Godfather Owl: Guardian of Batman [7]
In Bruce's heart, the wounds of losing his parents had never fully healed.
Quite the opposite; that loss had long been a wellspring of his resilience.
As Bruce grappled with conflicting emotions, the Granger family arrived at the doors of Wool's Orphanage.
Mrs. Granger practically bolted inside, and as her eyes took in the worn and bare surroundings, fresh tears welled up.
"Bruce…"
She spotted the boy seated in the room, her voice trembling.
Bruce felt at a loss, awkwardly facing this poignant reunion, knowing it was all a fabricated illusion.
But Mrs. Granger didn't care.
She rushed into the room, pulling Bruce into a tight embrace.
"I'm so sorry… I never knew about you…"
Her voice cracked with emotion. "And about your mother… I'm so, so sorry…"
For a moment, something stirred within Bruce's heart.
He thought of his real parents—no one, aside from Alfred and himself, had ever truly mourned their deaths.
At his parents' funeral, everyone had told Bruce what a good man his father had been and how much he'd contributed to Gotham.
But his mother? Few even mentioned her, as though Martha Wayne's passing was of little consequence.
Mrs. Granger's words brought Bruce's mother vividly back to his mind.
"Thank you…"
The words had barely left his mouth before tears began to spill down his cheeks.
"No need to thank me." Mrs. Granger cut him off. "We're family. No need for thanks."
She held Bruce tightly, trying to give this lonely boy the warmth of family he'd been denied.
Meanwhile, Kathoom shook his head at the tender scene unfolding.
Flapping his wings, he flew out through the window.
Some things Bruce needed to handle alone; there was no need for Kathoom to hover over him.
Flying across the courtyard, Kathoom saw Mr. Granger outside, handling paperwork with the orphanage matron.
Next to him stood a small girl with bushy hair.
Hermione Granger.
This future Minister of Magic clutched a clown doll, waiting eagerly for her mother to bring her cousin out so she could welcome him.
Everything was progressing smoothly. Here in the world of Harry Potter, Bruce now had roots.
Kathoom had spotted today's date in the newspaper: February 19, 1991.
February 19th—the birthday of Bruce Wayne, who was now eleven.
No wonder he'd received an owl-delivered letter.
Kathoom looked up at the clear sky.
Hogwarts had sent its letter. But when would Barbatos send his pursuers?
And who would be the first to arrive in this world?
---
Brixton, in South London, part of the borough of Lambeth.
The area, famous for its rock music scene, was a rich cultural hub, primarily home to Afro-Caribbean residents.
Unfortunately, it was also a chaotic neighborhood.
Drugs and crime thrived here, making it one of London's most dangerous districts.
Not to mention, rogue wizards, outcasts of the magical world, frequently lurked in its dark alleys.
In one such alley, a portal suddenly ripped open in midair.
A shadowy figure tumbled out, crashing into a pile of boxes. The noise startled a homeless man hiding nearby. Tentatively, he approached the crumpled figure to check if he was alive.
Not out of concern—he just wanted to see if there was anything worth stealing.
However, as soon as the vagrant reached out, his vision went dark.
The figure on the ground shot up in an instant, twisting around to seize the man's arm in an iron grip.
"Mercy, please!"
The homeless man reacted quickly, dropping to his knees with a loud thud, begging for forgiveness.
Anyone with that kind of speed and skill was no ordinary person. This man had to be some gang's top enforcer.
But his captor ignored his pleas, instead asking a strange question.
"Where am I? And what time is it?"
The vagrant, confused but obedient, answered, "You're in London. About three in the afternoon."
"I asked for the year and the date!" The figure barked, tightening his grip.
The homeless man shook like a leaf. "It—it's 1991! February 19th!"
"February 19?"
The man seemed lost in thought, then abruptly shoved the vagrant aside.
"Get lost. Don't let me see you again."
The vagrant crawled away as quickly as he could. Rounding the corner, he couldn't resist looking back.
What he saw was the strangest sight of his life.
The man stood tall, clad in a brown leather jacket, twin guns strapped at his waist, his face hidden behind a crimson metal helmet.
The whole outfit reminded the vagrant of villains in horror movies.
Barely daring to breathe, he fled the scene.
Even in a place as dangerous as Brixton, this guy was in a league of his own.
The man in the red hood was now checking his electronic gear.
Unsurprisingly, none of it connected to the network here.
But that didn't matter—he never relied on it anyway.
"Bruce… today is February 19th. Your birthday."
The man took off his helmet, revealing a young, scarred face etched with bitterness.
"So let me give you the best birthday present ever—your death!"
In this unfamiliar world, only one individual—no, one owl—would recognize him.
Jason Todd, known as the Red Hood, a famous antihero of the DC universe.
He hailed from the Arkham Knight universe within the DC multiverse.
He also carried a discarded identity: the second Robin, once Batman's ward.
As a teenager, he'd been taken in by Batman, nearly raised as Bruce's own son.
But thanks to the Joker's scheming, a terrible rift had torn them apart.
Now, Jason no longer saw Bruce as a father figure but as a bitter enemy he'd stop at nothing to destroy.
"Everything you taught me, I'll use against you."
The hatred in Red Hood Jason's eyes was searing.
He could never forget the moment Bruce abandoned him, leaving him to die.
Now, he finally had his chance for vengeance—against the prime Batman, no less.
"Let's see, Bruce—if that cold heart of yours has always been there.
"When death stares you down as a child… will you beg for mercy?"
---
T/N: WHAT I THOUGHT ITD BE SOME LOW LEVEL MOOK BUT RED HOOD? FROM THE ARKHAM UNIVERSE? WHAT IS THIS HELL MODE?