This is my rewrite of Reactions. The quote is from Batman, 1989 movie.

I don't own anything

"I now do what other people only dream. I make art until someone dies. See? I am the world's first fully functioning homicidal artist."

Albus Dumbledore had made a serious error. He was standing on the doorstep outside Petunia Dursley's house, having paused there after his conversation with the woman still inside. He had gone after receiving several communications from Arabella Figg, all with the alarming news that she had seen neither Vernon Dursley or his nephew in the weeks following the family's trip out of the country.

Petunia had been rather distraught when he had confronted her, first demanding he leave and blaming him for a tragedy she would not name. In the end, he'd had to resort to looking into her mind for the answers he sought.

The family had set out for the United States, and while in a city by the name of Gotham, Vernon had thrown Harry from their car and left him on the street. It had only been later when Vernon had disappeared. His body had been discovered sometime after.

Harry Potter was missing. Albus would have to find him. It had been weeks since Vernon and Petunia had left him alone in such a large city and Albus stood still a moment, afraid that he would be too late.

There were too many things that could happen to such a small child in such a large city, so far away from anything recognizable. For a moment, he imagined telling Minerva and the firestorm that would incite.

She would be furious with him. It was possible she would go straight to the ministry with the news. Everyone knew of Harry Potter and everyone was expecting him at Hogwarts when he finally turned eleven.

He would most likely be brought in. Cornelias Fudge and several of his benefactors, one of which included Lucious Malfoy, would revel in the excuse to bring him up on charges, would use it to possibly get him removed as headmaster.

Perhaps it would be enough. He was revered in the wizarding world but Harry had defeated Voldemort, caused an end to the war that had taken too many lives. Most had lost at least one loved one during the war, some more than that.

The news that Albus had lost the Boy Who Lived could ruin his standing in the wizarding world.

But it may not have to be that way, Albus thought. He could find the boy. He knew where Vernon had left him. He would head to Gotham City himself. He would find Harry Potter himself.


Two years later

The room wasn't too dirty, considering who lived there. It was mostly bare except for a table near the center and a stand in the corner with a small television resting on it. The television was on, the news report playing at a low volume.

The walls were covered with paint, different colors mixing together eclectically. There was only one occupant in the room at that moment in time. The boy sat on top of the table, his thin frame engulfed by the black shirt he had stolen two nights previously.

His legs were crossed and he was bent over, his messy dark hair falling into his eyes, although he made no attempt to brush it back. His small hands were working on something laid out before him.

He placed a brown box carefully on the face down paper before he began to wrap it. The paper was colorful, smiling clowns staring up at him as he worked, taping the paper in place. The wrapping job was a little messy but he wanted it that way. It would look more authentic.

In the background, the news report continued to play. The video had been played countless times since it had been found and it had Gotham in an uproar. Obviously filmed by one of those handheld cameras, the picture was a little shaky as it first focused on a man slumped on the floor.

The black suit the man wore was a good replica of Batman's own. Most people would not be able to tell it wasn't. After all, Batman hardly ever stopped long enough for anyone to inspect what he was wearing.

The person behind the camera was mocking the look-a-like, his tone alternating randomly between harsh and playfully amused. The camera swung suddenly around, focusing on the painted white face of the camera holder as he spoke not only to the people of Gotham but to the real Batman.

The boy on the table was ignoring the report. He had finished his wrapping job. All he had to do was mail it.


"Are you going to tell me how you met this man, at least?" Gordon tried to keep his voice calm. Sitting there, across from the child who couldn't have been older than ten. He had a child of his own, however, and he couldn't imagine what this one had gone through, keeping company with a psychopath like the Joker.

"He was gonna kill me," the child answered finally, the first words he had spoken since they had captured Joker and found the boy.

"Well, he won't be able to hurt you now…" Gordon started, misinterpreting the boy's expression.

"I wanted him to, so he didn't." The words were said calmly and the child cocked his head to the side.

"He took you instead?" Gordon asked, disturbed now by the child's words and by the look in his eyes.

The boy shrugged. "You don't get it." He smiled then and there was amusement shining in his eyes. "You will though, when he's finished."


Harry Potter watched the display with a certain level of disinterest. He was satisfied for the moment that his package would most likely be received in the next day. He tilted his head as he watched Joker torment the mob guy.

It was interesting how people seemed to think Joker could be intimidated. It was funny even. In fact, Harry had to put his fists against his mouth to suppress another giggle that wanted to escape. It was all just so very funny.

And when the pile of money went up in flames, Harry watched with a fascinated gleam in his eyes.


Harry rocked back and forth on the table, his attention straying back and forth from the news program that was playing. The news report relaying the facts that Joker had been caught and that Batman was being accused of murder.

He giggled a bit at that. The cops were chasing down Batman this time. It was an amusing end to all of Joker's plans. He considered what he should do. Should he break Joker out? He could let it be.

He reached over and picked up one of Joker's toys he'd left behind, playing with it a bit. He wondered how much chaos it would cause if he blew a hole in Arkham Asylum.


Harry skipped back to the place he was staying. The police sirens were particularly loud but he ignored them. He'd made his own artwork. Sitting on top of the closest building he could get to next to Arkham. He'd pressed the little red button and the boom had sounded, the fire had burned.

He rather liked fire. He liked the way it had raged along the building. He wondered idly how many people had gotten out before the fire had caught them up as well but decided he didn't care. He'd given Joker and all those other people locked inside the chance.

Harry stopped, tilted his head when he reached the building he'd been staying in as of late. The door was open. Putting a hand in his pocket, he gripped the handle of his knife and wondered if a homeless person or a thief had wondered inside. He grinned at the thought.

When he got inside, however, what he found was an old man waiting for him. An old man in what appeared to be a dress. Harry did not lose his grip on the knife.

"Harry!" The old man looked immensely relieved to see him but Harry narrowed his eyes. He didn't like people knowing his name. The only people who knew his name were the ones from before. He almost brought the knife out, and then the old man began to speak.

He spoke for quite a while, spoke of magic and there were several points where Harry stopped paying attention and wondered that, if he threw the knife, would he be able to hit the old guy's throat?

Then the old man had pulled out what looked like a wooden stick, waved it at the television and Harry's eyes lit up when it lifted up into the air, hovering there.

"Magic?" Harry asked.

"Yes, it's quite wonderful isn't it?"

"Yes," Harry answered, a grin spreading across his face. What art I could do with this!