Summary: Dumbledore underestimated the hate that Petunia and Vernon Durlsey had for everything magical. As a result, upon the discovery of young Harry on their doorstep, they leave him at an orphanage run by the Sacred Order of St. Dumas. Years later, he rises within the diseased American city, Gotham, as Death's Dark Knight, Azrael.

Chapter 2: Intervention of Destiny

Ten years. That's how long it's been since the most important change had come into his life. A change that had wild, unruly black hair and bright emerald green eyes…

Smiling softly, an elderly man of fifty years, perhaps a few shy of sixty, watched as a young boy, his charge, and even as forbidden as such attachment was, especially considering who exactly the boy was, and what his future destiny entailed, his son in everything but blood, sat diligently in his seat, alongside a great many of other orphans that the Order of St. Dumas had taken in when no one else would, listening attentively as one of the church's volunteer workers continued with their history lesson.

He watched as his charge diligently took notes, his eyes glancing up when the instructor mentioned something that caught his attention, his emerald green eyes staring intensively with such focus…

"Watching our young prodigy again, are we?"

Snapping his gaze away, the man looked to his immediate right, giving a small smile at the sight of the woman at his side.

"Oh! Dr. Thompkins! You startled me! How are you?"

Dr. Thompkins, or Leslie as she preferred to be known as, gave the elderly man a small smile, which turned into a reproachful stare as she stated, "I'm fine, thank you for asking you Father Day. And how many times have I asked you to call me Leslie? I think we have a comfortable enough relationship that you can call me by my first name, if only in private."

The elderly man, known as Father Day, gave a low chuckle, hand reaching for the cross adornment hanging around his neck, holding it tightly in his grip for a brief moment before giving Leslie a small smile.

"So I recall…"

Giving his surrogate son one last look, he turned on his heel and began walking down the halls of the Church of St. Dumas, pausing shortly to ensure that Leslie was following him before beginning his trek once more.

"And yet to fail to do one simple request. If didn't know you so well, I'd say you were doing it on purpose just to aggravate me."

Day gave another chuckle at that, glancing at his companion as he walked further down the hall, saying, "Come now Leslie. I'm far too old to be pulling those sorts of jokes on anybody, least of all you."

"I'd be inclined to believe you if it weren't for the fact that a certain charge of yours has a mischievous side to him, a side that I've seen you more than once encourage. And you do yourself a discredit Father, you're not that old."

Glancing over at the woman beside him, Father Day couldn't help but say, "Are you sure about that? Next to you, I'm ancient old relic."

That brought a small smile to the woman's face, in addition to a pink twinge to her pale cheeks at the compliment.

"Flattery will get you nowhere with me Father."

"Perhaps, but it does not make what I said any less true."

The pink twinge on her cheeks turned to a full flush, which brought a hearty laugh from the priests lips, which only caused Leslie's flush to darken to red in response.

He took the moment to then look over his companion in full detail.

Shoulder length brunette hair, with speckles of white showing her aging form, her skin aside from a few wrinkles around her eyes was unblemished, pale white in color, giving her a slightly ethereal look. Her bright blue eyes only highlighted the look, her soft smile only complimenting her beauty. If he didn't know better, he'd say she was Angel, sent down by the Lord himself…

Shaking his head at such ideal fantasies, he watched slightly amused as she attempted to regain her composure, and he took note of her state of dress.

A long brown ankle length skirt with a matching kaki colored sweater, which was covered by a white labcoat, showing that she had just come from her job at Gotham Medical.

Regaining her composure, Leslie attempted to turn the conversation back on to their earlier subject, namely the young boy with raven black hair and emerald green eyes. "It's strange how with how wonderful a boy Harry is, that no one has tried to adopt him. I would think that there would be a long line of parents wanting to take the child home, but ten years later and he's still here, not one parent having taken an interest in him."

Leslie's chanced a glance at Day, and found his expression distant, and felt a twinge of remorse for her statement. Father Day thought of the boy as his own child after all, despite how well he thought he hid such feelings…

If only she truly knew what the man was thinking…

In truth, Father Day knew the exact reason why Harry was never adopted, despite, as accurate as her guess was, of the many childless couples or single parents who wanted a child of their own that had made their desire to adopt the young Potter very clear.

The Church had refused their requests to adopt him. If he was to achieve his destiny, his future, then he would need to be under direct supervision of the church, brought up to uphold their ideals, their values, their truth…

Such a decision, especially one that would radically alter the boy's life, was not one that he had taken well. He did not argue against it of course. He was a firm believer of the Church's goals, of a world without sin, and knew that sacrifices had to be made.

But to deny a child a family, of people who wanted, by choice, to love him, nurture him, care for him…

Some sacrifices were steeper than others, but he felt that such a kind and caring boy with such a large heart, and a deep-seated need to help others shouldn't have to pay such a price.

Perhaps that was the reason that he paid such close attention to the boy? Not out of love, but out of pity, both for the ten years of not knowing the love of a mother or father, and for the trials he would one day face.

For the day he would take up the mantle that so many had taken up before him…

He shook such thoughts from his mind, his hands clasping around the cross around his neck, affirming his belief that his care for Harry came not from pity or guilt, but out of a very real sense of care and devotion to the young boy who had wormed his way into his heart.

Nodding his head as if to assure himself of that fact, he masked his emotions before replying steadily, "I suppose so few truly see his worth. It is unfortunate, but not uncommon. A great many children left in our care have faced similarly disappointments. Harry is not the first, and unfortunately, shall not be the last I'm afraid."

Leslie simply looked at him, a thin eyebrow raised in question.

"That's a rather cynical viewpoint Father, especially for a priest."

"A priest I may be, but I am neither naïve nor stupid, despite what some people may think. I'm also not blind. I've seen the villainy that's infested this city, the corruption, from the crime families down to the very police force. More than once I've had to tend to an injured soul, bleeding from a mugging or worse, too scared or ashamed of going to the authorities or hospital, instead coming here seeking sanctuary and aid."

Stopping abruptly, he took a calming breath before directing an apologetic smile towards his younger companion.

"I apologize Leslie. Forgive my anger, it was not directed at you. It's just disheartening to know that the neglect of a child is undoubtedly one of the lesser offenses this city has seen in the last several decades."

Leslie gave a strained smile in return, understanding the priest's frustration, sharing it on more than one occasion. She was a doctor in Gotham General after all, one of the best, and had seen the corruption of Gotham firsthand. Board members being in the back pockets of the Falcone Family, often pushing members of their crime syndicate for medical treatment, sometimes threatening the safety of doctors to get them to cooperate, and leaving less fortunate patients to expire when time spent patching up bullet wounds or sewing and cleaning knife wounds could have been better spent operating on a young child hit by drunk driver…

Breaking away from depressing thoughts, and forcing the image of a young boy, eyes hazy as the heart monitor stopped beeping as she attempted to move him to the OR, his father and mother letting out screams of denial and anguish, Leslie herself feeling her own eyes well up with tears…

Pausing momentarily, Leslie glanced up at one of the stained glass windows, depicting a scene of a demonic creature lying on the ground, the surrounding area one of fire and brimstone, its ghastly visage looking up at a robed figure, its face hidden up the hooded veil obscuring it, gender indistinguishable, above its head a scythe poised to strike. Behind him, was a pair of snow white wings…

"Do you believe in angels Father?"

Glancing up at the stained glass window himself, Father Day took in the scene, one depicting the Angel of Death, enforcing its sacred duty of being a guardian of the gates of hell, dispatching one of its many trapped souls, attempting to escape its prison.

He clutched at his cross again, staring at the dark space meant to hold the angelic warriors face, and closed them when an image of bright green eyes stared right back at him from black void within.

"Yes my dear…I believe in angels."

Before any conversation could continue, a loud screech broke them both from their depressing thoughts, Father Day looking up at one of the open archways, noticing a rather large owl perched on the stone railing, staring directly at him.

Tied to its leg, was a rather large envelope, closed with a blood red wax seal.

'And so it begins…'

Harry Potter knew he was different from other children his age.

True, he was more mature than those of his fellow peers, if only by a small margin (he is only eleven after all, and was prone to causing mischief), and he was a great deal more intelligent (though he attributed that to being more studious and having a genuine desire to learn), as well as being very protective of his friends and those close to him, much to the point of physical violence if pushed, though he did not come out of any of those confrontations unscathed.

But that was not what made him different from the other children within the church of St. Dumas.

He didn't know how he was different, least of all why, but he knew that there was something strange about him. For starters, there was his scar, which was unique in the fact that it resembled a lightning bolt, a fact that many of his fellow orphans had commented on and said was "cool", but it's odd shape was not the most peculiar aspect of it. In fact, unlike most scars that faded from the passage of time, his still looked fresh and new. It even flared up in pain at the most random of times, and had on occasion, began bleeding for no reason. He had spoken to one of the nuns within the church, acting as a nurse to the children whenever they injured themselves or got sick with something as trivial as a cold, but she had found nothing could be done for it. At other times, he could have sworn that he could see black vapor escaping the wound, but played it off as his overactive imagination.

Then there was the mysterious accidents or unexplainable things that happened sometimes around him, such as the time he had been in a fight with one of the older boys, who had seen it fit to pick on him due to getting 'special attention' from the various members of the church, and Harry in a fit of anger, had pushed the boy back, sending him flying into a tree. Another time had him somehow able to open the locked cabinet in the kitchen area that usually held sweet foods like cookies and sweet bread, nabbing a few for some of the younger children. Other times he had managed to get on top of the rafters of the nave during times in which he tried to avoid being found by Father Day when he misbehaved, or that one time he had twisted his ankle and had spent the entire night in the infirmary, only for it to be completely healed the next day.

Harry Potter knew he was different from other children his own age, but for the longest time, he didn't know why he was different.

Until today.

Until he had been called to Father Day's personal study, until he was handed a heavy envelope containing several heavy pieces of parchment.

Until he found out that he was in fact, a wizard.

Reading the letter to himself, he had at first thought that it was some sort of joke, a prank that had been delievered from Father Day as a means of paying him back for all the ones he had played on the man himself and others.

The serious look on the priest's face belayed that train of thought, and all Harry could ask was "How?"

Perhaps in another time, and in another world, the young Potter would have been excited, perhaps even joyous at the revelation before him. That wasn't to say that he wasn't the case now. The shock was soon going over to wonder and excitement, and his mind was already going through various mythos that he had linked with magic and the fantasy world that came with it.

If magic was real, did that mean unicorns were real as well? If so, did that mean that elves, drawves, goblins, and trolls were real too? Perhaps dragons even, and if those were real, did that mean flying broomsticks existed too, or maybe flying carpets?

Harry's thoughts broke at the prompting of Father Day, who then began an explanation of his true origins. Where Hogwarts was and what it entailed, as well as a very basic history to its beginnings. His parents, who they were (he had already known their names, but nothing else) as well as the role they had in the war that had plagued England for the better part of a decade, and had moved to open warfare in only the last three. Of their deaths at the hands of Lord Voldemort, a self proclaimed dark lord who had invaded their home Halloween night and had murdered them, and had then tried to kill him, but failed. Of the fact that he had been found and left on the doorstep of his mother's sister, who did not want him and had abandoned him at the church of St. Dumas and the hands of a college of Father Day, known as Grieves, whom had then sent Harry overseas to America and into the care of Day. He also discovered that he was famous world over, because of the fact that he had survived that night.

He had asked questions of course, of what he would learn from Hogwarts, as well as the timeframe for which he would be attending.

"Several subjects, though the specifics are undoubtedly included with your letter. As for how long you will be attending? From the beginning of September to the end of June, and for a timeframe of seven years. It is a boarding school, so you will be living in the castle during that time, though you will have the option of returning home for the Christmas holidays."

It was then that the shock wore off and he began to notice that throughout the entire conversation that he had with Father Day, that his answers were short and to the point, and that his voice lacked some of the usual cheer that would underline it.

He looked up at his surrogate father, the man's face expressionless, not giving away a single hint as to what he was feeling. Not even the usual warmth that he always radiated whenever the two of them were in the same room was present, and it made the young boy feel uneasy.

Did he think he was a freak because of the fact that he had magic? Was he going to be kicked out of the church and end up on the streets? He knew about the witch hunts, both in Europe and during the earlier years of America's historical beginnings, and though he doubted he was going to be strung up or burned at the stake, he felt as Father Day simply stared down at him, eyes unwavering and unmoving, the panic and fear grip his heart.

For the first time in his short life, the church he had always considered home no longer felt as such. For the first time in his life, Harry didn't feel safe.

The panic must have shown on his face, as immediately Father Day's expression soon became much more relaxed, and the familiar smile and warmth that were always present on the man's face whenever Harry was with him returned.

"There is no need to be afraid Harry. I am not ashamed of you, nor do I believe you are lesser for having such unique gifts at your disposal. I care for you deeply, and I apologize if I made you think otherwise."

Some of the tension left the young boy's shoulders at the older man's response, and embroiled slightly, Harry asked, "Is there a reason why I survived that night when my parents didn't? What's special about me that allowed me to live and not them?"

A part of Harry was morbidly curious about the events of that night, and another part of him, while he would always feel grateful that the church took him in and considered to be his home, wondered why his birth parents didn't survive that night, and why he had been denied a family because of one man's cruel ambitions.

Father Day seemed hesitant, and seemed to have an internal struggle before he stated softly, "You are very special Harry. Special, neither because of the fact that you have magic, nor entirely of the fact that you survived that night ten years ago, but because of your destiny, of the role you play in the future."

"Role? What role? What is my destiny?"

It was here that Father Day's expression turned serious, and some small part of him wished he hadn't asked the question, but his overwhelming sense of wonder and curiosity batted such feelings aside.

"To rid the world of Sin Harry. To fight the encroaching darkness that continuously blackens the cities of this world, of the corruption that is slowly consuming the hearts of its citizens. The greed, the jealousy, the anger, the unbridled and destructives desires that every man and woman in the world holds. To deliver justice to those justice has been denied, to deliver punishment to those who deserve nothing less, to be an instrument of the Lord and bring true peace and stability to his children."

Harry's head spun at the revealed information, and he barely caught Father Day's last sentence, his mind a jumbled mess of awe, fear, excitement, and confusion.

"To one day walk the path of Azrael…"

Licking his suddenly dry lips, and trying to swallow the lump that had grown in his throat, Harry croaked out, "B-but, what if I don't want to? What if I want to go to university, and be a doctor? Or a lawyer, or teacher? What if I don't want to fulfill this 'destiny'?"

"It is not up for me to decide that Harry. Ultimately, you are the only one who can make that choice, but know that no matter you may decide in the future, I will support you in any way possible."

Pausing briefly, Father Day allowed his message to sink in, before continuing, saying, "It may seem like a terrible burden Harry and I understand that it is probably overpowering, especially to a young eleven year old boy, but think of all the good you would do. Of the lives your efforts will have made better. Lives you will have saved from men and women who take enjoyment at the suffering of others."

Moving to the nearby window, Day opened it up, and the room once quiet now alive with the noise of children laughing out in the courtyard below.

Staring down at the many youths that the church had taken under its wing, Day spoke once more, his voice nothing more than a whisper, but carrying over the symphony of ignorant joy and bliss, and tightly grasping the young Potter's heartstrings.

"Of the children who have suffered loss and of those who can one day avoid that same pain."

Turning his head and staring at the young boy, Day, feeling his heart break and soul scream in outrage and torment at manipulating the young boy's gentle and caring heart, for all intents and purposes, forcing him to make the only choice he was given so he could willingly walk down a path many had done before him, and perhaps, may never have to again.

'I am truly sorry, Harry. More then you will ever know or understand.'

"As I said Harry, no matter the decision, I'll support you."

Staring at Father Day, and then stepping beside him and looking down at the many children outside in the courtyard, laughing and playing, some even noticing his gaze and waving to him in unbridled joy that he didn't even need to second guess his decision, despite how apprehensive he was at making it.

"Father Day? Could I have a pen and some paper please?"

Albus, as he slowly reread for perhaps more than a dozen times in half an hour, the letter he had received earlier that day from one Harry James Potter, released a tired sigh, finally placing the page down and leaning back in his armchair.

Removing his half-moon spectacles, he rubbed at his eyes tiredly; attempting in rather poorly to stem the stinging they were suffering from due to the intensity he had focused on what had been his greatest fear in the past decade.

Placing his glasses once more on his crooked nose, a permanent reminder of the animosity between he and his younger brother, Aberforth, he read the letter once more, despite knowing that no matter how many times he did so, its contents would not change.

To AlbusPercival Wulfric BrianDumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,

I, Harry James Potter, regret to inform you that I wish for my name to be stricken from your school records as a potential student, as with much deliberation and thought, have decided not to attend your fine institution.

Please understand that my choice, while yes affected by my upbringing within the church, was not made in malice or fear of my heritage or of some misguided belief that magic is the work of evil. While I do have a desire to learn the extent of my talents, to control my abilities and discover the wonders of your world, I feel that I cannot simply abandon my home here within the church. Perhaps it is not a proper home, but it is the only one I've ever known, and I don't think I'll ever truly leave it.

You also spoke of my parents, of how they would have wanted me to attend Hogwarts, and perhaps you are correct in that. You have a familiarity with them that I do not, and watched them grow from children to adults within the very walls that you provided a home and place for them, and many others like them to learn from. Therein lays the problem. You knew my parents; I did not have that honor. While I wished I had, and still do on occasion, I believe that regardless of what they may have wanted me to do in terms of education, childhood, and even my future, they are dead, and I would like to think that now, watching over me, that they wish for nothing more than to be happy. And Headmaster Dumbledore, I am happy right where I am, here in the church. It may not be the answer you want to hear, nor may it be the answer that my parents may have wanted to hear should they have been alive, but it is my choice. Please do not hold that against me.

I know it may not be tactful to ask, but if can, could you please write to me about my parents? It may not be entirely appropriate, seeing as I have decided not to join your institution, but I know nothing aside from their names, not even what they look like. If don't wish too, I understand and won't hold it against you.

Sincerely,

Harry James Potter

Indeed, it hadn't been the answer he had been hoping for. In truth, he had hoped the lure of magic itself, and knowing of his parents, of how that his parents would have wanted him to attend Hogwarts (not a lie considering that had been the first thing they had decided once it had been confirmed that Lily had become pregnant), but based on the letter he had just received, it did not work out as well as he had hoped.

The boy had even called him on it, a truly amusing turnaround. And the fact that he did so respectfully and collectively, even explaining why such reasons would not influence his decision…

Dumbledore felt an immense feeling of pride at that, and beyond that, a rather small measure of guilt at trying to manipulate the boy's feelings. Regardless of whatever his feelings may be on the matter, he was not going to force the boy to attend. He would also make a note to contact some old friends of the Potters, and see if they don't have any photos of the couple, and perhaps part with a few memories of their time at Hogwarts, he mentally added as he eyed his Pensieve. And though he regretted doing so, opened and blacklisted Harry's name on the ledger of potential students.

While the threat of Voldemort was still present, (as he believed the man was merely weakened, not dead) he realized that he could not force Harry to attend his school, and any attempts on to do so were foolish as they were meaningless. Though he felt that he had failed both Lily and James, he knew that in the end, whatever mixed feelings they may have on their son's choice, would have accepted it. It was his choice, and he was only doing what he felt was best for him, what made him feel happy.

And who was he to deny a young boy his happiness?

Taking a single lemon drop, Dumbledore gave a small sigh before moving on to other acceptance letters or inquires from parents of newly discovered first generations.

One in particular caused him to chuckle, putting him in lighter spirits, the rather constant questions flowing down the sheet of paper, written in the untidy scrawl he easily recognized as a child's, some simple as to whether this was some sort of prank and where to get these 'rather strange and untoward school supplies', to 'possibility of advanced studies and masters, and the magical equivalent of modern day universities'.

'Hermione Granger? Such an intuitive young mind…'

/-/Author Note\-\\

Another chapter written and posted and apologies to the long wait. I've been very busy with work and barely had anytime afterwards to write. Fact of the matter is that I've only been on the computer a few times a week for the past several months, so my writing time has been limited. My apologies once again for the long wait.

Anyway, I basically skipped over ten years of Harry's life, and introduced a Father Day, who'll play a somewhat big role in the rest of the story. To those who are curious, Leslie isn't a character I made up, and actually part of the DC Universe. She'll play a rather unique role later on as well. The next chapter will be another time skip, and after that, we'll start getting into the main plot of the story.

Remember to leave me a review and tell me what you think. Constructive Criticism is welcomed, as always.

Also, to anyone waiting for an update to my Magical Effect and Wizard Displacement stories, I thank you for your patience I've been dedicating what time I do have to writing them, and I hope to have something out soon, so please wait just a little bit longer! I promise to have something out at least by years end, if not hopefully before Christmas.