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

The Boy Who Lived to Fly

A Harry Potter/DC Comics Crossover

oOo

Harry Potter screamed as his hair was cruelly wrenched. Tears coursed down the two year old's pale cheeks as he cried from the pain radiating through his scalp.

From the kitchen, Vernon and Petunia Dursley muttered and cast glances towards the den, but neither was inclined to check on the screaming toddler. Their precious angel Dudley, age three and a half, gripped his much smaller cousin's hair tightly as he attempted to drag him from his hiding place behind the sofa. When the chubby blond boy was unable to dislodge the younger child, he picked up one of his toys, a metal firetruck, and swung with all of his might.

The impact crashed into Harry's left cheek and knocked him over. The boy screamed louder as he attempted to crawl away. Once again, Dudley raised the truck for another swing. Harry, backed into a corner, was unable to escape.

"NO!" he cried.

At his shout, a shockwave surged through the house. Vernon and Petunia could feel the power in the air as it buzzed over their exposed skin like static electricity, making the hair on their arms and necks stand on end. Running for the den, they were anguished to see Dudley slumped unconscious against the wall. Harry was across the room, curled up and whimpering pitifully, a bruise already blossoming beneath his left eye. Petunia immediately rushed to Dudley's side and knelt, checking him for serious injuries.

Vernon stormed over to Harry, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him towards the cupboard. Only when the child was securely locked away did he check on his son. He found Petunia sitting on the floor, rocking a now conscious and sobbing Dudley gently in her lap. With teary eyes she looked up at her husband.

"He hurt my son."

Though she whispered, he heard her clearly. "I'll take care of it Pet. I promise."

The following Thursday when Vernon left for his business trip in the states, Harry went with him.

oOo

Vernon eased the rental car to the curb and cut the engine. Under the glow of a nearby streetlight, he stared at the little dark-haired boy sleeping peacefully, thanks to a large dose of cough syrup, in the cheap plastic laundry basket in the seat beside him. For a single moment, a wave of hesitation stilled his hand. He knew that what he was doing was wrong, but he simply had to think of his son, sprawled unconscious on the floor, and his mind was made. Abandoning a child was extreme, but his family's safety came first and he knew the freaks of the wizarding world would never agree to remove the boy from their household.

Besides, Petunia was already packing. When he returned from this trip, he was transferring to the Indian branch of Grunnings and taking his family with him. It wasn't ideal, but hopefully it would put them out of their reach.

Gripping the plastic basket tightly, Vernon, under the cover of night, entered the Star City Fairgrounds from a back entrance. The circus was in town and he felt it fitting that the boy, a freak himself, be left with other freaks. He dropped the basket at the door of the first trailer he came to and then hurriedly scurried from the grounds.

Not once did he look back

oOo

Soon after sunrise, the door to the trailer opened and a man—olive skinned and dark haired, with broad shoulders and a lithe frame—stepped out. Were he not a naturally graceful acrobat, he might have tripped over the basket. Instead, he knelt beside it and carefully pulled back the blanket.

"Mary, get out here! Now!"

Hurried footsteps were heard inside the trailer and a petite dark-haired woman peered out the open door.

"John, what is it?"

John moved the blanket aside and showed Mary the bundle within. Bright green eyes looked sleepily back up at them. "It's a boy."

oOo

The couple sat huddled on their bed, the young one resting between them. John smiled as his wife lifted the toddler, cuddling him to her chest. "Mary, we can't keep calling him 'child'. He needs a name."

The two people studied the boy, his striking green eyes shyly watching them in return. The child reached up, tangling his hands in her ponytail, tugging at her hair and her heartstrings.

Mary tickled the child's tummy, eliciting a surprised giggle. Glancing up at her husband, her heart in her eyes, she smiled.

"Richard John Grayson has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

oOo

Author's Note: I absolutely love this idea. Imagine how different the Potter books would have been if Harry had Dick Grayson's upbringing.

One thing's for certain—Voldemort would never know what hit him.

Did anyone else just see a fluffy little bunny hopping by, or was it just me?