Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or DC Comics.

The Laughing Apprentice

A Harry Potter/DC Comics crossover

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Auror's report, case number 8675309

On September 12 at 11:27 a.m., a Death Eater sighting was reported near Madam Malkin's robe shop in Diagon Alley. Aurors John Dawlish, Barbara Williamson, and Harvey Cantu were assigned to the case and I was ordered to follow, observe, and help wherever necessary. We studied the scene and interviewed Madam Malkin, her assistants, and various other witnesses. At approximately 4:45 p.m., the four of us left the scene en route to question a potential suspect in Knockturn Alley.

As we neared the Knockturn entrance, Auror Williamson—who was preoccupied with discussing the details of the case with Auror Cantu—bumped into an unknown man exiting the alley. The man fell backwards and I offered him a hand to get to his feet. He was wearing a black trenchcoat and his eyes were somewhat obscured by unkempt black hair, so I didn't recognize him at first. Then he brushed the hair out of his face and I saw the green eyes and lightning-bolt scar.

We had found Harry Potter.

Considering the fact that he was reported missing nine years ago and hasn't been seen since, the four of us were understandably shocked.

Auror Williamson told him that he was widely believed to have been killed by Death Eaters and that it was a miracle that they'd found him unharmed.

Potter smirked and responded with "I'm not ready to be found yet, so piss off."

Auror Cantu then attempted to briefly explain the details of the famous Trelawney Prophecy, and that it was Potter's destiny to defeat Voldemort and save the wizarding world. Dawlish also explained that we were required, by auror regulations, to report our findings to our superiors and bring him along if possible.

Potter then lit a cigarette, blew the smoke in Dawlish's face, and said "I wouldn't give the skin off my shit for any one of you backwards bastards, so fuck your prophecy and fuck you. I'm not going anywhere."

Auror Dawlish lost his temper and pulled his wand, attempting to stun Potter.

Potter pulled a pair of brass knuckles from one of his coat pockets and broke Dawlish's jaw. He then used a wave of wandless magic to send the four of us flying across the alley and into the steps of Gringotts. Dawlish was knocked unconscious and Cantu stopped to help Williamson, who had suffered a head injury. I was therefore the only one able to follow Potter. I chased him through the alley and into the Leaky Cauldron, but lost track of him once we hit Charing Cross Road.

I returned to Gringotts to find that Dawlish had been sent to St. Mungos. Aurors Williamson, Cantu, and I then began questioning the shopkeepers of Knockturn Alley about Potter's presence. We found one shop keeper that knew something, but was terrified to speak. When we promised him anonymity, the man laughed hysterically and said, "He'll know…he'll know it was me."

We eventually managed to convince him to talk to us and discovered that for the last nine years, Harry Potter has been living in a small flat less than two miles from King's Cross Station. A local "wizard" (if that term even applies in this case) has taken Potter in and made him an unofficial apprentice.

I've enclosed a copy of the magician's file with this report.

Finally, I'd like to add that I've heard stories about Potter's mentor. I know that he's something of a legend in modern wizardry. Infamous, true—but a legend nonetheless. I'm also certain that within the next 48 hours, the aurors will be mobilized to bring Potter in. Because I value my life and soul, and would like to keep them both intact and in my possession, I want nothing to do with any of this. Please consider this my resignation from the trainee program, effective immediately.

Signed,

Ex-Auror Trainee Tracey Davis

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At this exact moment, Albus Dumbledore wanted nothing more than to hex Cornelius Fudge. The pompous little windbag was currently pacing and wringing his lime green bowler anxiously as he whined about the Potter fiasco affecting his chances for reelection.

He noticed Amelia Bones fingering her own wand and offered her a wan smile of commiseration.

The Wizengamot was assembled in Courtroom Ten, along with three-fourths of the Auror Corps and Unspeakables, all of the high ranking politicians and department heads of the Ministry, and a majority of the Hogwarts' professors. A host of specialists had been summoned, including those from the fields of ancient magics, runes, cursebreaking, wards, dark creatures, soul magic, and demonology. The goal of the meeting was to solve "the Potter Situation."

It was true that something had to be done; the wizarding world was in dire need of help. For the past six months, Voldemort and the Death Eaters had escalated to the point that they were now attacking heavily-populated muggle areas in broad daylight. Just last week they attacked downtown Manchester, throwing the city into pandemonium.

Yes, something needed to be done, but this ridiculous meeting was doing nothing but wasting time. It was chaos—everyone talking at once, mostly along the lines of "how could this have happened?" Only a select few were sharing actual ideas for rectifying the situation. So far, the Wizengamot had offered to double the yearly salaries of any auror agreeing to take on the mission, but only the bravest—four in total—volunteered to go after Harry. The rest were too scared to even consider it.

Though he was trying to put on a brave face, Dumbledore was greatly worried. The wizarding world needed their Boy Who Lived—not only to defeat Voldemort, but to act as a paragon of the light. They needed a hero to guide their world through the dark times it was currently facing. But as it stood now, the harsh, cynical sixteen year old from the alley wasn't about to be anybody's hero.

Dumbledore half-heartedly turned his attention to Rufus Scrimgeour's plan for creating a twenty-person strike force to "rescue" Potter, and mentally sighed. Of all the people who could have taken Harry under their wing, why in Merlin's name did it have to be John Constantine?

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Author's Note: Despite the title, this isn't a sequel to "The Laughing Professor". But this title suited better than anything else I came up with, so I'm afraid it stuck.