The Watchtower — Justice League Conference Room
(A.K.A. When Your Son Drops Cosmic Bombshells and You're Trying Really Hard Not to Have a Mom Moment)
The Watchtower conference room was designed to handle conversations about threats that could end civilizations, alien invasions that required tactical nuclear responses, and the occasional discussion about whether Batman's brooding was reaching clinically concerning levels. What it wasn't designed for was a mother trying very hard not to have a complete parental meltdown while her seventeen-year-old son explained how he'd accidentally become a walking nuclear reactor and then had a philosophical debate with one of history's most dangerous immortals.
Diana Prince—known to the world as Wonder Woman, known to cosmic threats as someone you really didn't want to annoy, and known to Harry Potter as "Mum, please don't ground me for redefining physics without permission"—sat at the head of the polished conference table with the kind of regal composure that had been perfected over centuries of dealing with gods, monsters, and the occasional really difficult diplomatic negotiation.
Her dark hair was pulled back in a practical bun that somehow managed to look both professional and ready for combat, because Diana Prince didn't do anything that wasn't ready for combat. Her blue eyes—the kind that had seen the rise and fall of civilizations and found most of them disappointingly predictable—were fixed on her son with the particular intensity that came from trying to balance "proud mother" with "terrified superhero" and "woman who might need to have some very pointed conversations with cosmic forces about appropriate parenting challenges."
She was wearing her diplomatic outfit—a navy blue suit that looked professional enough for United Nations meetings but was actually woven from magical fibers that could probably stop bullets, magic spells, and the occasional reality-warping tantrum. Because when you're Wonder Woman, even your business casual needed to be combat-ready.
"Let me see if I understand this correctly," she said in her voice, which managed to sound maternal and terrifyingly authoritative at the same time. It was the voice that had once made Ares apologize for starting wars, and it was currently making seven of the world's most powerful heroes sit up straighter in their chairs.
"My son," she continued, her accent giving the words a musical quality that somehow made them more ominous rather than less, "discovered during combat that his magical core has evolved beyond any known theoretical framework, allowing him to generate energy at stellar levels. He then used this newfound cosmic power to systematically defeat seven of the world's most dangerous supervillains while giving them what amounted to a graduate-level seminar on the practical applications of overwhelming force."
She paused, letting that sink in while everyone at the table tried to process the implications of a seventeen-year-old operating at the energy output of a small sun.
"Following this educational experience," Diana continued, her tone carrying the kind of precision that usually preceded very pointed questions about decision-making processes, "he was approached by Vandal Savage—who has apparently been watching this entire confrontation for his own entertainment—and offered membership in a secret organization called the Light, which claims to orchestrate global events to guide human evolution."
Around the table, six of the world's most powerful and experienced heroes were having various degrees of what could diplomatically be called "processing difficulties" as they tried to reconcile the mental image of young Harry Potter with someone who could apparently benchpress small planets and have philosophical debates with immortal megalomaniacs.
Batman—Bruce Wayne, the world's greatest detective and someone whose paranoia was so comprehensive it had its own filing system—leaned forward in his chair with the kind of focused intensity that meant he was already running probability analyses and threat assessments in his head. His cowled features were set in that particular expression that suggested he was simultaneously impressed, concerned, and possibly planning to install additional security measures around everyone he cared about.
"The Light," he said in his gravelly voice that made even casual observations sound like pronouncements of doom, "has been a theoretical concern for years. An organization operating behind global events, manipulating conflicts to serve their agenda. We've seen patterns, coincidences that were too convenient to be natural, but never enough evidence to prove their existence."
His white eye lenses turned toward Diana with the kind of intensity that made most people very nervous about what Batman knew about their browser history.
"Your son just confirmed our worst-case scenario," he continued, his voice carrying the weight of someone who was already several steps ahead of the conversation and didn't like where it was heading. "A shadow organization with global reach, centuries of experience, and the resources to orchestrate conflicts on a planetary scale. And they tried to recruit him."
Superman—Clark Kent, the Last Son of Krypton and someone whose idea of a bad day usually involved intergalactic tyrants or dimensional incursions—sat at Diana's right with the kind of steady presence that made everyone else feel slightly more secure about the future of human civilization. His blue eyes held that particular combination of warmth and concern that had made him the heart of the Justice League, and his voice carried the weight of someone who'd faced cosmic threats and found them manageable.
"The power levels Harry described," he said thoughtfully, his voice carrying that distinctive quality that made even dire observations sound somehow reassuring, "they're beyond anything we've encountered from Earth-based magic users. Stellar energy output isn't just impressive—it's functionally unlimited. If he can maintain that level of power generation without external sources..."
He paused, looking around the table at his fellow heroes with an expression that managed to be both awed and slightly terrified.
"We're not just talking about a new member of the superhero community," he continued, his voice dropping to the register he used for really serious conversations about the fate of the universe. "We're talking about a fundamental shift in the balance of power on Earth. Possibly in this entire sector of the galaxy."
The Flash—Barry Allen, the Fastest Man Alive and someone whose relationship with the laws of physics was more of a friendly suggestion arrangement—vibrated slightly in his chair with the kind of nervous energy that came from processing information at superhuman speeds and really not liking the conclusions he was reaching.
"Okay, so we've got good news and bad news," he said in that rapid-fire delivery that meant he'd already run through about seventeen different scenarios in the time it took normal people to blink. "Good news: Harry's on our side and apparently powerful enough to handle threats that would give the rest of us serious problems. Bad news: there's a secret organization that's been manipulating global events for who knows how long, and they either want to recruit him or eliminate him as a threat."
His scarlet costume seemed to shimmer with contained energy, and his eyes held the kind of gleam that meant he was already planning contingency strategies that involved running really fast and hoping everything worked out.
"Also," he added, his voice carrying just a hint of that Barry Allen charm that made even cosmic disasters sound manageable, "I'm pretty sure that if Harry can generate stellar levels of energy, he could probably keep up with me in a footrace. Which is either really cool or absolutely terrifying, depending on whether he's in a good mood or not."
Green Lantern—Hal Jordan, test pilot, cosmic guardian, and someone whose job description included "protecting entire sectors of the galaxy from threats that would make lesser beings reconsider their life choices"—constructed a small holographic display with his ring that showed energy reading charts and probability matrices that hurt to look at directly.
"The ring's been analyzing the residual energy signatures from Harry's fight," he said, his voice carrying that particular combination of awe and professional concern that came from having cosmic-level sensors confirm that someone you knew personally was operating at power levels usually reserved for small gods. "Whatever's happened to his magical core, it's not just evolution—it's transformation. He's not drawing energy from external sources anymore. He's generating it from nothing, converting pure will and intention into raw power."
The green light from his ring cast eerie shadows on the walls as he manipulated the holographic display to show energy patterns that looked like someone had taught physics to have very strong opinions about justice.
"In Green Lantern terms," Hal continued, his voice taking on that matter-of-fact tone that ring-bearers used when discussing cosmic phenomena that would make normal people's brains leak out their ears, "he's operating like a living power battery that never runs down. The theoretical maximum output..." He paused, recalculating something that made the ring's glow flicker. "There might not be a theoretical maximum. The ring can't find an upper limit to the energy signature."
Aquaman—Arthur Curry, King of Atlantis and someone whose daily responsibilities included managing an underwater civilization and occasionally preventing surface dwellers from accidentally starting apocalyptic conflicts with the ocean itself—leaned back in his chair with the kind of measured composure that came from ruling a kingdom that predated most surface civilizations and had seen every possible variety of crisis.
"From Atlantis's perspective," he said in his deep voice that carried the authority of someone who'd negotiated with gods and found them reasonable when properly motivated, "the existence of the Light explains several historical anomalies. Wars that started for unclear reasons, technological developments that appeared suddenly without adequate research foundations, political movements that emerged from nowhere and disappeared just as mysteriously."
His green eyes held the kind of ancient wisdom that came from having access to historical records that went back further than most surface dwellers could comprehend, and his expression suggested he was connecting dots that formed a very unpleasant picture.
"If they've been operating for centuries," Arthur continued, his voice taking on the cadence he used for really serious royal pronouncements, "then they're not just manipulating current events. They've been shaping human civilization itself. The implications for both surface and underwater politics are..." He paused, searching for words adequate to describe the scope of what they were discussing. "Staggering."
Martian Manhunter—J'onn J'onzz, the last of his kind and someone whose telepathic abilities gave him perspectives on consciousness that most beings couldn't comprehend—sat quietly at the far end of the table, his red eyes holding the kind of distant focus that meant he was processing information on levels that didn't technically exist in normal reality.
When he spoke, his voice carried that distinctive quality that made even simple observations sound like they were coming from a different dimension where cause and effect worked according to more philosophical principles.
"The most concerning aspect," he said thoughtfully, his words carrying the weight of someone who'd seen the rise and fall of civilizations and understood the patterns that most beings missed, "is not the Light's existence or their apparent influence. It is their interest in young Harry specifically."
His alien features managed to convey both wisdom and deep concern as he looked around the table at his fellow heroes.
"Organizations that operate on such scales," J'onn continued, his voice taking on that professorial tone that suggested he was about to explain something that would make everyone's day significantly more complicated, "do not recruit randomly. They do not approach individuals unless those individuals represent either an asset they require or a threat they must neutralize. The fact that they offered membership rather than elimination suggests they believe Harry could be valuable to their agenda."
"Or," Batman interjected, his voice carrying that particular edge that meant he was about to voice the conclusion everyone else had been trying not to think, "they believe he's too dangerous to approach directly. Offering recruitment could be a way to assess his capabilities and motivations before deciding on a more permanent solution."
The silence that followed was the kind of silence that usually preceded really unpleasant realizations about how much danger everyone was actually in.
Diana, who'd been listening to this analysis with the kind of focused attention that came from being both a mother worried about her son and a superhero responsible for protecting human civilization, finally spoke.
"What exactly are you suggesting?" she asked, her voice carrying that particular quality that meant someone was about to get a very educational lesson about why annoying Wonder Woman was generally considered a poor life choice.
"I'm suggesting," Batman replied with the kind of calm precision that meant he'd already run worst-case scenarios and wasn't particularly pleased with the results, "that Harry is now at the center of what could be the most significant threat the Justice League has ever faced. A secret organization with global reach and unlimited resources either wants to control him or eliminate him. Either option represents a direct challenge to everything we've built here."
"And I'm suggesting," Diana said, her voice dropping to that register that had once made gods reconsider their aggressive expansion policies, "that any organization that thinks it can threaten my son is about to discover why I've been called the Goddess of Truth and War for over three thousand years."
The maternal authority in her voice was so intense that it actually made the Watchtower's environmental systems adjust the atmospheric pressure to compensate, and several of the heroes around the table found themselves sitting up straighter without quite knowing why.
"Diana," Superman said gently, his voice carrying that particular combination of respect and concern that came from years of partnership with someone who could level mountains when properly motivated, "we're not talking about a normal threat. If Savage is representative of the Light's membership, we're dealing with beings who've been planning on timescales that make our longest strategic plans look like weekend projects."
"Then they should have considered that before involving my son in their games," Diana replied, and somehow she made the word 'games' sound like something that belonged in the same category as war crimes and really bad table manners.
Flash raised his hand tentatively, like a student who wasn't entirely sure he wanted to ask the question that was bothering him.
"Um," he said, his voice carrying just a hint of that Barry Allen charm that usually preceded him asking questions that made everyone else realize they'd been missing something important, "shouldn't we also be talking about the fact that Harry apparently just became the most powerful magic user on the planet? Because that seems like the kind of development that might have some implications for how we handle magical threats going forward."
"He's right," Green Lantern said, his ring flickering as it processed energy signature data that was probably giving the cosmic guardians very interesting reports to file. "If Harry can generate unlimited magical energy from internal sources, he's not just powerful—he's functionally unstoppable by any conventional means. That changes everything about how we approach supernatural conflicts."
"It also," Aquaman added thoughtfully, "raises questions about what triggered this evolution. Magical cores don't just spontaneously develop stellar output capabilities. Something caused this transformation, and understanding what that something was might be crucial for predicting whether it could happen to other magic users."
J'onn leaned forward slightly, his alien features set in the expression he used when he was about to share information that everyone really needed to hear but probably wouldn't enjoy learning.
"I have been monitoring Harry's emotional and mental patterns throughout this discussion," he said in his careful way, "and there is something that concerns me deeply. The power increase was not gradual. It was instantaneous, triggered by a moment of... I believe the human term would be 'righteous fury.' When he realized the scope of the threat facing innocent civilians, his magical core didn't just evolve—it transcended the normal limitations of magical energy generation."
His red eyes swept around the table, taking in each hero's reaction to this information.
"What concerns me," J'onn continued, his voice taking on that professorial tone that meant he was about to explain something that would probably give everyone nightmares, "is that this suggests his power is directly linked to his emotional commitment to protecting others. The stronger his desire to defend innocent lives, the more energy he can generate. In theoretical terms, his power ceiling is determined not by physical limitations, but by how much he cares about saving people."
"That's..." Superman started, then stopped as the implications began sinking in.
"That's either the best news we've ever received," Batman finished grimly, "or the most terrifying. A hero whose power is unlimited as long as he's fighting for the right reasons is every villain's worst nightmare. But it also means that if something were to happen to his moral compass, or if he were to be convinced that extreme measures were necessary for the greater good..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. Everyone around the table was capable of doing the math on what unlimited power plus compromised ethics equaled.
Diana's expression had shifted from maternal concern to something that looked suspiciously like pride mixed with the kind of protective fury that had once made entire pantheons reconsider their aggressive expansion policies.
"My son," she said firmly, her voice carrying the weight of absolute certainty, "will never compromise his principles for power or convenience. He was raised to understand that true strength comes from protecting those who cannot protect themselves, and that responsibility is not negotiable regardless of the personal cost."
"We know that," Superman said gently, his voice carrying that particular warmth that made even difficult conversations feel more manageable. "But the Light doesn't. And if they can't recruit him, they'll try to neutralize him. The question is: how do we protect someone who's probably more powerful than the rest of us combined?"
"You don't," came a new voice from the conference room entrance, carrying just enough authority to make seven of the world's most powerful heroes turn around immediately.
Harry Potter—no longer in his Shadowflame armor but wearing jeans and a t-shirt that somehow made him look both younger and infinitely more dangerous—stood in the doorway with that particular expression that meant he'd been listening to at least part of the conversation and had some opinions about how it was going.
His dark hair was doing that thing where it looked perfectly tousled despite having been through a cosmic-level superhero battle, and his green eyes held the kind of patient amusement that suggested he'd heard this type of conversation before and found it endearing but ultimately unnecessary.
"You don't protect me," he continued, walking into the room with the casual confidence that came from having recently redefined what it meant to be powerful, "because I don't need protection anymore. What you do is trust me to handle the threats that come my way, and focus your energy on protecting the people who actually need it."
He looked around the table at seven heroes who were all staring at him with various degrees of concern, pride, and existential confusion about how to categorize someone who could probably benchpress a small planet but still looked like he should be worried about homework assignments.
"Besides," Harry added, settling into the empty chair next to his mother with the kind of easy grace that made everyone else realize they'd been overthinking the situation, "I'm not alone. I've got Young Justice, I've got you lot, and I've got a really excellent support network of people who've been helping me make good decisions since I was eleven years old and thought that fighting mountain trolls was a reasonable extracurricular activity."
"Harry," Diana said, her voice carrying that particular maternal tone that meant she was about to have some very pointed conversations about risk assessment and keeping one's mother informed about cosmic-level power developments, "we need to discuss—"
"Mum," Harry interrupted gently, and the smile he gave her was bright enough to power a small city and warm enough to melt even Wonder Woman's legendary composure, "I know you're worried. I know this is all happening faster than anyone expected, and I know that having a son who can accidentally rewrite the laws of physics is probably not what you signed up for when you decided to rescue me from that Luthorcorp blacksite."
He reached over and took her hand, and somehow the simple gesture managed to be both completely normal and absolutely remarkable given that the hand in question could probably compress coal into diamonds if he wasn't careful.
"But I'm still me," he continued, his voice carrying that particular quality that had once convinced a hat that he belonged in Gryffindor despite having a piece of Voldemort's soul attached to his consciousness. "I'm still the same person who wants to help people, who believes that everyone deserves a chance to make their own choices, and who really, really doesn't like bullies. The power is new, but the principles aren't."
Around the table, six of the world's most experienced heroes watched this exchange with the kind of fascination usually reserved for witnessing natural phenomena that redefined their understanding of how the universe worked.
"The Light," Batman said, bringing the conversation back to the immediate tactical concerns because that's what Batman did when faced with emotional moments that made him uncomfortable, "represents a clear and present danger not just to you, but to global security. We need to know who the members are, what their capabilities are, and what their long-term agenda involves."
"Working on it," Harry replied, and there was something in his tone that suggested he'd already been giving this considerable thought. "Savage gave me some hints, probably more than he intended. He mentioned Luthor, which isn't exactly surprising. He mentioned someone called Ra's, which is concerning because Zatanna went white as a sheet when I brought up that name."
"Ra's al Ghul," Diana said grimly, her voice carrying the weight of someone who'd had personal experience with extremely dangerous immortals and hadn't enjoyed the process. "The Demon's Head. Leader of the League of Assassins. If he's part of this Light organization, then we're not just dealing with secret manipulation—we're dealing with centuries of accumulated resources and absolutely no moral limitations."
"There were other hints," Harry continued, his green eyes taking on that focused intensity that meant he was working through a complex problem and probably arriving at conclusions that would make everyone else's day more complicated. "The way Savage talked about cosmic threats, entities from other dimensions, civilizations that view humanity as we might view ants. He wasn't just trying to recruit me—he was genuinely concerned about preparing Earth for something specific."
"Something specific?" J'onn asked, his alien features shifting into an expression of intense concentration. "Did he provide any details about the nature of these threats?"
"Not directly," Harry replied, "but the implications were pretty clear. Whatever's coming, it's big enough to make Darkseid look like a warm-up act. And the Light believes that humanity needs to be stronger, more unified, more... controllable to survive it."
"Classic authoritarian logic," Superman observed, his voice carrying that particular disappointment that came from recognizing patterns he'd seen before in various cosmic tyrants and interdimensional warlords. "Create a crisis, offer to solve it, consolidate power in the process. The fact that there might be real threats coming doesn't justify their methods."
"Agreed," Harry said firmly, and there was something in his voice that suggested he'd already had this philosophical debate with himself and reached some very definite conclusions. "Which is why I told Savage exactly what I thought of his recruitment pitch and his organization's approach to species development."
Flash leaned forward with the kind of interested expression that meant he was about to ask for details that would probably be both entertaining and educational.
"How exactly did you tell him?" he asked, his voice carrying just enough curiosity to suggest he was hoping for a really good story about putting immortal megalomaniacs in their place.
Harry's grin was bright enough to probably be visible from space, and definitely dangerous enough to make several cosmic entities reconsider their aggressive expansion policies.
"I explained," he said cheerfully, "that there's a fundamental difference between leadership and control, between guidance and manipulation, and between preparing people for challenges and deciding that they're not capable of making their own choices. I may have also mentioned that his organization's approach to species development had some significant ethical flaws that he might want to address before approaching any more teenagers with unlimited power and strong opinions about free will."
"You gave Vandal Savage a lecture on ethics?" Green Lantern asked, his voice carrying the kind of amazed disbelief that suggested he was impressed despite himself.
"Educational experience," Harry corrected. "I find that people learn better when they're actively engaged in the conversation rather than just being talked at. Though I'll admit, Savage was a better student than the seven supervillains I was working with earlier. At least he listened to the entire presentation before trying to threaten my friends."
"He threatened your friends?" Diana asked, her voice dropping to that register that had once made Ares apologize for existing in her general vicinity.
"Mentioned that the Light has excellent intelligence networks and would be very interested in anyone close to me," Harry replied, and suddenly his casual demeanor shifted to something that made everyone at the table remember that they were talking to someone who could operate at stellar energy levels. "I found his interest in my social connections... educational."
Batman leaned forward with the kind of focused intensity that meant he was running threat assessments and probability matrices in his head at speeds that would make supercomputers jealous.
"What exactly did you tell him?" he asked, his gravelly voice carrying the weight of someone who needed to know exactly how much trouble they were all in.
"I told him," Harry said, his green eyes taking on that particular gleam that meant someone was about to learn why threatening the people he cared about was generally considered a poor life choice, "that if any members of his Light organization decided to take an active interest in my friends or family, they would discover exactly what stellar energy output looked like when applied for educational purposes rather than simple conflict resolution."
"And what did he say to that?" Aquaman asked, though his voice suggested he already knew the answer wasn't going to be particularly reassuring.
"He smiled," Harry replied, and somehow he made that simple statement sound more ominous than most people could make explicit threats. "The kind of smile that suggested he was looking forward to seeing how the situation developed. Then he mentioned that he'd give my regards to Mum, because apparently they've had 'interesting philosophical discussions about the nature of justice and the proper use of power.'"
The silence that followed was the kind of silence that usually preceded really spectacular explosions, very pointed questions about operational security, and possibly some emergency family meetings about why certain information hadn't been shared with people who really needed to know about it.
Diana's expression shifted through several different emotions in rapid succession—surprise, recognition, annoyance, and finally the kind of grim determination that had once convinced entire pantheons to find alternative hobbies that didn't involve conquering the mortal realm.
"Vandal Savage and I," she said carefully, her voice carrying the weight of someone who was about to explain something that everyone needed to hear but nobody was going to enjoy learning, "have encountered each other on several occasions over the centuries. He has... opinions about the proper development of human civilization, and I have occasionally found it necessary to express disagreement with those opinions in ways that left lasting impressions."
"How lasting?" Superman asked, though his voice suggested he was already regretting the question.
"The kind that required him to spend several decades reconsidering his approach to European political development during the Renaissance," Diana replied diplomatically.
"You fought Vandal Savage during the Renaissance?" Flash asked, his voice carrying the kind of fascinated excitement that came from discovering that his colleagues had even more interesting histories than he'd previously realized.
"Several times," Diana confirmed. "He had some very creative ideas about artistic patronage and religious conflict that I found... educationally inadequate."
"And now he's using that history to suggest that he has some kind of personal connection to our family," Harry said, his voice taking on that edge that meant he'd just moved several items higher on his priority list for immediate attention. "Which means this isn't just about recruitment or elimination. This is personal."
Batman's white eye lenses focused on Harry with the kind of intensity that meant he was updating his threat assessment files and probably adding several new categories for "complications involving immortal megalomaniacs with family feuds."
"Personal vendettas with beings who've been alive for millennia," he said grimly, "tend to be considerably more complex and dangerous than normal tactical situations. We're not just dealing with the Light's agenda anymore. We're dealing with whatever history exists between Savage and Diana, combined with his interest in Harry's power levels, combined with the existence of cosmic threats that may or may not be as serious as he claims."
"It gets better," Harry said, and his tone suggested that it definitely did not get better. "He also mentioned that the other members of the Light wanted to kill me outright, but he convinced them that recruitment would be more profitable. Which means that if the recruitment approach doesn't work out..."
"They'll try elimination," Green Lantern finished, his ring flickering with energy patterns that suggested it was already running defensive protocols.
"They'll try," Harry agreed, and there was something in his voice that suggested he found the prospect more interesting than concerning. "Which should be educational for everyone involved."
J'onn leaned forward with the kind of expression that meant he was about to share information that would make everyone's day significantly more complicated.
"There is another consideration," he said thoughtfully, his voice carrying that otherworldly quality that suggested he was processing information on levels that normal brains couldn't comprehend. "If Harry's power evolution was triggered by emotional commitment to protecting others, then threats against his family and friends could potentially trigger further developments."
"Further developments?" Diana asked, her voice carrying that particular maternal concern that meant she was imagining worst-case scenarios involving her son and cosmic power levels.
"Unknown," J'onn replied honestly. "But if his current capabilities represent a response to the threats he was facing today, then more significant threats could theoretically produce correspondingly greater responses. The psychological framework suggests that his power scaling is directly proportional to his perception of how much protection the innocent people around him require."
"So the more dangerous the situation gets," Superman said slowly, working through the implications, "the more powerful he becomes to handle it?"
"In theory," J'onn confirmed. "Though the potential ceiling for such development is..." He paused, his alien features managing to convey both fascination and deep concern. "Unknown. Possibly nonexistent."
The silence that followed was the kind of silence that usually preceded either really excellent strategic planning sessions or complete mental breakdowns as people tried to process information that redefined their understanding of how reality worked.
"Right," Harry said cheerfully, apparently deciding that everyone had had enough time to contemplate the cosmic implications of his existence, "so we've established that I'm probably going to get more powerful if people keep threatening the people I care about, there's a secret organization that's been manipulating global events for centuries, and at least one immortal megalomaniac with a personal grudge against my family wants to either recruit me or kill me."
He looked around the table at seven heroes who were all staring at him with various degrees of concern, pride, and existential confusion.
"Anyone have any other good news they'd like to share?" he asked. "Because at this point I'm kind of curious about what else could possibly make this situation more complicated."
That's when the Watchtower's communication system chimed with an incoming priority message, and a holographic display materialized above the conference table showing the face of someone who definitely belonged in the "making situations more complicated" category.
Amanda Waller—Director of A.R.G.U.S., professional maker of difficult decisions, and someone whose idea of a good day usually involved other people having very bad days—appeared in the hologram with that particular expression that meant someone was about to receive information they really didn't want to hear.
"Justice League," she said in her voice, which managed to sound both professional and vaguely threatening, "we need to talk. We've got a situation developing that involves your newest member, several missing supervillains, and what our intelligence agencies are calling a potential paradigm shift in global threat assessment protocols."
She paused, her dark eyes focusing on Harry with the kind of intensity that suggested she'd been getting some very interesting reports about recent events in Metropolis.
"Mr. Potter," she continued, "or should I say Shadowflame, you've been having some very interesting conversations today. We need to discuss the implications of those conversations, preferably before they result in the kind of international incident that requires me to have uncomfortable meetings with world leaders about supernatural threat management."
Harry looked at the holographic display, then at the seven heroes around the table who were all wearing expressions that suggested they'd just realized their day was about to become significantly more complicated.
"You know what?" he said, his voice carrying that particular combination of resignation and amusement that came from accepting that his life was never going to be simple, "I think I liked it better when my biggest problem was passing Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"We all did," Diana said firmly, reaching over to squeeze his hand with the kind of protective gesture that had once made gods reconsider their hostile expansion policies.
"But," she continued, her voice taking on that regal authority that had convinced entire civilizations to find more constructive hobbies, "we'll handle it. Whatever comes next, we'll face it together."
Around the table, six of the world's most powerful heroes nodded in agreement, and Harry felt that familiar warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with stellar energy output and everything to do with being surrounded by people who'd stand with him regardless of how complicated the universe decided to make his existence.
"Together," he agreed, and meant it.
Some days were educational like that.
But at least he wasn't facing them alone.
---
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