He was surrounded by an endless black void.

It was cold.

There was no air.

Yet, he did not need to breath.

Confusion.

Where was he?

What had happened?

Vague flashes projected in his mind.

The insane cackling of a crazed woman.

Beams of red, blue and green light, interspersed with sickly orange and red.

A slash of purple flames.

The scent of burned flesh.

Bloodshot eyes in a gaunt face.

Black robes.

White masks.

Ugly, almost reptilian like, winged horses.

Pain.

Fear.

Determination.

A familiar silky voice.

A cane with a silver serpent head.

Rows upon rows of hundreds, no thousands, of orbs, all with a faint bluish white glow in their core.

A.P.W.B.D.

Pops and cracks of displaced air.

A whirlwind of people, voices and shouts.

Incantations.

A whirling blue eye.

Pink hair.

Blood…

Dripping from wounds.

Sirius!

No!

A stunner…

Then the veil, voices from behind it.

His hand…

Reaching through…

Then everything black.

And here he was.

No pain.

At least that is good.

In fact…

It was amazing how great he felt, after more than a year of permanent headaches and lack of sleep.

But…

There didn't seem to be anything that could hurt anymore.

He did not see anything.

He did not feel anything.

Remus whispering Sirius was gone… dead.

He had followed nevertheless.

Was he dead as well?

That thought didn't scare him.

His parents.

Sirius.

Serenity.

Peace.

Silence.

A silence broken as voices echoed through the void. Like so often in his life, he appeared the be the subject. Like so often, naturally, he was not involved.

"It is not yet his time."

"He should not be here."

"He can not stay here."

"He can not go back."

"He has a Purpose, a Destiny."

Serenity was not to last, apparently, as he could hear the capital P and D.

Naturally.

"He must go back."

Like so often, he didn't have a choice.

Naturally.

He didn't want to go back. His parents and Sirius was here. Back there, was only Voldemort. Granted, his friends, too. But it was better if they weren't near him… that is, if they survived the night.

"He came through the Veil. We can't simply send him back."

"I agree. But he must fulfil the Prophecy."

Wait. Prophecy? Well, he now knew there was one, but still no one had bothered to explain it to him. Dumbledore probably knew… Some things started to make sense now. But he still wanted to hear what it was about. He was tired of being left out of the loop. To have no choices in his life.

"He also has to acquire and train the Power the Dark Lord knows not."

"He must find a way back and learn that power at the same time."

"Where can we send him?"

Power? What is this power? And he didn't want to go back!

"I shall take him."

At those words, the Void became less dark, filling with a faint golden glow. The glow revealed a circle of people standing… or floating around him. All of them were facing one man. At least, he thought it was a man, it was a bit difficult to tell. A golden mask his face. A blue uniform covered his body, adorned by a golden cape. He assumed this man had spoken last.

"Yes. Your universe offers plenty of possibilities."

"I agree, but we, including you, cannot directly interfere with Destiny."

Again, the capital D. He wanted to shout, to scream, but he had no voice. He had no body to create a voice…

"There are those in my Universe that I can trust him to. They have powers. They can teach him the Power the Dark Lord knows not. And he can find a way home through mine. It will not be easy, but it is possible. And necessary, if he is to fulfil the Prophecy and survive."

He really started to dislike all those capital letters, all concerning him. But, if he had to go back at all, this definitely sounded like a better offer than tossing him back to people that always kept him in the Dark… or were most unable to teach. He would have coughed a certain name of a Professor here, had he possessed a voice right now.

"You are right", the other voices chorused.

"It will be done." Once more, in chorus. It was quite creepy.

As one, they all turned towards him, surrounding him, before the golden masked person spoke.

"Harry James Potter. It is not your time. You have a Destiny. One that is too important to let you stay here. You must go back and fulfil it. However we can not send you back, due to the unique way you arrived on this plain. There are laws and limits, even here. You are also not ready, even if it was possible."

The man paused, the white eyes in the mask glowing lightly, and gazing almost into his soul, as if judging him.

"You have potential, a lot of it. There is not much we can reveal, nor can we help you directly. Intervening in these matters is forbidden. So we will bring you to a new place. A place where you can learn, where you can grow strong, to one day fulfil your destiny and finally get the peace you deserve, the life you chose. A place that not only will you benefit from, but where you may prove to be a benefit to as well. You do not have to hide who or what you are there. Just follow your heart. And once you are ready, you will find a way to travel to your home, to deal with this Dark Lord that is your destiny."

Harry was stunned. That was his destiny? Somehow, he had always known. He should have known, at least. He also realized he was woefully unprepared. If he had to defeat Voldemort, stunners would not help much. Nor would failed Occlumency classes do much. But did he really want to? He didn't seem to have much of a choice. There was only one real choice he had. To simply go along and let things play out… or…

"Good luck, Harry Potter."

It was the last thing he heard, as the man waved his hand, muttering something in an arcane language. A golden whirlpool of energy, of magic, opened and started pulling him in. However much he wanted to stay here and reunite with his parent and Sirius, he could not resist the pull, like he couldn't resist the veil. His presence was sucked in.

When he became aware of himself again, it was the same and yet very different from the void. It was dark. Cold. Unfortunately, there was also pain. It was mainly his back… It felt as if he had fallen from his broom and landed on his back. He opened his eyes. It was still dark, but there was a faint glow of light. The sky was also covered by the small twinkles of stars, so similar to the twin twinkles in Dumbledore's eyes.

Then he heard sounds, quite close by. A swish, a whirring sound and two almost simultaneous thuds. Soft ones.

"What are you doing in my city?" A raspy voice. An almost mean raspy voice. Harry suddenly had a vision of a speaking dementor. It wasn't cold enough here for it to be one.

"I was just dropping by, to visit a friend. You, in other words." This voice was firm, yet soft at the same time. It had a definite non-British ring to it, despite it being perfect English. The voice was deep and rich, and well spoken. A stark contrast with the raspy one.

The young wizard got to his feet, suppressing the groans of pain and weariness that threatened to escape his throat. He turned till he saw two shadows outlined against the faint glow coming from… below? He looked around, seeing vents, pipes, chimneys and over a low concrete wall the outlines of other tall buildings against the night's sky.

He was on a rooftop. And not in Great Britain, either. He hadn't heard of any city in Europe with so many tall building. As his eyes got accustomed to the darkness, he saw such building as far as the eye could see. From his years in Muggle primary school, and the faint snippets of news and so he saw during summer at Privet Drive, he knew there was only one country he could be in. Well two or three really, but in the others, they didn't speak English.

'Great', he thought, 'The United States."

He tuned back into the ongoing conversation of the two shadowed figures. Both were tall. One was hunched, but in an alert way, not a lazy one. Harry was an expert on this. The other one was even taller, and stood proud. Powerful arms and a broad chest were outlined through the cape. In fact, both men were wearing capes. The hunched one also seemed to have two pointy ears. Small ones. So, no overgrown House-Elf at least.

"I don't have friends." The raspy voice again. Apparently it was from the pointy-eared one.

"Bruce, you can't fool me. We are friends. Or at least, I count you as one." Firm voice again. With such a body, no wonder his voice was strong and deep.

"Stop shouting my name off of rooftops, farm boy. Secret identities, remember." The Raspy one sounded quite angry now. Go figure. Well, Harry couldn't blame him really. He would be most annoyed as well if someone shouted his name in Diagon Alley. Still, what would a farm boy be doing on a rooftop, wearing a cape, in the middle of the night? For that matter, why keep a secret identity with pointy ears? He was in the United States, Harry then rationalised to himself.

From a British point of view, that explained everything.

"You are being a grouch again, Bruce. Who could possibly overhear us hear?" It was said with such confidence and with a faint hint of chipper hidden under the strength carried in the voice, that Harry could barely mute his snort.

Busted!

Both men whirled around.

Superman and Batman had a long going semi-friendship, as fellow crime fighters. It was only because of Batman's stubborn and staunch belief in his Mission that excluded him from acknowledging said friendship. However, the two worked together quite often, even if it was merely exchanging information of the numerous villains making life difficult in their cities.

The Man of Steel and the Dark Knight.

One was pure and raw power. He was stronger than even most forces of nature. The other was the pinnacle of human skill and inventiveness. He worked through stealth, through talent and through sheer intelligence and was known as the greatest detective in the world. One was Light, empowered by the sun. The other was Dark, working from the shadows and in the night.

Both held the same ideals, however. Truth and Justice. They approached it differently, but both valued life and prevented taking it at all costs. They saved it at all costs, even the highest, most personal one. Both had put their lives on the line, time and again, only to make sure someone else got home safe. Both men were admired by many, counted on even, by many. Of course, what would a good hero be without those that didn't like them? Both had adversaries, in the forms of villains, but also in the form of officials. It was inevitable. But a burden they gladly carried for the betterment of the world.

It was the foundation of their friendship. Even if one of them called it that. They had worked together and gotten to know each other. Despite being almost polar opposites. In fact, it made working together more effective, as both complemented each other's strengths.

Even in daily life, when not disguised and fighting crime, they were opposites. One was a farm boy, working as a shy, bumbling reporter, underpaid, at a famous newspaper. The other was a flamboyant playboy, a billionaire, a celebrity. This so called real life of both men, was also a cover. Not real… an elaborate act to make sure their names were never connected to their night jobs.

Only a few people knew the men hiding behind both masks. Clark Kent had his parents and a bestfriend from High School. Only his mother was still alive and knew his secret. Bruce Wayne had his butler, he chairman of the board of directors and his best friend. His best friend, too, had died. Both were women. Both were killed. Killed by the enemies of the men. And neither could forgive himself for that.

Chloe Sullivan and Rachel Dawes. Both were women with the same values as 'their' men. Both had paid for it with their lives. Both had shaped the men into what they were now. Through their lives, but also their deaths. It was why both men wore two masks now. They couldn't let anyone else close. No one should pay that price anymore… not for them. That is why they kept each other company, why they needed this friendship. They had little else.

Neither of then was willing to give up though. Their deeds were already the stuff of legends. They had saved so many lives. It made it worth it. Even when despair took hold of them, in the few hours of sleep they had, the thought of having saved a life just before chased the despair away, replacing it with determination every time. Their determination had set an example. Others were following their paths, or so the rumours said. There was a man as fast as light. People called him the Flash. There was a vigilante that had chosen the Robin Hood theme, instead of dressing like a bat. He was called the Green Arrow. Others popped up as well, from time to time, though they did not have names yet.

The Last Son of Krypton and the Prince of Gotham stood side by side on the rooftop, talking, bantering like they always did. Even Bruce, while unwilling to admit it, enjoyed this friendship. It chased away the loneliness their lives brought them. Till they were interrupted by a snort. Only the Kryptonian heard it, but the Batman was alert, and whirled around at the first twitch of the blue clad superhero.

What they saw was a surprise. Instead of a villain, they saw a young man, a boy really. He wore a black bathrobe. On his breast, there was a small badge, of a golden lion on a red background. And from where the bathrobe opened, a red and golden tie peeked through. The boy had short-ish black hair, peaking in every direction, giving a messy outlook. But more noticeable were his young almost aristocratic features, his penetrating emerald eyes, hidden behind round black rimmed glasses and an angry red lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. His face was barely hiding a smile… something not to the Batman's liking.

In a flash of movement, a Batarang was in Bruce's hand, ready to throw at the merest hint of danger. Superman merely placed his fists on his hips. At the sight of the Batarang, the young man moved equally fast, drawing a thing, carved wooden stick from seemingly nowhere. He held it loosely in his right hand, but to Batman's trained eyes, he could see he would be able to point it and do… something with it, before his Batarang would hit him.

"Who are you?" He growled in his raspy voice.

He took in the two figures. Really! If he hadn't spent so much time in the odd-looking Wizarding World, he would have burst out laughing right this instant. The strong voiced one wore a skin tight blue outfit, with red underpants on the outside. A golden belt and a red-golden symbol on his chest. A Pentagram displaying an ornate S. Added to that was the red cape and the odd little curl in his otherwise slicked back hair. The raspy voiced one was dressed in some kind of dark armour. But it seemed more rubberlike than metal. He wore some kind of tool belt with lots of unrecognizable gizmos attached to it. His mask was odd and also black, with the pointy ears. On his chest was a stylized black bat. That explained the mask at least.

Then, the bat guy pulled a sort of boomerang, with sharp edges from his belt in a lightning fast move. Harry reacted immediately, pulling his wand, but no yet aiming it. A spell was on the tip of his tongue. He was startled a little by the growled question. Suddenly, the words of the other blue dressed, caped guy came to mind. If that one was powerful enough to send him to a different universe, than he supposed he should heed the advice.

"I am Harry Potter. And you?"

Batman inwardly groaned. Another British speaking person in his life! And one that was awfully chipper, while pointing something at two of the most feared and revered men in the world. Feared when faced in combat, that is. Clark, the boy scout, answered, honestly at that.

"I am Superman, and this is Batman."

Author's notes: Read my profile for relevant information. Irrelevant questions will only be answered by reading the rest of the story. I can't give everything away yet.