If you've ever wondered what happens when an immortal megalomaniac with a really good dental plan meets a teenager who could probably bench-press a small planet, well, you're about to find out. And let me tell you, it's not the kind of conversation you'd want to overhear at your local coffee shop—mainly because the coffee shop would probably end up as a crater in the ground with a sign reading "This Space Previously Occupied by Decent Espresso and Bad Life Choices."
Savage's smile widened like a shark that had just spotted a particularly tender swimmer, except sharks generally don't carry smartphones that look like they were designed by Tony Stark's evil twin from the future. The device in his hand was glowing with soft blue light and making tiny humming sounds that suggested it had very strong opinions about quantum mechanics and possibly a PhD in "Making Reality Do What It's Told."
"Privacy, first," Savage said, tapping the device with the kind of casual familiarity that came from using technology that wouldn't be invented for another century or two. His voice carried that particular Spanish accent that made even casual conversation sound like he was planning someone's elaborate demise. "What we're about to discuss is for your ears only, young Peverell."
The smartphone—if you could call something that defied several laws of physics a smartphone—erupted into a shimmering dome of energy that expanded outward like the universe's most exclusive VIP lounge. The dome encompassed both Savage and Shadowflame in what looked like a soap bubble made of concentrated starlight and really advanced science. It cut off all sound from inside while still allowing them to see out, which was probably intentional because Savage definitely seemed like the kind of person who enjoyed an audience for his dramatic revelations.
From their hiding spot behind what used to be landscaping but now looked more like modern art titled "What Happens When You Annoy Teenagers with Cosmic Powers," Ron Weasley—currently going by the heroic codename Cannonball—muttered something that would have made his mother reach for her infamous wooden spoon.
"Bollocks," he said, his face scrunched up in that particular expression that meant he was about to state something blindingly obvious. "Privacy shield. Can't hear anything now." His freckled features managed to convey both frustration and the kind of resignation that came from years of watching his best friend have conversations with cosmic forces of questionable intent.
"Good thing we came prepared," Fred Weasley announced, producing what looked like a perfectly normal piece of flesh-colored string from his pocket. Except, of course, nothing the Weasley twins carried was ever perfectly normal. One end was clearly designed to fit in someone's ear, while the other end was doing things that violated several laws of physics and at least one treaty about interdimensional eavesdropping that probably shouldn't exist but apparently did.
"Is that—" Hermione Granger started, her voice carrying that particular tone that meant she was about to launch into an explanation of why whatever the twins were doing was either brilliant or completely mental. Or both. With the twins, it was usually both. Her bushy brown hair seemed to bristle with the kind of intellectual curiosity that had once led her to research the theoretical applications of time travel for homework optimization.
"Extendable Ear, Mark VII," George Weasley said with the kind of pride usually reserved for Nobel Prize winners or people who'd successfully pranked their way into legend. "Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes Patent Pending Product. Now with enhanced magical shielding penetration, improved sound quality, and that new-string smell that customers love."
Both twins looked ridiculously pleased with themselves, which was their default expression but seemed particularly intense today. Their identical grins suggested they'd been waiting for exactly this kind of situation to test their latest invention.
"You've been carrying those this entire time?" Susan Bones asked, sparks dancing around her with increased intensity that suggested either excitement or the urge to accidentally set something on fire. With Susan, it was usually both. Her blonde hair caught the light from her own electrical discharge, and her green eyes held the kind of gleam that meant she was filing away information for future use in spectacular ways.
"Professional paranoia," Fred replied, carefully positioning his Extendable Ear so it could slip through the barely visible gap between the privacy dome and reality itself. "When your best friend regularly has conversations with cosmic forces and occasionally redefines the laws of magic, you learn to come prepared for overhearing really important information."
"Also," George added, following his twin's lead with the practiced ease that came from years of synchronized mischief-making and probably some light espionage, "we've been working on the shielding penetration for months. Ever since that incident with the magical privacy ward around Professor McGonagall's office."
"What incident?" Ginny Weasley asked, though her voice suggested she was already regretting the question. Her brown eyes held that particular Weasley gleam that meant she was both proud of her brothers and slightly terrified of what they might have discovered.
"The one where we learned that she keeps detailed files on every student prank in Hogwarts history," the twins said in perfect unison, "rated by creativity, execution, and potential for inspiring future generations of troublemakers."
"We got an Outstanding," Fred added, his chest puffing up with pride.
"In all categories," George finished with equal satisfaction.
"Focus," Zatanna hissed, though there was a note of fond exasperation in her voice that suggested she was getting used to this particular brand of chaos. Her dark hair fell across her face as she leaned forward, and her blue eyes held the kind of intensity that meant she was accessing magical senses most people didn't know existed. "What are they saying?"
Fred held up a hand for silence, his usual grin fading as he concentrated on whatever the Extendable Ear was picking up. George's face mirrored the change, and within seconds both twins were wearing expressions that made everyone else very nervous about what they were hearing. When Fred and George Weasley stopped smiling simultaneously, it usually meant the universe was about to become significantly more complicated.
"Oh," Fred said quietly.
"Oh," George agreed in the same subdued tone.
"That's not good," they said together, which was the kind of synchronized ominous statement that usually preceded really spectacular disasters and possibly the need to find new identities in distant countries.
"What?" everyone else demanded in unison, their voices creating a harmony of concern that would have been impressive if it weren't so terrifying.
"Savage is trying to recruit Harry," Fred said, his voice carrying a note of something that might have been genuine concern beneath his usual cheerful irreverence. "Something called the Light. Says they're the ones really running things behind the scenes."
"Running what things?" Raven asked, her violet eyes narrowing in the way that meant she was accessing information from sources that most people preferred not to think about too hard. Her pale features held that particular expression that meant she was consulting with cosmic forces and the news wasn't good.
"Everything," George replied grimly. "Politics, economics, superhero conflicts, villain attacks. He's saying the Light orchestrates most of the major events to guide human evolution in what they consider the right direction."
The silence that followed was the kind of silence that usually preceded really bad decisions and possibly the end of civilizations. It was the kind of quiet that made birds stop singing and small animals start looking for deep, underground hiding places.
"That's..." Hermione started, then stopped as the implications began sinking in like particularly unpleasant quicksand. Her bushy brown hair seemed to bristle with indignation, and her warm brown eyes had shifted to the kind of dangerous gleam that meant she was about to start solving problems with extreme prejudice and possibly some very creative applications of advanced magic.
"Completely mental?" Ron suggested, his freckled face scrunched up in the kind of expression that meant he was processing information that his brain really didn't want to accept.
"Absolutely terrifying?" Daphne Greengrass offered, ice crystals swirling around her in increasingly agitated patterns. Her aristocratic features were set in the kind of expression that suggested she was already planning several different ways to make very dangerous people regret their life choices.
"Probably both," Susan said, sparks crackling with enough intensity to power a small city or accidentally vaporize anyone who got too close.
"What else?" Zatanna demanded, her magical senses trying to process what they were learning. The idea that someone was orchestrating events on a global scale was making her reconsider every major conflict they'd been involved in, and the implications were making her feel slightly sick.
"Savage says the other members wanted to kill Harry," Fred continued, his voice dropping to the kind of whisper that meant he was sharing information that could get everyone killed if the wrong people overheard. "Something about him being too powerful and unpredictable to control. But Savage would rather make him an ally than an enemy."
"Smart of him," Raven observed with her usual helpful commentary. "Fighting Harry when he's in full cosmic force mode would be like trying to argue with a supernova about proper stellar etiquette. Technically possible, but extremely likely to end badly for everyone involved."
"What's Harry saying?" Ginny asked, her voice tight with the kind of protective anger that came from hearing that someone wanted to kill her boyfriend. Her brown eyes were blazing with the kind of fury that could melt steel and had once made a dragon apologize for existing in her general vicinity.
"He's..." George paused, tilting his head as if trying to make sense of what he was hearing through the Extendable Ear. "He's asking who the other members are. Savage isn't giving names, but Harry's making some educated guesses. Something about Lex Luthor and someone called Ra's."
"Ra's al Ghul," Zatanna said immediately, her face going pale in a way that made everyone else very worried about what that name meant. "If Ra's al Ghul is involved in this Light organization, then we're dealing with something much bigger and more dangerous than just some megalomaniac immortal with delusions of grandeur."
"Who's Ra's al Ghul?" Ron asked, though his voice suggested he already knew he wasn't going to like the answer.
"The Demon's Head," Zatanna replied grimly. "Leader of the League of Assassins. Immortal, brilliant, completely ruthless, and has been playing global politics like a chess game for over six hundred years. If he's part of this Light, then they're not just orchestrating events—they're reshaping human civilization according to their own design."
"That's..." Hermione started.
"Completely mental and absolutely terrifying," the twins finished for her.
"I'm starting to see a pattern here," Susan observed, electrical discharge flickering around her like a particularly agitated light show.
"Keep listening," Daphne urged, her aristocratic features set in the kind of expression that suggested she was already planning several different ways to make very dangerous people regret their life choices. "What else are they discussing?"
Fred held up his hand again, his expression shifting to something that looked suspiciously like professional admiration mixed with a healthy dose of "oh gods we're all going to die."
"Harry just told Savage that he appreciates the offer," he reported, "but he's got some philosophical differences with any organization that thinks manipulating global events and controlling human evolution is a good idea."
"That's our Harry," Ron said with fond pride. "Always willing to tell cosmic forces of evil exactly what he thinks of their business model."
Inside the privacy dome, things were getting interesting in the way that usually preceded either diplomatic breakthroughs or spectacular explosions. Possibly both.
Shadowflame stood with his arms crossed, his crimson eyes glowing through his helmet as he regarded the immortal megalomaniac standing across from him. His voice, when he spoke, carried that particular tone that meant he was about to deliver the kind of verbal precision strike that could reduce grown men to tears.
"You know, Savage," he said conversationally, "I've got to admire the sheer audacity of your sales pitch. 'Join our secret organization that manipulates global events to guide human evolution!' It's like a job posting for megalomaniacs written by someone with a marketing degree and no sense of irony."
Savage's smile widened, revealing teeth that were probably older than most civilizations and definitely whiter than they had any right to be. "I prefer to think of it as strategic guidance for species development," he replied in that smooth Spanish accent that made even reasonable statements sound vaguely threatening. "Humanity needs direction, Mr. Peverell. Left to its own devices, it tends toward chaos and self-destruction."
"Right," Shadowflame said, nodding thoughtfully. "So your solution is to secretly control everything and manipulate people into making the choices you think they should make. That's not guidance, Savage. That's puppeteering. And the only difference between you and a supervillain is that you've got better marketing materials."
"And what would you suggest instead?" Savage asked, raising an eyebrow in the way that suggested he'd had this conversation before and was prepared to demolish whatever naive idealism his opponent might offer.
"Crazy idea here," Shadowflame replied, his flames flickering with amusement, "but maybe we let people make their own choices and just help them when they ask for it? Revolutionary concept, I know. Really pushes the boundaries of human decency."
"Naive," Savage said, shaking his head with the kind of condescending disappointment usually reserved for particularly slow students. "You have power, Mr. Peverell. Real power. The kind that could reshape the world according to your will. And you want to waste it on... what? Being helpful when asked nicely?"
"Absolutely," Shadowflame said cheerfully. "I realize this might be a difficult concept for someone who's spent several millennia playing puppet master, but some of us actually believe in things like free will and human dignity. Weird, right?"
Outside the dome, George was providing running commentary with increasing amazement.
"Harry's absolutely destroying him," he whispered. "I've never seen anyone make an immortal megalomaniac look like an amateur before. It's kind of beautiful, actually."
"Savage is getting a bit heated," Fred observed. "He's talking about the bigger picture now. Cosmic threats, alien invasions, entities from other dimensions. Says humanity needs to be stronger to survive what's coming."
"What's coming?" several voices asked simultaneously.
"He's not being specific," George replied. "But he's making it sound like the universe is a much more dangerous place than most people realize, and Earth is going to be facing threats that make Darkseid look like a minor inconvenience."
Inside the dome, Savage was gesturing expansively, his ancient eyes blazing with the kind of fervor that came from absolute certainty in one's own righteousness.
"The universe is not kind, Mr. Peverell," he was saying, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of experience with cosmic unpleasantness. "There are entities out there that view humanity as we might view ants. Civilizations that have been conquering worlds since before Earth's sun ignited. Forces that could erase our entire species without even noticing we existed."
"And your solution is to turn humanity into something those forces would notice?" Shadowflame asked dryly. "Because that sounds like exactly the kind of plan that ends with Earth becoming a smoking crater and a footnote in some alien history book."
"My solution is to make humanity strong enough to survive," Savage replied, his Spanish accent adding gravity to every word. "Strong enough to fight back. Strong enough to take its place among the cosmic powers instead of cowering on a single world, hoping no one notices it exists."
"Right," Shadowflame said, nodding as if this actually made sense. "And let me guess—you and your Light buddies get to decide what 'strong enough' looks like? You get to choose which humans are worthy of survival and which ones need to be... what's the euphemism you prefer? Guided toward better choices?"
Savage's smile faltered slightly. "Someone has to make the hard decisions," he said, and for just a moment his voice carried a note of something that might have been genuine conviction beneath the megalomaniacal certainty. "Someone has to look at the bigger picture and do what needs to be done, regardless of the cost."
"The cost," Shadowflame repeated, and his flames flickered with something that wasn't amusement anymore. "You mean the cost in human lives? The cost in human dignity? The cost in human choice? Because here's the thing, Savage—and I really hope you're paying attention to this part—the moment you decide that some humans are more valuable than others, the moment you decide that your vision of strength justifies controlling people's lives, you become exactly the kind of threat that humanity needs protection from."
Outside the dome, Fred was listening with increasing amazement. "This is incredible," he whispered. "Harry's not just arguing with him—he's systematically dismantling every point Savage makes. It's like watching someone perform surgery on a philosophical argument."
"What's Harry saying now?" Hermione asked, her voice tight with the kind of intellectual fascination that meant she was already formulating counterarguments to points that hadn't been made yet.
"He's telling Savage that maybe he has a point about the threats," Fred reported, "but that doesn't justify the methods. You don't save humanity by controlling it. You save it by helping it grow stronger on its own terms."
"Philosophical differences," Raven observed. "This is either going to end with them agreeing to disagree, or with someone getting vaporized. Possibly both."
Inside the dome, Savage was looking at Shadowflame with the kind of expression usually reserved for particularly fascinating specimens that had just done something unexpected and possibly dangerous.
"You're remarkably naive for someone with your power," he said, though there was a note of genuine curiosity in his voice now. "Tell me, Mr. Peverell—what happens when your idealistic approach encounters a threat that can't be reasoned with? What happens when being helpful and respectful of human dignity gets millions of people killed?"
Shadowflame was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke his voice carried the kind of certainty that came from having already faced exactly those kinds of choices.
"Then I deal with the threat," he said simply. "But I don't become the threat in the process. See, here's what you don't understand, Savage—the moment you start sacrificing your principles to win, you've already lost. The moment you decide that the ends justify any means, you become exactly the kind of monster that makes the universe a darker place."
"Pretty words," Savage said, though he sounded less certain than before. "But impractical when facing extinction-level threats."
"Are they?" Shadowflame asked, tilting his head slightly. "Because from where I'm standing, your Light's approach has been tried before. Lots of times, actually. Turns out that organizations dedicated to controlling human development for the greater good tend to become the very threats they were supposedly protecting people from. Funny how that works out."
Savage was quiet for several moments, and when he spoke again his voice carried a note of something that might have been respect.
"You're going to be interesting to watch, young Peverell," he said finally. "I haven't met someone with your particular combination of power and principles in... well, in several centuries. It's refreshing, in a way. Most people with your capabilities are either corrupted by them or destroyed by them. You seem determined to be neither."
"And you're going to be interesting to oppose, Savage," Shadowflame replied evenly. "I've never met someone with your particular combination of experience and complete moral flexibility. It's terrifying, in a way. Most people with your longevity either develop wisdom or develop madness. You seem to have chosen a third option that's somehow worse than both."
"Touché," Savage said, and his smile widened in a way that suggested he'd just been given a really excellent compliment and was genuinely pleased about it. "I look forward to seeing how this develops. Do try not to disappoint me. It's so rare to find proper opposition these days."
"I'll do my best to exceed your expectations," Shadowflame replied dryly. "Though I should warn you—I've been told I have a tendency to turn simple disagreements into comprehensive educational experiences. It's apparently one of my more charming personality traits."
"I'm counting on it," Savage said, beginning to turn away with the kind of unhurried confidence that came from having contingency plans for contingency plans and possibly a really good exit strategy. "Until next time, Mr. Peverell. Give my regards to your mother. Diana and I have such interesting philosophical discussions about the nature of justice and the proper use of power."
He paused at the edge of the privacy dome, looking back with that same unsettling smile that suggested he knew things about everyone present that they probably didn't want him to know.
"Oh, and do be careful about those friends of yours," he added casually, as if commenting on the weather or the likelihood of rain. "The ones hiding behind the decorative rubble with the remarkably sophisticated eavesdropping equipment. The Light has very good intelligence networks, and they're going to be extremely interested in anyone close to you. It would be such a shame if something unfortunate happened to them."
The privacy dome collapsed without warning, dissipating like morning mist in sunlight and leaving Savage and Shadowflame standing face to face in the ruins of what had once been a pleasant botanical district but was now more of an outdoor museum dedicated to the theme of "What Happens When You Annoy Teenagers with Stellar Energy Levels."
Seven of the world's most dangerous criminals were still sitting in various poses of defeat and existential contemplation, apparently having decided that trying to escape while cosmic forces discussed the fate of human civilization was probably not their best strategic option.
The Joker—his chalk-white face streaked with what might have been tears or possibly just really good theatrical makeup—raised his hand tentatively.
"Um," he said in a voice that was unusually subdued for someone whose usual volume settings ranged from 'maniacally loud' to 'wake the dead,' "does this mean we can go home now? Because I'm suddenly feeling very small and insignificant, and I'd like to go contemplate my life choices in the privacy of my own cell, preferably with some nice calming music and maybe a good book about philosophy or anger management."
His voice carried that particular inflection that made even reasonable requests sound vaguely unhinged, but there was a note of genuine vulnerability beneath the theatrical madness that suggested today's educational experience had been more effective than intended.
Poison Ivy, her red hair cascading around her shoulders like autumn leaves in a particularly dramatic wind, nodded emphatically. "I second that motion," she said in a voice that carried her authoritative tones. "I came here to commit some light terrorism and maybe make a point about environmental conservation. I did not sign up for existential crises and conversations about the fundamental nature of human civilization."
Vertigo, his scarred features twisted into an expression of deep philosophical confusion, added, "I am experiencing vertigo that has nothing to do with my powers and everything to do with my sudden realization that I may be very small fish in a very large pond filled with very dangerous sharks." His accent carried his distinctive inflection, making even his surrender sound vaguely threatening.
Black Adam, his divine authority somewhat diminished by the day's events, straightened his shoulders with the kind of dignity that came from having really excellent posture even in defeat. "I have ruled nations and commanded the power of gods," he said in his deep, resonant voice, "but I am beginning to suspect that my understanding of power may have been... limited in scope."
Wotan, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses with the kind of precise movements that suggested he was already composing detailed reports about today's events, nodded with his particular brand of understated intensity. "Today has been most educational," he said in his carefully modulated voice. "I believe I may need to reconsider my long-term strategic planning."
Atomic Skull, his skeletal features somehow managing to convey embarrassment despite being, well, skeletal, cleared his throat with the kind of precise articulation that only he could bring to undead supervillainy. "If I may be so bold," he said carefully, "I believe we have all learned valuable lessons about the importance of proper threat assessment and the dangers of underestimating teenage superheroes with cosmic power sets."
Ultra-Humanite, his gorilla features set in an expression of intense concentration, adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses and spoke with his distinctive voice. "Indeed," he said thoughtfully. "I have spent considerable time analyzing the strategic implications of today's encounter, and I believe it may be time to consider alternative career paths. Perhaps something in education or social work."
Shadowflame looked at them for a long moment, then at the ruins of what had once been a pleasant botanical district but was now more of a testament to what happened when you brought insufficient firepower to a fight with someone who could probably benchpress a small planet.
"You know what?" he said finally, his flames beginning to dim as exhaustion started to catch up with the adrenaline and cosmic awareness. "Yes. You can go home. All of you. But we're going to have a little chat first about making better life choices and possibly finding more constructive hobbies that don't involve terrorizing innocent people or trying to trap teenagers in magical death circles."
He gestured with his sword, and seven individual teleportation circles appeared around the defeated villains, glowing with soft golden light that somehow managed to be both beautiful and absolutely terrifying in its implications.
"These will take you back to wherever you call home," he explained in the kind of patient voice that teachers used when explaining the rules of detention. "You have twenty-four hours to seriously consider whether continuing your current career paths is really worth the risk of having another educational experience like today's. Because I promise you, the next lesson will be considerably more advanced, and I might not be feeling as charitable about keeping everyone alive and uninjured."
"And if we don't?" Black Adam asked, his divine authority reduced to something closer to divine curiosity about exactly how much trouble they were all in.
Shadowflame's helmet turned toward him, and the two glowing crimson eyes seemed to look straight through him to somewhere beyond the visible spectrum where bad decisions went to contemplate their consequences.
"Then you'll discover what happens when someone with stellar energy output decides that education has failed and it's time to move on to more direct forms of behavioral modification," he replied cheerfully. "I'm told it's quite educational, but in a way that most people don't enjoy nearly as much as today's lesson."
Seven supervillains looked at each other, then at the ruins surrounding them, then at the young man who'd just redefined what it meant to be outclassed so thoroughly that new dictionaries would need to be written.
"We'll think about it," Ultra-Humanite said diplomatically, his gorilla features managing to convey both intelligence and a healthy respect for superior firepower.
"Good," Shadowflame said. "I hoped you would. Learning is always more effective when it's a collaborative process."
One by one, the teleportation circles activated, and seven of the world's most dangerous criminals vanished in flashes of golden light that left behind only small scorch marks and the lingering scent of ozone mixed with what might have been cosmic education and definitely was existential crisis.
And with that cheerful threat, Vandal Savage walked into the shadows and disappeared like he'd never been there at all, leaving behind only the faint scent of ozone and the kind of lingering dread that usually accompanied really ominous prophecies about the future.
In the sudden quiet that followed, Shadowflame stood alone in the ruins of the botanical district, his wings slowly folding back against his armor as the flames around him dimmed to something more manageable and less likely to be visible from space.
That's when Young Justice emerged from their hiding spot behind the artistic remains of landscaping, moving with the kind of careful coordination that came from years of practice at approaching potentially volatile magical situations and boyfriends who might still be operating at stellar energy levels.
"So," Hermione said conversationally, her voice carrying that particular inflection that meant she was about to ask some very pointed questions and expect very detailed answers, "The Light. Vandal Savage. Cosmic threats that make Darkseid look like a minor inconvenience. Stellar energy output. Any other small details about your day that you'd like to share with the class?"
Her bushy brown hair was doing that thing it did when she was intellectually agitated, which was basically the magical equivalent of a cat's fur standing on end when it sensed danger. Her warm brown eyes held the kind of gleam that meant she was already formulating research projects that would terrify university ethics committees.
Shadowflame turned toward them, and somehow everyone could tell he was smiling beneath his helmet despite the fact that his entire face was covered by advanced magical technology that probably violated several international treaties about personal protective equipment.
"Well," he said, his voice carrying a note of fond exasperation mixed with relief at seeing his friends safe and largely unsinged, "it's been educational."
"Educational?" Ginny Weasley stepped forward, her brown eyes blazing with the kind of protective fury that had once made a dragon apologize for existing in her general vicinity. Her voice carried a particular combination of sweetness and steel that meant someone was about to receive a very thorough explanation of why their recent choices had been suboptimal. "Harry James Potter, you just had a philosophical debate with an immortal megalomaniac, recruited by a secret organization that apparently controls global events, threatened by people who wanted to kill you, and then you sent seven supervillains home like they were misbehaving students!"
"Don't forget the stellar energy output," Ron added helpfully, his freckled face scrunched up in that particular Rupert Grint expression that meant he was trying to process information that his brain really didn't want to accept. "Because apparently our best mate can benchpress small planets now, and nobody thought to mention this during breakfast."
"The stellar energy thing is new," Harry admitted, pulling off his helmet to reveal the kind of jawline that made reality sit up and pay attention. His dark hair was doing that thing where it looked perfectly tousled despite having been encased in magical armor for the better part of an hour, and his green eyes held the kind of sheepish expression that meant he knew he was in trouble but wasn't entirely sure why.
"New?" Susan Bones demanded, electrical discharge crackling around her with the kind of intensity that suggested she was channeling her inner Amelia Bones and considering the merits of spectacular property damage as a form of emotional expression. "What do you mean new? Powers don't just appear overnight, Harry! There's usually some kind of progression, some kind of warning sign, some kind of—"
"Scientific explanation that makes sense according to established magical theory?" Hermione interrupted, her voice rising with the kind of intellectual frustration that meant she was about to start cross-referencing ancient texts and possibly conducting experimental research that would make her professors very nervous. "Because this is exactly the kind of development that should have required months of careful study and gradual power manifestation, not just suddenly appearing during a fight with supervillains!"
"Actually," Daphne Greengrass said, her aristocratic features set in the kind of expression that suggested she was about to deliver uncomfortable truths with surgical precision, "I think we're missing the bigger issue here. Harry just sent seven supervillains to their homes. Their homes, Harry. As in, the places where they live and presumably keep all their supervillain equipment and probably their contingency plans for revenge against teenagers who embarrass them in public."
The silence that followed was the kind of silence that usually preceded really spectacular explosions and possibly some very pointed discussions about strategic thinking.
"Right," Zatanna said, her voice carrying her particular brand of exasperated affection, "because sending dangerous criminals back to their bases of operation is definitely the kind of decision-making we want to see from someone with stellar energy output. What's next, Harry? Are you going to give them your home address and maybe a schedule of when you'll be vulnerable to assassination attempts?"
"Oh, for crying out loud," Harry said, his voice carrying that particular Tom Welling combination of exasperation and fond amusement that meant he was about to reveal that everyone had been worrying about nothing. "Do you really think I'm that stupid?"
"Well," Ron started, then stopped as Hermione elbowed him in the ribs with the kind of precision that came from years of practice.
"Recent evidence suggests that your decision-making process may have some gaps in it," Hermione said diplomatically, though her voice carried the kind of concerned affection that meant she was genuinely worried about his mental state.
Harry grinned, and it was the kind of grin that meant he'd been waiting for exactly this moment to reveal that everything was going according to plan.
"When I said home," he explained, his green eyes dancing with amusement, "I didn't mean their actual homes. I meant the Justice League blacksite facility that's currently being run by Mad-Eye Moody. You know, the one where dangerous criminals go to contemplate their life choices in maximum security cells with really excellent magical containment systems and absolutely no chance of escape."
The silence that followed was the kind of silence that usually preceded either relief or the realization that someone had been far more clever than anyone had given them credit for.
"Mad-Eye Moody is running a Justice League blacksite?" George Weasley asked, his voice carrying the kind of inflection that meant he was both impressed and slightly terrified by the implications.
"Since when?" Fred added, his delivery suggesting he was already planning ways to visit this facility for purely educational purposes.
"Since someone decided that the magical world needed better integration with the superhero community," Harry replied with the kind of casual tone that suggested this was perfectly normal information that everyone should have already known. "And since Mad-Eye was the only person anyone could think of who was paranoid enough to run a secure facility for super-powered criminals without worrying about escape attempts, bribery, or the occasional reality-warping tantrum."
"So the seven supervillains who just tried to kill us..." Raven said, her violet eyes holding the particular combination of amusement and existential dread that came from dating someone whose plans were consistently more complex than they appeared.
"Are currently discovering that their 'teleportation home' actually delivered them to individual maximum security cells where they'll be having some very interesting conversations with Aurors who specialize in enhanced interrogation techniques and possibly some light psychological counseling," Harry finished cheerfully.
"That's..." Zatanna started.
"Brilliant," Susan said, her electrical discharge shifting to something more like excited sparks than potentially lethal lightning. "Absolutely brilliant and slightly terrifying, but brilliant."
"It's also exactly the kind of plan that could go spectacularly wrong if any of them have escape contingencies we don't know about," Daphne pointed out, though her voice carried a note of grudging admiration that suggested she was impressed despite her aristocratic tendency to find flaws in everything.
"Which is why Mad-Eye has them in cells specifically designed for meta-humans with reality-warping abilities," Harry replied, his Tom Welling charm making even casual mentions of maximum security imprisonment sound reasonable. "Each cell is custom-built based on their specific power sets, warded against teleportation, time manipulation, molecular restructuring, and—in the Joker's case—weaponized insanity."
"Weaponized insanity is a thing that requires specialized containment?" Ron asked, his Rupert Grint delivery making the question sound both horrified and fascinated.
"You'd be surprised," Raven said dryly, her Jenna Ortega deadpan suggesting she'd seen things that would make most people question their life choices. "Reality doesn't always cooperate with people who've gone completely mental. Sometimes it gets confused and starts doing what they think it should do instead of what it actually does."
"That's terrifying," Hermione said, her Emma Watson precision cutting through the casual banter like a scalpel through tissue paper. "And also exactly the kind of information we should have been briefed on before today. Harry, we need to have a serious conversation about operational security and keeping your team informed about relevant magical-technological developments that might affect our survival rates."
"Can we have that conversation somewhere that doesn't smell like ozone and existential crisis?" Ginny asked, her sweetness masking the kind of steel that meant she was done with philosophical discussions and cosmic threats for at least the next several hours. "Preferably somewhere with snacks and maybe some light therapy for the psychological trauma of realizing we're all very small players in a very large game."
"I vote for the Tower," Zatanna said, her authority settling the matter with the kind of finality that came from having magical senses and really excellent judgment about when conversations needed to move to more secure locations. "We can debrief properly, Harry can explain his new stellar energy situation, and I can start researching this Light organization before they decide we're all too dangerous to leave alive."
"Brilliant plan," Fred and George said in perfect synchronization, "but can we stop somewhere for food first? All this talk about cosmic threats and secret organizations is making us hungry."
"Everything makes you hungry," Susan pointed out, her exasperation crackling with just enough electrical discharge to make her point without actually setting anything on fire.
"True," the twins agreed cheerfully, "but today we've earned it."
Harry looked around at his friends—brilliant, dangerous, loyal, and apparently completely insane—and felt something that might have been contentment settle in his chest despite the cosmic threats and immortal megalomaniacs currently complicating his existence.
"Food it is," he said, and meant it. "But we're definitely having that conversation about operational security. And stellar energy output. And why Mad-Eye Moody is apparently running a supernatural prison without telling anyone."
"This is going to be a very long debrief," Hermione observed.
"The best ones usually are," Harry replied, and somehow everyone knew he was smiling even though his helmet was back on.
Some days were just educational like that.
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