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Vojira

Title: Nag, whisper, echo.
Universe(s): HP and batman crossover.
Year: 3ed. 

As he was busy being half-conscious and stuck in a tree, Harry mused over how...funny...it was he had had a notion this would happen. And then let it happen.

He had gotten up this morning and hadn't felt like he wanted to partake in the Quidditch match today. He'd rather have stayed in his bed and get a nagging whisper of voice to stop nagging with words he couldn't actually hear.

But noooo.

Flitwick had somehow-somehow-gotten the better of him. Smiled the right way, looked at him with eyes looked genuinely friendly, a look that didn't annoy him or made him what to annoy.
Wasn't sure which of the two it was, but he had gone to the damn match.

Turned out his notion had been right. He should have stayed in bed. Should have pulled the covers over his head and gone 'LALALALA I CAN'T HEAR YOU!' when Flitwick had showed up.

Of course, he could just have said he was hearing voices. But he had the strange thought Flitwick wouldn't have thought that was strange or unusual when it was said by Ravenclaw’s Scare.

The sky had been gloomy and looked like an impending doom was on its way. Any other day he'd be thrilled, curious...but today just felt like it was going to be a phenomenally bad day.
And it was the Dementor's fault.
If there was one thing that could bring him down, it was them. Rather literally, since they had managed to make him crash into a tree in the Forbidden Forest half way into the match. A stray Bludger had helped with the crash, making him lose his hold on his broom. He couldn't for the life of him remember where it had hit him. His mind had been ripping itself apart at the time.

The effect of the Dementors seemed to make a beeline in his mind, bypassing the chaotic jumble of thoughts, that legilimency, according to Dumbledore, couldn't sort out, straight to that part of his mind that was closed off with chains and seven locks and had both a dresser and a piano pressed up against it.

It suddenly occurred to him his mind wasn't the chaotic jumble of thoughts 'that legilimency couldn't sort out' at the moment. His thoughts and memories weren't 'moving' as they typically did.
This was absolutely horrible. Disastrous even.
Thinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthink...

Since he had gotten back to Hogwarts, the presence of the Dementors had started to mess with him.
Today they had removed the piano and the dresser, ignored the locks, snapped the chains and opened the door.
And unleashed something he had no control over. Something he couldn't ignore or fight.
''Not Harry! Please, no, not Harry — I'll do anything!''
A plea.
From his mother.
Lily Potter.
Pleading for her son's life to be speared.
Said pleading hadn't worked and the woman had in the end sacrificed her life to save her son.
Out of love, Dumbledore said some years ago.

At the time he had heard that, he had just glared at the headmaster, pushed the information out of his head, snatched up the old man’s bowl of candy, and quietly told him it now belonged to him and went over to sit near the door to the headmaster's office. Said door was at the time locked and said headmaster actually had no intention of letting him out before having a chat with him about his parents. He had spent the next hour ignoring the blasted man, eyeing Godric Gryffindor’s sword, and coming to the conclusion if he wanted to steal a sword he'd steal one from the living suits of armor.

The only reason he had be able to get out of the office was due to Cornelius Fudge suddenly showing up in the fire-place and demanding to know how he should handle a very bizarre, totally magic less situation in which people seemed to be laughing themselves to death, gigantic plants were taking over half of Dagon Alley and the other half was filled with some kind of gas that caused people to start hallucinating and run around screaming in fear.
Harry had wondered why three of his mentors had decided to come to London and cause chaos out loud when he gotten halfway out of the door and had taken off before Dumbledore had the chance to stop him.

The less he heard about his parents or any other person he was related to, the better. It had been so since he was six or seven years old.

The confusion, shock, over the discovery of who had said the plea had already been pushed to the bottom of his mental 'to be investigated, reviewed and then promptly tossed to the side and ignored'-inbox.

Family didn't mean love. It meant pain. Broken arms and broken glasses, bruises, starvation, ridicule and hatred.

He had heard hundreds of pleas in his life. It was a byproduct of the life he had lived and the people he shared it with.
Nevertheless, this specific one bothered him so much more then any he had ever heard. It tore into his mind, made it shake, break and crumble.
In addition, made him lose consciousnesses. Not a good thing when he lived the life he did. If these things ever came to Gotham, he'd be utterly screwed.
Dementor showed up, floored him...if Two-Face happened to be there as well with a gun and a bad coin he'd be dead.
No more Apprentice, Aiden Sage or Harry Potter.

He didn't mind dying. Didn't fear it. Death would be a gift of gifts. The prize for completing the trial called Life.

He just had better things to do then die to somebody like Two-Face.

That and he liked being the Apprentice.
He even liked being Aiden Sage when he had to.
Being Harry Potter was...well...interesting. Even if he was stuck with people who enjoyed drinking pumpkin juice to a ridiculous degree and used 'I' platforms to teach you how to fight. This, by the way, was the most absurd thing ever.

Thinking all of this seemed to loosen the hold near-unconsciousness had on him and he managed to open his eyes.
Some part of his mind rather dimly remarked on how bizarre Hogwarts' upside-down trees looked. Harry shook his head and looked up at himself to see a tree branch curled around his ankle. One of the 'gifts' from Poison Ivy that had steadily become more and more useful in the last couple of years. A minor ability to talk to plants. Beside helping him in some odd situations, it also made herbology classes a bit more interesting when a Mandrake started cooing instead of wailing at you.

Harry turned his head towards the ground, in hopes of not being that far up.
Only thing that seemed to be in his favor this day was the fact he was only two meters away from the ground. Now, if he could just get the tree to let him go. Normally, they'd do as asked, but sometimes they would be absurdly clingy.

'Um, tree? You can let me go now.' He said out loud, breaking the silence of the forest.
What sounded like echoes of a hundred whispering voices answered with something that was hardly recognizable as words and the branch's hold loosened.
And there came the ground.
*Thud*
'Argh!'
Ivy would be pleased. He was bonding so much with nature today, Harry thought to himself as he spat out a pebble he somehow gotten into his mouth when he landed.

He was about to get up when the plea suddenly started up again. Causing his mind to crack and crumble and forced him back down, groaning.
Either the Dementors were coming near him or his mind was just beginning to replay the damn thing.
For some bizarre reason he had the notion the latter option was the right one.

'Not Harry! Please, no, not Harry — I'll do anything!'
'Shut up.'
'Not Harry! Please, no, not Harry-'
'Stop.'
'Not Harry! Please, no-'
'Get out of my head Lily Potter. You're breaking it.' He groaned, pressing his head against the ground.
Harry turned to lie on his back and put his hands on his forehead in an attempt to push the plea down and away. If there was something he head incredibly much since he entered the Wizard world it was how much he resembled either his parents or how proud they would be if they knew how he had turned out.

'Your father-'
'Your mother-'
'You parents-'


Typically from people that just happened to meet him and judged him by the fact he had somehow destroyed an evil dark lord as a baby. Alternatively by those books Granger had mentioned to him.

Although, 'proud' typically changed into 'horrified' or 'disappointed' if the person actually decided to stick around and ACTUALLY talk to him for at least five minutes.
Wasn't really his fault. The Wizarding world seemed to have its own idea about how Harry Potter was as a person.
His family had destroyed the person, leaving it to the Joker, Poison Ivy and the rest of his mentors to rebuild him and in the end let him be what he wanted to be.
How bad, how horrible, how monstrous did your blood relatives have to be when five of Gotham's biggest villains treated you better?

Family.

He hated it. Hate it with the same intensity Joker loved fighting the Bat.
He hated family. Had done so since he had fled from a murderous Vernon and ran through the snow-covered streets of Gotham and ended five years of torment.
‘Your parents-'
Parents? He didn't have and never had had 'parents'. He had mentors.
Mentors that seemed to like him more then any person he had any blood relation to.
And treated him much better too.

The plea finally dimmed and ceased. The chaotic jumble of thoughts and memories that was his typical mindset began to move as it always did.
Up, down, right, left, through dimension V-3z and dimension Alpha-Cupcake...

Harry finally got around to getting up from the ground when he was sure the plea had retreated to the place it had stayed for so long. He got up, rather unsteadily, since his left leg hadn't been too happy with the sudden stop the tree branch had provided. Harry took a step and quickly come to the conclusion his leg would very much like a rest and let one of other gifts Ivy had given him work it's magic. Harry decided sitting on a nearby log of wood for 15 minutes or so would work wonders for his leg and made his way over there.

It was only a tiny meter away from him, but his leg still managed to promise it would damn well detach itself and start beating him over the head if he kept walking on it.
As he sat down, Harry mumbled doing that would just make things worse for the leg. Of course the leg wouldn't care. It was just like the rest of him on the matter. Somebody cause him pain, he'd take it out on that person. Which in this case was himself.
He concluded that he really had to try to figure out how to levitate or something like that…

Still with one hand on his forehead and the other now on the log, he looked up to the sky. Still grey and gloomy. Couldn't have been long since he crashed. Maybe three-four minutes. They might not have noticed he crashed. He had heard screams, seen lights from spells as he had lost control over the broom and fallen towards the forest. The teachers probably had their hands full with panicky students and Dementors.

On the other hand, he supposedly had a mass murderer after him, Harry thought some ten minutes later. At least he thought it was ten minutes later, if the decreasing pain his leg was a good way to judge time.
Of course, some of the teachers did know he was more then able to take care of himself. Knew he didn't need six or so people keeping an eye on him. Now if they could just tell Fud-...
Actually, the thought of that many people spying on him made him a bit paranoid and made him feel more then a bit uncomfortable. Better just stop thinking about that or he'd go around and jab the living suits of armor and order them to stop spying on him because that was just plain rude.
Harry shook his head and looked down at his left leg as he felt something knit back to something it had previously been connected to. Wasn't sure what that happened to be.
Five minute left, then.

He wasn't sure what, but something had reminded him of something horrible.

He still had people he had blood relation to.
People who hadn't been nice good or nice to him whatsoever.
Which, if he had understood Dumbledore correct, WAS something family members were supposed to do.

''Family forms nearly unbreakable bonds, not only by blood but through emotion.'' Dumbledore said, one of the times he had been lucky enough have Harry in an situation where he couldn't get away from the old codger.
Harry had spent the rest of the day kicking himself for not telling the headmaster there had been no family bonds between him and the Dursley’s and the only emotions they had ever shown him was anger, hatred, annoyance and all consuming fury.

Granted, the all-consuming fury was something he had only seen from his uncle the day the bastard had nearly beaten him to death.
Still, his aunt and cousin had mistreated him badly. Vernon might have been the most violent of the three, but the others had had their own way of making his life hell.
Perhaps...if he tied up some lose ends it would stop this plea?
Had to. Most of the problems he had in life always seemed to have something to do with his family.

A tiny voice, one he associated with a nicer, rule bound, 'good'-Harry, very quietly said 'No, it won't. You have to let it go and move on with your life.' from the shadows of his mind. He promptly ordered it to shut the hell up and locked it away in it's box.

Harry regarded the sky again.
Still no teachers.
He looked down to his leg and shook it from side to side.
No lingering pains, no threats of detachment followed by a sound head bashing.

With a smile that typically scared most of his fellow students, Harry get up from the log of wood and started walking towards the castle, while he wondered how he was going to get away from it later that night.