31st October 1999, Godric's Hollow.

Lily and James have had Harry for just over a year, and they were the most adoring parents an adoptee could wish for. They'd just about spoiled little Harry, and had confunded some of their closest friends to think that Lily had really been pregnant with Harry and that he was fully theirs by blood.

He wasn't and wasn't that just the elephant in the room that Lily and James had been dancing around all this time. Harry had just barely enough of their blood for a magical core to start forming naturally, and a weak one at that. It was unnaturally small for a child his age, so they had been giving him potions daily to try to catch him up to a normal size, to no avail.

With a magical core of his size, he'd be able to perform most of the average every day spells for a wizard when he was older, but nothing big or exceptional. He wouldn't be particularly skilled in any subject if he ever went to Hogwarts. He might have magic in his blood, but he'd still always be more muggle than he ever would be magical.

Although a closer examination of his blood gave them a delightful surprise. He had a natural affinity for a rare branch of magic; Romani magic. Romani magic held exceptional results when fortune telling, amulet magic and a branch of charms that any normal wizard wouldn't ever be able to use.

Romani magic was purely genetic and only belonged to the Romani people of Europe and Asia. Even then, traditions were lost over the generations and a few of the secrets were passed exclusively through the female line from mother to daughter. Romani magic was mainly family-based magic, but there was one isolated school in a mountain range of Romania that taught some of the basics of Romani magic for sixteen-year-olds to nineteen-year-olds.

Later that night, when Voldemort points his wand at Harry, his amulet projects a misty white shield around his body, rebounding the killing curse. The black pearl in the centre of the amulet had lost its colour and returned to its original pearl white colouration.

—

Danny Fenton hadn't particularly looked like either of his parents, except for the black hair his dad had. His skin was a soft creamy colour that wouldn't burn - but tanned under the sun's rays, unlike the rest of his family who had to wear layers upon layers of sunscreen to keep themselves from turning a bright red and having their skin peel.

His suspicions were confirmed when he turned eight, and his parents had sat him down, gently explaining that he was adopted. He hadn't freaked out or cried, he was always so sure of himself that he was apart of the family no matter who were his birth parents. As it turns, the circus his parents and brother worked in was coming to town on their North American tour.

They'd gotten tickets and the privilege to see Danny's birth parents work their magic on the trapeze, and oh boy, was it a sight to see. Whenever they had an act that didn't involve a net, the youngest performer was left on one of the central higher platforms, almost pouting at being left out of an act.

Danny couldn't deny that the entire act was amazing in itself, feeling the tiniest bit resentful that he had never gotten to live that life, never gotten to learn the very art of the family that had run in his blood and veins. Danny could see that every other Grayson seemed to have a confident grace that nobody else possessed. He notes bitterly that he's a Grayson by blood but nothing else. He buys a poster for the Flying Grayson's.

He doesn't know any of his heritage's traditions, the family business or even the native language that his family spoke! He feels cheated out of what could have been an extraordinary and unique childhood, and instead dumped off with a rather ordinary family in comparison, given that his adoptive parents were considered experts in anything paranormal that was ghost related.

Living in a smallish town meant that everybody knew practically everybody else, and it was no secret that Maddie Fenton had only ever been pregnant with the older sister of the Fenton family. It was no brainer that he was adopted, and the entire town was too kind to tell him. Another downside to living in a small town was that everybody recognised Jack and Maddie Fenton as the local town loonies.

That's when he decides out of resentment that he wouldn't need the Grayson's to achieve great things. He didn't need any fancy trapeze act (no matter if it was globally renowned) to take him far in life. He'd show them that he could be better, then they'd really regret leaving him at an orphanage in London. He'd show them, and maybe then they'd see why they should've kept him. He'd go to the moon and back.

Maybe literally.

—

There wasn't anything that Dick Grayson wasn't completely sure about. He was sure about his place with his parents, he was sure about his role in life and he was definitely sure about the fact that he absolutely wanted to join the rest of his family in their big trapeze finale act. He'd spent so long training for it!

John finally let in, saying that he could be in exactly finale act in two months time. Their last stop in the North American tour, Gotham City. Dick was ecstatic, training harder than he'd ever been before, and giving more thought into his diet. If he wanted to build the muscle mass required to do the strenuous stunts that were required of him.

"Mumma, what is this?" He asks his parents one night. He'd found a picture of himself as an infant along with two other babies besides him. Had there been other children born in the circus? Maybe it was the fortune teller, she wasn't old by any standards, but certainly old enough that she could've been a mother around the same time Mary was. But there weren't any other kid's around Dick's age currently residing at the circus.

"You were a triplet. Not identical, but you all did look pretty alike when you were born. We couldn't look after you all, so… We left the other two at an orphanage in London. They've all been adopted by nice families that'll care for them." Dick Pouts, it'd be nice to have kids his own age to play with, but he understood first hand how limited the resources at the circus were. Sometimes when they had their tour at a particularly expensive town for groceries, his parents took turns missing out on lunch so that Dick would never go to sleep with an empty stomach.

No matter how much they tried to hide it, Dick picked up on it, he knew that his parents made sacrifices for him.

One day, he promised, he'd make a sacrifice for them that they'd be proud of.

—

Harry had stopped trying a long time ago. Sure, maybe there was once a time when he'd try in school or tried to make friends. There was definitely a time when he used to wonder why his relatives didn't love him. He'd stopped competing for the love and acceptance of his relatives, it was futile anyway.

The big tree by the local park was more of a home than his cupboard under the stairs would ever be. Harry had figured that he had an affinity for climbing big trees when he was much younger, five maybe. Climbing the big pine tree was a useful skill when he wanted solace from his bully of a cousin. Nobody else could climb as high as he could, which was about three quarters up the tree.

Not even Piers, who would climb almost halfway, attempted the climb between the massive gap between branches. There were no footholds for about 7 feet after the halfway point of the tree, everybody tried to figure out how bloody scarface Potter managed to get past that.

It was simple really, when he'd first done it he had no fear of death or bodily harm, so he'd either make the jump or die. It was really a win-win situation, so he made the attempt and was delighted that he found out that he could.

Vernon had taken Dudley to see a football game, so that night it was just Petunia and Harry for dinner. He'd refused to call her Aunt or Vernon Uncle. They weren't really his family, not in the way that mattered. He'd stuck to calling her 'Mrs Dursley' if he could get away with it, and called Vernon 'Sir' to keep on the safe side.

She'd looked at him funny during dinner as if she was seeing him for the first time.

"You don't have her eyes." Petunia points out, rather uselessly. She's right, Harry had seen pictures of Lily Potter.

"I don't." He agrees. He looked nothing like them.

He guesses you could pull up similarities if you were really reaching for it. He went to bed that night with a little more on his plate than usual. He had pale skin but didn't freckle, not like his mother. He'd tan under hours of gardening.

It was useless. In his relative's eyes, he either was too much a Potter or not enough.

He'd take what he could get.

—

April 1st, 2006.

Dick, against all odds, didn't cry himself to sleep that night. Yes, his parents had fallen, and yes he did cry. He cried out his heart's content when the social workers took him to a foster home that night. He'd been loud, and his new roommate didn't have the heart to tell him to shut up, opting to sleep downstairs on the couch instead. He'd cried and wailed and even when he was out of breath and exhausted, his mind was too busy for him to sleep.

His heart beating too fast for his body to relax.

—

He'd tried to run away from the foster home that night, stupidly so. He had nothing, and didn't make it far. He stopped at a playground and sat on a swing. That's where they found him. Mrs Riley, the woman in charge of the foster home, was hardly sympathetic. She roughly grabbed him by the wrist and told him to get over it, careful to hold him tight enough to hurt, but loose enough not to leave a bruise.

He'd almost cried. Almost.

He'd tried to run away a few more times after that, each coming with a punishment worse than the last. The first time Mrs Riley made him go to bed hungry, he'd been up all night, not being able to sleep on an empty stomach.

Now? He'd gotten used to the notion, the rumbling in his stomach comforting him, it inspired him to try harder next time. The worst punishment he'd gotten was being handcuffed to a support beam in the basement. He hadn't asked her where she'd gotten the handcuffs from or why. He'd learned long ago what asking questions in the foster home meant. Dick had only been in this foster home for about two weeks now.

Long gone was that easy going circus kid and a now jaded pre-teen had taken his place. There was a silent agreement in the almost full foster home, Dick could spend the entire day out, but had to be back in time for bed-checks. Mrs Riley could care less if Dick had gotten an education or not.

—

When Danny had found out his parents, no, birth parents had died, what he'd felt at first was indifference. Then he felt sympathy for the child they had kept, who had nobody left at all. It wasn't really his loss, was it? He'd never known Mary or John Grayson and hadn't lost anything.

Nothing but the potential future opportunity where he could possibly meet his birth parents out of pure curiosity. Danny had heard that Dick had gone through the Gotham foster system and ended up in a home with eight other children. He once had resentment that Dick had been kept by his parents, but that resentment turned into relief that Danny hadn't been in that position.

"Maybe we could take him in?" He suggests, weakly. At the time he thinks it's a fantastic idea. It's a way to get in touch with his birth family - through his brother. His mother, Maddie, shakes her head. Then it really hits him. There was almost no link to his birth family, the very blood that ran through his veins.

"Aw, Honey, I wish we could." Tears threaten to spill, and he's desperately blinking them back.

"Why can't you?!" He chokes out after his unsuccessful attempt at keeping his tears in. His mother sighs.

"We got you through private adoption. He's in the state system - which is vastly more complicated. We'd have to get a family lawyer and you know we can't afford it! Do you know how many loans we've already had to take out for our own lab?" She wants Danny to understand, she really does, but there isn't much she can do.

Danny storms up into his room, and rips up all evidence that anybody had even lived in his room. He tore everything out of its rightful place in his room, only leaving the necessities. He threw it all straight into the trash, falling into his bare bed. Nobody had come to see him that night.

He found the solitary easier than the thought of his parents coming up to talk to him.

—

Harry had been up on the highest branch he could reach for a few hours now, shuddering when the evening breezes began. Why couldn't he be born a squirrel or something? He'd be able to climb as high as he'd like without a worry in the world. No chores, no school, no fat-ass of a cousin to bother him.

When Harry didn't come home one night, none of the Dursley's worried. Except for Petunia, who had a great fear of what the old fool would do if he'd gotten wind that Harry was lost. Petunia asked Dudley where he was.

"The Park." He says through a mouthful of heavily buttered toast. Petunia grumbles and goes to the park to retrieve her dumb as bricks nephew. He's nowhere in sight, until a movement in one of the trees catches her eyes, and Jesus Christ how high was he?! He must've been a fifty feet up sitting in a tree branch.

"What on earth are you doing!?" She shrieks, Harry looks down at her dumbly.

"I'm stuck!" He lies. He's not, not really. But he has felt a great tremor of grief crash through him. He can't explain it, but there's dark despair coursing through him. It's an emotion that Harry knows for a fact isn't his own. It's like in those old movies, as if the 'Force' was a real thing, and somebody was calling out to Harry through their grief.

Petunia fumes, before dialling in a number to her cellphone. It's the firemen.

Shit, he's in too deep. He really has to commit to the 'I'm stuck up a tree' notion now. The news'll spread like wildfire, think of the nicknames Dudley's gang would think up of.

—

Dick hadn't wasted a second on the streets. He'd only had a few hours each day to explore, so the first couple days he was allowed out, he made a mental map of Gotham. The next? He learned how to pick locks, some other street kids were happy enough to lent a hand, given he'd bring back any food that Mrs Riley had given him before he left in the morning. Pretty quickly, Dick had figured how to lock pick anything that wasn't too complex.

Next thing? He listened out for any mention of Tony Zucco on the streets. Just under a week later, three weeks after his parent's demise, he'd gotten a schedule for Zucco's usual outings. Dick had a time and a place. He had a method and an escape plan. Dick wasn't stupid by any means, and knew that murdering Zucco could get him in major trouble.

But imagine all the future deaths he would prevent by taking out Zucco as soon as possible. He was doing Gotham a favour, and it was only fair. A kill for a kill.

Dick had already tried to run away that previous night, so tonight was spent in the basement. Luckily he had been anticipating this very moment. As soon as she shut the door of the basement, Dick had sprung into action. The handcuffs were off in what Dick estimated was record time, and the knapsack he stashed under his bed was taken without alerting any of the residents.

He slightly congratulated himself on becoming a self taught ninja.

There he was, on the roof of the warehouse, about to enter through the roof entrance. The repurposed broom handle made a nifty bo-staff. Weapon in hand and the plan in his mind, he's ready to enter.

There's the soft landing of large boots behind him. Dick almost swears, because if it's who he thinks it is, Dick only ever heard him because he wanted Dick to hear him.

The Batman.

Dick scoffs.

"You can't stop me."

Batman ignores him, instead talking as if he hadn't said anything.

"Killing isn't the answer. There are other ways people like him will never hurt anybody again." A bitter laugh escapes Dick's throat. Every fibre of him is telling him to be terrified or to run away, it's the Batman he's talking to.

"I - I want to avenge my parents' death." It's almost a lie, because Dick really can't tell if he's avenging his parents' death or unleashing revenge on the person responsible.

"There's a fine line between vengeance and revenge. You're dangerously close to walking it." If he see's how caked in dirt Dick's face is, he barely glances at it. Dick feels oddly dignified in the first time in what feels like forever.

"You don't know anything about me! You don't know how it feels for your parents to die right in front of your own eyes! You don't know what it's like to have nothing left." His hands grip tighter around his home-made weapon. The evening Gotham breeze blows colder than Dick's ever felt it before.

"You can't fight crime by becoming the criminal." The breeze seems to do Batman favours, bellowing his cape to one side, making him more intimidating than Dick gave him credit for.

"You don't know shit about me." Dick goes back to lock picking the roof entrance with what few scrap bits of metal he's salvaged. He could manage fine with his current cavalry.

"What would your parents think. Would you really tarnish their memory by doing something so… impulsive?" That's the phrase that gets him to falter, and this time Dick really thinks about it. Mama would be horrified. She wouldn't be able to look him in the eyes. Shame pools within Dick's stomach.

He can't believe he'd gotten so close to almost killing a man. He knows its pretty close to the last straw with him and Mrs Riley. He'd heard her threat loud and clear. 'One more time young man,' she began in her shrill voice 'and I'll call up your social worker. I've had it to here with you. If you wanna run away so much your place here can be used on a child who'll appreciate it. Some foster homes won't even clothe you. You're lucky to be here.'

He doesn't doubt that there had been much worse foster homes, hearing the stories of the other street kids had been confirmation enough.

"You'll deal with Zucco then?" He asks, confirming that he's not down for homicide anymore. Batman silently nods, and begins to do his thing where he melts into the shadows only to be seen again miles away. Dick swallows thickly. "Wait! I can't go back there - the foster home."

"Stay there one more night. I'll talk to somebody."

—

31st July, 2008.

Harry cleans up the breakfast table, half paying attention to the telly. It was his birthday that day, and unlike every other eleven year old, he had no celebration. The only sign that anybody even knew was when Petunia slid him a slice of bacon and a glass of orange juice along with his usual breakfast of two slices of unbuttered toast like usual.

On the telly, there's a news report on one of the latest philanthropist donation. Bruce Wayne had made a sizeable donation towards children in crisis in Asia. Last time Harry had heard of the globally renowned billionaire was when he had adopted a foster kid last year, around April.

A letter had been sent to him that day, it was a shame he didn't get to read the contents until about a week later.

Hogwarts? It didn't quite ring any bells for Harry, but he was ecstatic after a certain half-giant had introduced him to the wizarding world.

Harry James Potter. The boy-who-lived. That had a nice ring to it, didn't it?

—