Content Harry Potter Crossovers
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Author Notes:

Again, thanks to Crys for the loan of Ryan and Jen.

Ryan painfully opened and focused his eyes on Jen, jumping slightly with surprise and horror at the dark, deep burns in her skin. Some flesh had been flash-burned enough that it was hanging off her high cheekbones in foul strips, her nose had all but been reduced to charcoal. Running his eyes over the rest of her form, he noticed that the skin on her arms was black too, and cracking. Despite her stoicism, she was obviously in terrible pain.

He levered his right arm out of her grip, even though it was still rather numb, and held it up to her cracked, burned lips. "Here, heal yourself," he slurred, blood and phlegm congealing in his broken nose making his words almost indecipherable.

"But-", she whispered.

"No buts," Ryan croaked, his larynx still not recovered from the recent assault. "I’ll heal. You won’t without blood."

Jen blinked and nodded her acceptance, before turning her husband’s forearm around slightly and, with infinite tenderness, gently bit the inside of his wrist. Ruby-red blood ran down her ruined skin and dripped from her chin, mute testimony that her damaged lips did not have the elasticity to cover the wound completely. Desperate not to lose any of her husband’s precious blood, Jen cupped a free hand under her chin as she slowly suckled at his wrist.

To Ryan, the melody of pain, with riffs and chords clambering for attention from various limbs, suddenly silenced as though washed away, as once more his wife ingested his blood. He felt safe, and loved, as he painlessly drifted temporarily into the oblivion of death.


Ryan awoke and sat up straight with a dry, raspy gasp. Whenever his wife fed from him, while it was one of the most erotic and sensual experiences he had ever had, he always awoke desperately thirsty. A hangover was more difficult to endure than this, but not by much. A large glass filled with a cool liquid was wordlessly pressed into his hand, condensation already forming on the outside of the glass.

Ryan drank deeply, without drawing breath or pause. With little more than half a dozen gulps, he emptied the large glass in less than ten seconds. Throughout it all, he kept his eyes firmly closed. There were fewer less comfortable sensations in the world than trying to re-close eyes that were so dehydrated that they were nearly shrivelled.

The empty glass was taken from him, and replaced with another. Once more, Ryan drank deeply, but more slowly this time. He actually noted the taste this time, recognising the slightly acidic lemon/lime flavour of a sports drink.

After downing two pints of chilled, electrolyte enhanced sports drink, Ryan felt confident enough to open his eyes. Though the lids felt like sandpaper, the dim light of the room didn’t hurt his sensitive eyes. The lights from the streets below reflected from the roof, bathing the room in a cool, yellow hue. Ryan sat up, away from his wife’s cradling embrace. He turned to face her and winced; Jen’s recent injuries hadn’t healed completely. Her skin was bright red, and was peeling in places, looking almost exactly like two day old sunburn.

"You look lots better," he said honestly. There wasn’t any way in the world to have covered her original burns. "At least now people will just think you’ve been out in the sun too long," he offered, his voice still deep and hoarse, despite the recent fluids.

Jen gave him a crooked smile, one that always set his heart racing, before assuming a far more sombre expression. "What the hell was that all about? What was he doing here?"

Ryan shrugged, feeling very stiff at various parts of his body. "No idea. I didn’t think he actually existed," he said, absently patting the hilts of his weapons that Jen had collected and returned.

Jen was about to retort when her husband’s eyes went distant for a second and he tensed, before focusing again once more on her and relaxing. "Another immortal?" she whispered.

Ryan nodded, examining the aura of the approaching immortal. It was both familiar, yet brighter, stronger. Connor has been busy, Ryan thought. His quickening has changed since I last saw him. I doubt he’s taken a lot of lesser heads, so he must have taken a very powerful one. "It’s Connor," he said, calming his wife.


Connor walked quickly down Hudson Street. The thoroughfare had long been an important part of the city, indeed, an important part of Connor’s life since 1783, but at this time of night, it would be mostly empty. The usual hustle and bustle would calm, before again picking up again just before sunrise. The constant, steady rhythm was something the Highlander could draw strength from, something that seemed to be more permanent than even he.

A familiar sensation washed over him, and he paused in his stride.

Ah, he thought to himself. Young Chessman has arrived.

Connor glanced up at the windows above the door, frowning at the sight of the dark room. He had left the lights on when he left earlier. Perhaps it is not Ryan up there, he thought.

The Highlander quickly keyed in his code, and pushed the door open. In one smooth, practised movement, he had his ancient katana out and ready. The sight of the empty front desk set his heart racing. Rachel had not had any plans to leave, and the only thing that stopped Connor from panic was the fact that the desk had been cleaned completely. Rachel was always fastidious about her workspace, and made sure it was clean and empty before finishing for the evening.

On soundless sneakers, the Highlander crept across the ground floor of his home, to the fuse cabinet hidden behind one of the ancient tapestries he decorated the shop with. Looking and reaching in, his hand froze.

An object, some sort of remote mechanism, had been placed over the main switch. In the dim light, Connor couldn’t make out what it was exactly, but it did appear capable of switching both the main breaker and the master light switch both on and off. Easing the tip of one finger underneath the mechanism, he noted that the main power switch was still on; just the lights had been turned off.

Forgoing the elevator, Connor left the power board as it was and again silently padded the length of the shop floor. At the rear of the shop a wooden panel slid back and across under his touch, revealing a hidden space containing a single, tightly-twisting spiral staircase. Leading with the point of his katana, Connor gently climbed the steps, his left hand acting as both guide and balance by sliding gently up the banister.

The Highlander reached the top of the stairs and slid this level’s corresponding hidden panel aside, entering the main living area from a completely unexpected direction.

Only to have young Chessman and his girlfriend greet him face to face.

"Connor," he rasped with a nod. "Lift not working?"

Connor looked the young Immortal up and down with a frown. "Ryan, what the hell happened?" he blurted in his obscure, unrecognisable accent.

"You had a visitor!" snapped Ryan’s woman. The petite red-head looked as though she had been out in the sun for the whole day without protection. She was peeling badly from one side of her face and on her arms. She sounded far more irritated than Ryan, whose clothes bore evidence that he had suffered far worse. Despite her obviously painful condition, anger and frustration filled her every action, even something as simple as pouring a large glass of sport’s drink.

"You drove him off?" Connor asked as Ryan accepted the glass from his woman.

Ryan’s eyes widened, and he shook his head rapidly. "Not bloody likely," he muttered to himself before drinking deeply.

Connor’s eyes slowly grew accustomed to the gloom, and he noticed the three empty and two full bottles of sports drink on the coffee table. His entire supply. Flicking his gaze over the room, noting the blood smears on one of the load-bearing pillars, the rips and tears in both his visitor’s clothes and the sudden addiction to electrolytic drinks, he reversed his sword to a rest position behind his arm and gestured towards the long sofas. "Sit. I’ll get the lights on, and you can tell me what happened. Do you happen to know where Rachel is?"

Before either of his visitors could answer, the lights flared to life, causing each of the three to blink rapidly to clear the glare. Jen, who was facing Connor, gave a shrill squeal of surprise, and clambered back behind Ryan. Both Immortals spun around with various blades extended.

Standing, still, silent and grim, was the six-foot-six, black and grey clad Batman. Only his cowled face was visible, the rest of his enormous frame was covered by his extensive cape, pulled tight across his chest by his hands hidden under the folds. "You are a popular man tonight, Highlander," he said, his deep voice carrying easily.

Connor relaxed quickly, the tip of his blade lowering in an instant. "What, you’ve never had a visitor before? Heh, heh." he said with his breathy, staccato laugh. "You get them occasionally when you have people who are friends."

The Batman didn’t even spare Ryan a glance. "I am referring to the three other Immortals who arrived here earlier, hunting you for your head."

Instantly, Connor’s humour vanished, and he once more became intense, driven. "Who?"

The Dark Knight’s cape fell in two directions as he extended his heavily muscled arms. His right fell to his side, his left rose and gestured out one window. "Those three," he said cryptically.

Connor frowned, but covered the few steps to the window and looked out, down at the alley below. After a few seconds, he turned back to his grim visitor. "What am I looking for?"

"Try looking up," was the response.

Connor turned again, this time looking up at the skyline of New York. After a few seconds, a grin formed and he began chuckling.

Ryan and Jennifer, neither of whom had moved since discovering the newcomer in their midst, tentatively followed suit. Jennifer noticed first, and grabbed her husband’s arm and pointed.

Three silhouettes struggled against their bonds, hanging upside down from the spire on the building opposite. Their struggles bounced them around, causing them to swing far enough to bump into each other occasionally. Connor left the window briefly to open a cupboard, returning with two pairs of old, bronze-plated binoculars and a retractable telescope that had, judging by the plaque attached to the box, been used by Nelson at Trafalgar. The binoculars were distributed to his guests. The Highlander, Ryan and Jennifer once more gazed out the window, only Connor feeling at home with a dark, foreboding presence behind them.

After silently examining the hanging trio, Connor turned back to the Batman. "I know two of them. They are fairly young hunters who operate in the Tri-state area. I’ve sent both running a couple of times at some point in the last hundred years or so. They are good at giving themselves an escape route. But the third I’ve never met; the one wearing the leather collar."

The Batman nodded. "The third I recognise from Gotham. He is one of several powerful Immortals who have left Gotham over the past week. I followed him here. I tried to question them, but they were particularly unforthcoming. It is difficult to intimidate someone into answering you when they can’t die."

Ryan swallowed and looked the Batman up and down. "Do you usually hang people you don’t know upside down from the top of a building?" he asked as sarcastically as he dared.

The Batman ignored the tone and answered the question. "Occasionally. Whenever a convenient building is nearby. It is one of the most expedient ways of making someone talk."

Ryan paled at the casual answer. Jennifer took her husband’s hand. "One of?"

The cowled figure shrugged. "Holding them in front of an oncoming train, over live electrical wires, dangling them in a pit of snakes or spiders," he said in his deep, forboding voice. "Criminals are a fearful lot. Fear is a powerful motivator. But with Immortals, it’s a little different." He paused, evaluating his words. "My interrogation of them was interrupted by the pair of you arriving. I feared you may be another hunter after the Highlander here. I arrived just to hear you say the one who takes Connor’s head would become powerful."

Connor glanced over at Ryan. "Ouch."

Ryan winced. "Yeah, I guess."

The Batman shrugged. "Instead of intimidation, I tried primal fear and pain. The sudden shock and awe worked far better in getting answers from an Immortal." Again, he paused. "You have my apologies," he grated, words that he had almost never used.

Before Ryan or Jennifer could reply, he turned to face Connor. "The three of them were in here, staking out the layout and preparing to set traps. I took them across the alley out of your sense range and tried to interrogate them. Apart from the obvious, I got nothing. Even breaking their bones elicited nothing new," he said emotionlessly.

Connor shook his head and waved a hand, indicating that he wasn’t interested in three assassins after his head at that moment. "Where is Rachel? Do you know?"

The Batman tilted his head to one side. "Rachel? Your daughter? If she is the person who mans the desk downstairs, she left with someone of her own accord before the three Immortals arrived."

Connor slumped with relief. "Did you see who?"

"He was a tall, slim gentleman. Very well dressed, neatly groomed moustache, aristocratic bearing. I only caught a glimpse of him, reflected in an indistinct mirrored surface before he departed with a well dressed, mature lady at the same time as I arrived to visit you. I presume the woman is your daughter?"

Connor nodded. "Yes, and I have an idea who the other man was too."

Batman opened his mouth to reply when the doorbell below rang out. Connor began moving towards the open-aired lift, before being stopped.

"Ignore it. There is a reason I came here tonight. I need you."

Connor glanced towards the lift, then back to the Batman, curiosity on his features. "What on earth could you want with me?"

The Batman glanced over at Ryan and Jennifer, who were watching the conversation like a tennis match. Deciding he could talk in front of them, he replied, "A powerful Immortal has staked Gotham as his own. And he appears to have changed the rules of the Game."

Connor hesitated, staring at his grim visitor long enough for the doorbell to ring again. This time, the chime was accompanied by a voice calling out, "Russ? Russell, are you there?"

Ryan cleared his throat and pointed towards the elevator. "Um, I could…"

With a sharp swing of his arm, the Batman cut him off. "Stay where you are."

The bell rang a third time. "Russell? It’s Bruce! Bruce Wayne!" the slightly muffled voice from outside called out.

The Batman frowned. "I wonder what Wayne is doing here?" he murmured out loud. "He’s not due in New York until next week."

Connor blinked. "You know Bruce’s schedule?"

The cowled figure shook his head. "No. But the Manhattan based newspaper he owns has its annual board meeting next week. Wayne always attends, and always shows up late. Apart from that, he tends to avoid New York." He held up a gloved hand. "In any event, leave him be for now. I don’t have a great deal of time, and I need some information from you."

Connor frowned, obviously wanting to answer the door. "What do you want from me?"

"I need information about the Quickening. What extra powers and senses it gives you. I also need to know who the oldest Immortal you know is."

Connor frowned. "The past few decades have been harsh to the older ones. There are few truly ancient Immortals left. My cousin Duncan has accounted for more than usual recently. And Damien was nearly a thousand years old himself. "

The Batman didn’t visibly react. "I also need to know if the amount of power you have changes as you get older. If you can do more with your Quickening than a younger Immortal."

Connor and Ryan shared a glance. "Why do you need to know all that?" the younger Immortal asked.

The glittering green gaze shifted to Ryan. "Because, Immortal, the Hunter terrorising Gotham is, as far as can be determined, approximately ten thousand years old."

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