the sight of her friends' smiles. They weren't judging her. They weren't pushing her away for being... well, Raven. They were just there, like she was part of the group, whether she liked it or not.
Kori patted Raven on the back affectionately. "It is okay to admit it. Love is… a complicated emotion, but it is worth it."
"Yeah, and we'll totally throw you a 'I Like Harry' party," Deedee said with a devilish grin, already planning the details in her head.
Raven just groaned again, but for the first time that evening, she couldn't stop herself from smiling. "You guys are insane."
And so, the night continued, full of laughter, teasing, and the kind of friendship that was only made stronger by the chaos of superhero life. For Raven, it was just another reminder that maybe—just maybe—being around her friends wasn't so bad. Even if they did know more about her than she would ever admit.
—
Fred and George Weasley were in their element. The lab at Mount Justice had been transformed into something that could only be described as chaos—and that was on a good day. Think mad scientist's workshop meets a fire hazard, with a dash of magic for extra fun. The workbench was covered in half-finished projects, misbehaving smoke bombs, and enough powders (some glowy, some smokey, and at least one that looked suspiciously like it might set off the fire alarms again) to make any health and safety officer have a meltdown. The twins were as happy as pigs in mud.
"I'm telling you, George," Fred said, grinning like he'd just found a treasure chest filled with chocolate frogs, "we've absolutely nailed it this time. Flash Grenades for the Bat-family. It's like a firework, but with more boom and less New Year's Eve confetti shower."
George adjusted his goggles (which were far too large for his face but extremely fashionable, if you're into the whole "mad scientist chic" look), and glanced at his brother, shaking his head. "Yeah, and way more potential for chaos. I saw Robin's face when we told him we were putting 'instant darkness' in these things. He looked like he might combust from sheer excitement. The kid's got more energy than a Tazmanian devil on a sugar rush."
Lee Jordan—who had somehow managed to fit into the lab despite having zero qualifications in the area of "bomb-making" (or "not blowing up the lab")—nodded in agreement. "Yeah, Robin was all over it. I don't blame him. I'd be stoked too if I was going to have a hand in creating something that could potentially blind a few dozen criminals at once. Gotham's crime rates are probably going to drop just from the shock of it all."
Fred and George exchanged one of those looks. The kind that made you suspect they'd just figured out how to turn a regular potato into an exploding fireball. "Well, it's not just any 'blind,'" Fred said, practically vibrating with glee. "It's Bat-approved. Batman himself made an order after Robin showed him our Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. I'm starting to think the guy's just as much of a chaos junkie as we are, he just hides it behind all that brooding."
George raised a suspiciously judgmental eyebrow at his twin. "You really think Batman is just a secret fan of fireworks and dark magic?"
Fred didn't even hesitate. "Absolutely. He probably throws confetti at New Year's parties, but no one's allowed to see it. That's his secret. Don't let the cowl fool you."
"Right," George said, adjusting a particularly delicate looking circuit board, "and when Robin finds out that he's been literally helping to make these things, I give him exactly five minutes before he tries to set one off in the Batcave."
"Five minutes?" Fred scoffed. "More like five seconds. The kid's got no patience. But it's not just the darkness bit we've perfected. We've got the perfect amount of explosive magic. Too much, and Gotham might just have to dig Batman's new Bat-shaped crater out of the ground. Too little, and—"
"You get a firecracker," George interrupted with a grin. "Not nearly as cool. Especially if you're fighting villains who've gotten used to a giant, angry Bat lurking in the shadows."
Lee, who was by this point standing back with a cup of some liquid he wasn't entirely sure was safe to drink, nodded enthusiastically. "Honestly, I think Gotham's in for a treat. Flashing lights, instant darkness, total confusion—it's gonna be like a magic show... but, you know, dangerous."
Fred leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "And—get this—purple. A perfect Bat-style purple. When they need the extra oomph, we've got it."
At this, Lee paused, eyes wide. "Are you sure we're not going overboard on the whole 'aesthetic' thing? I mean, I'm all about purple, but that's not what they're going to be focusing on when there's explosive magic going off in their faces."
Fred shot him a wink. "Oh, but that's the best part! Bat-approved chaos with a little sprinkle of flair. You don't get to be the Batman without a touch of style, right?"
George didn't even try to hide his grin. "I mean, nothing says 'I'm a dark, mysterious vigilante' like carrying around grenades shaped like bats." He paused, looking thoughtful. "But... you know what? They do look cool. So we might need to keep a couple for testing purposes."
Lee snorted. "You two wouldn't know 'moderation' if it jumped up and hit you in the face."
Fred put on an exaggeratedly wounded expression. "Moderation? We don't even know her. Besides, it's not our fault that every time we test something, we get banned from using the kitchen for a month."
George sighed dramatically, dropping a circuit board with a soft clang. "You'll be pleased to know we're 'temporarily suspended until further notice.' There's a difference."
"Right," Lee said dryly, sipping his mysterious drink again. "I'm sure Gotham appreciates your ability to 'experiment.'"
Just as Fred was about to launch into some half-baked explanation about how it wasn't their fault the oven caught fire, a voice interrupted. Raven had wandered in, looking slightly less-than-impressed. Typical.
"Oi, Raven!" Fred called out, flashing a grin that could've melted the coldest of hearts (or maybe just melted Raven's resolve, but it was worth a try). "We've got something special cooking here. Wanna see what happens when you mix prank magic with Bat-gear?"
Raven crossed her arms, eyeing the chaotic scene with a skeptical look that could've sent most people running. "If it involves me getting caught in one of your 'tests' again, the answer is no. I'm still finding glitter in my hair from last time."
George chuckled. "No glitter this time. We promise. We're way beyond that. It's our new, Bat-approved Flash Grenades. Disorient any baddie in Gotham—or anywhere, really—in record time. No glitter. Just pure, unadulterated chaos."
Lee gave Raven a hopeful nod. "Plus, with the magic we've packed in there, it could literally start a rave in the middle of Gotham. Criminals will be running for their lives, and we'll be laughing all the way to the Batcave."
Fred leaned in, looking deadly serious for once. "And we've even got the perfect Bat-purple mixed in there. You know, just for that little extra bit of class."
Raven raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "So you're trying to sell me a grenade based on how 'stylish' it is?" She shrugged. "I'm surprised you didn't add a dramatic soundtrack for effect."
Fred grinned. "That was next, but you know, budget issues. If we had the funds, we'd have a custom Bat-theme playing every time these things go off. Magical explosives are expensive, Raven. Very expensive."
George grinned, looking at his brother. "We're getting pretty good at this whole 'crossover tech' thing. Wait until we start blending magic with Batman-approved utility belts."
Raven's expression remained deadpan. "I'd say 'I can't wait,' but I have a feeling this is one of those things I'll regret later."
Lee laughed, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah, but if it works, Gotham's going to have a whole new appreciation for magic."
Fred winked at Raven, unable to resist. "We'll even let you try one out... once we get it just right. No glitter this time, promise."
—
It was one of those rare, oddly warm days in Gotham, the kind where the sun almost seemed to shine a little too brightly. Inside the cold, sterile walls of S.T.A.R. Labs, the harsh fluorescent lights buzzed like they had no other purpose than to magnify the unease in the air. Victor Stone, dressed in his bright green and gold football gear, bounced on his heels nervously, his eyes flickering to the clock on the wall for the umpteenth time.
"You think he'll make it, Mom?" he muttered, voice low but heavy with the weight of expectation.
Elinore Stone, always the calm in the storm, stood beside him, her presence a quiet contrast to Victor's anxiety. She was a pillar of strength, her every movement smooth and deliberate, just like the grace she carried in all things. "He'll be there, Victor," she said softly, her eyes warm as she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Silas loves you. He knows how important this is."
Victor didn't answer at first, eyes still locked on the door to his father's lab. His pulse quickened. This game wasn't just any game. This was the game. Scouts were coming, and if he nailed this, it was his ticket out of Gotham, out of the shadow of his father's brilliant mind. He needed his father there. Needed to hear the words, "I'm proud of you," but more than that—needed the support.
But deep down, Victor knew the pattern. Silas was always more invested in his machines than in his son's dreams. The irony wasn't lost on him. Silas Stone—his father, the great scientist—had never been able to see his son as more than a blueprint for success, a project to be engineered, rather than the person he was. Victor clenched his jaw, determined not to let the frustration eat him alive.
The door to the lab creaked open, and there he was—Silas Stone, the man who had spent his entire life chasing the next big breakthrough. His hair was a mess, streaked with the stress of too many late nights. His eyes—bloodshot, tired, and now devoid of focus—flicked up briefly from the device he was working on, but only long enough to acknowledge them before his attention returned to the glowing console in front of him.
"Victor. Elinore," Silas muttered, his voice distant, like a man lost in a fog of calculations. "I'm just—" His hand brushed over the machine, tweaking something, as the high-pitched whine of the device hummed louder. "This is important. Can't you see? If this works, if I get this to work, we could be looking at interdimensional travel. Interdimensional travel, Victor."
Elinore's voice softened, but there was steel beneath it. "Silas, you promised our son you'd come to his game. You know the scouts will be there today." She stepped forward, the weight of her gaze making Silas pause for a moment. But only for a moment.
"I will be there, Elinore," Silas snapped, though the words lacked the conviction. He was so absorbed by his work, he could barely acknowledge his wife's plea. His fingers danced across the console, absorbed by the lights and the blueprints of his invention. "This machine is my priority right now. This is history in the making. The scouts can wait. This—this is the future."
Victor's chest tightened, and his jaw clenched in frustration. He couldn't hold back anymore. His voice rose, raw with pent-up emotion. "You always say that, Dad! You're always talking about the future, but what about me? What about now?"
Silas didn't even flinch. His face remained as unreadable as ever. "What you're doing—" he waved his hand dismissively in Victor's direction, clearly uninterested in the conversation, "—is a game. A sport. It doesn't matter, Victor. You've got talent, but that's not enough. Not when I'm on the verge of something this... monumental."
Victor's face twisted in disbelief. "That's all you ever say! Every time, it's 'not enough.'" His words hit harder now, like a punch to the gut. "You've been chasing your machines for years, but you can't even bother to show up to one of the most important games of my life!"
Elinore winced, the heat of the argument creeping up her spine. She stepped between them, placing a firm hand on Victor's chest to calm him. "Victor, your father is—"
"No, Mom," Victor interrupted, shaking his head, voice raw. "I'm done being second to his work!" His eyes burned with the frustration of a son who had lived in the shadow of his father's genius for too long. "You always say he's going to be there, but he never is!"
"Victor, that's enough!" Silas's voice cracked with impatience, the weariness finally breaking through. His hands flew to the controls of the machine again, the screen flashing a new, chaotic sequence of symbols. "I don't have time for this! I'm not going to sit here and babysit your little dreams while the rest of the world waits for me to change it. You want to play football? Go ahead. Play it. But don't come to me with your childish fantasies. This is real."
Victor's chest heaved as the words sank in. He couldn't believe it—couldn't believe his father still couldn't see him, still couldn't hear him. His eyes burned with unshed tears, but he wasn't going to let them fall. Not now. Not like this.
"Fine," he spat. "Forget it." He turned on his heel, storming out of the lab, his footsteps heavy, the door slamming behind him with a finality that rattled the walls.
Elinore stood in the doorway for a moment, her face softening as she looked at Silas. "You can't keep doing this, Silas," she whispered, her voice thick with the weight of years spent hoping. "You can't keep choosing your work over your son."
Silas didn't answer her. He was too busy tweaking the machine again, his hands shaking with anticipation.
Suddenly, a hum, an unnatural sound, echoed through the lab—a mechanical screech, sharp and violent.
Silas froze. "No… no, this can't be happening."
The machine's lights flickered, the energy swirling uncontrollably. The air in the lab crackled with static.
"Silas, what's happening?" Elinore asked, a note of panic creeping into her voice.
"I—I don't know. Something's wrong. The machine's… malfunctioning!" Silas's voice rose in panic as he tried to stabilize the device, but it was too late. A blinding light erupted from the core of the machine, and in that moment, reality itself seemed to tear open.
From the rift, a monstrous creature, sleek and alien, crawled through the portal. It was like nothing Victor had ever seen—its massive, sinewy body covered in scales, its eyes glowing with a malevolent hunger. It hissed, its claws outstretched, and before anyone could react, it lunged at Elinore.
"No!" Victor screamed, rushing forward without thinking. But the creature was too fast. With a savage swipe of its claw, Elinore was torn from her feet, her blood spraying across the lab like a horrifying crimson mist.
"Mom!" Victor's voice cracked with raw grief. He charged at the creature, his fists flying, but the monster was too powerful. He was tossed aside like a ragdoll, his body crashing into the concrete floor with a sickening thud.
"Elinore!" Silas shouted, his hands fumbling for anything he could use as a weapon. He fired a blast of energy from the malfunctioning machine, sending the creature reeling back.
Victor, dazed and broken, pushed himself to his feet, eyes filled with tears as he tried to crawl toward his mother's still form.
"Mom... please..." His voice barely rose above a whisper, but it was the last thing he said before everything went dark.
The fight raged on, father and son working together as best they could to bring the creature down, but Victor was too far gone. His body was ripped apart, his insides burning with a pain he had never known before. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Silas managed to kill the creature with a final, desperate blast of energy.
He turned to his son, tears streaming down his face. But it was too late. Victor was already slipping into unconsciousness, his body mangled and broken.
Silas kneeled beside him, cradling his son's battered form, but he didn't know how to fix this. He didn't know how to fix any of it.
---
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