BBS - Chapter 1 : Something was Wrong (Patreon)

Commissioned by [Nicolae]

What happens if Bruce Wayne and Tony Stark were thrown into different bodies in the Harry Potter Universe?

What sort of tomfoolery might happen in the universe, in Hogwarts when two heroes, known to push the limits of what is possible with a decidedly human body and mind, get access to magic?

Read along to find out.Tony Stark version - MCU before Infinity War

Bruce Wayne version - A mix of Batman V Superman, Justice League and Justic League Unlimited.

The Bat, The Billionaire & The Shenanigans [1]

Disclaimer - I don’t own anything. Disney does, Warner Bro does, and Rowling does.

London

–Bruce Wayne–

Something was wrong. He could tell it quite clearly. It should have been obvious to him, but he just chalked them up to coincidences. He supposed that being a child again, with child hormones and child dependencies, made him implicitly trust his guardians here, that all the oddities around him were just happenstance.

That he hadn’t managed to lift the sofa that was about to fall on his legs at the last moment; it was just his imagination that it was about to fall on him. 

That he hadn’t been the one to make the door latch all on his own, simply because he had the habit of exploring the entire house, which was just an excuse for reading all the books he could get his hands on, most of which were in the library, which also had a Bar, hence the lock. That they had simply forgotten to lock it before going to sleep.

That he hadn’t managed to push the incredibly violent and distressed dog away from him with a shove of his hand, to the point that the aggressive dog suddenly whined and ran away. That it was the dog seeing his guardians coming back that scared the dog away, even if that was not how dogs behaved, not when they were terrified out of their minds and saw attacking as the only option left.

Now, looking at the Rubik's Cube that was floating in front of him, he could only conclude that in this new life of his, in a new universe with no sign of Gotham, Metropolis, Central City, or any other heroes, he was the one with powers. A change that was, he had to admit, not entirely unwelcome. 

He was six years old now, his birthday being yesterday, and this time, finally, his guardians listened to his pleas and decided to host only a cake cutting ceremony with the three of them. No house party this time, thank god.

Which is why he was back in his bedroom before 8, dinner done and tucked in nicely by his guardians, who promptly went to sleep a while later, judging by the light snoring he could hear from three walls away. 

How? One might ask, and the answer was the same nebulous energy that allowed him to perform limited telekinesis, which allowed him to reinforce both his physical body as well as his senses, allowing him to hear far better and see far better than what he could sense even at his prime.

And he was only six.

That was perhaps the only defense he had for not realising the truth of his powers for years. Sure, the baby years were rough, as he had to suffer through the indignity of growing up without bladder control, but he would consider it a worthwhile trade off for the powers, if they continued to grow as he expected them to. It had taken him months to finally wrangle them into control, and even then, a sudden rush of emotions, something that his baby body and brain were prone to do, could make the energy surge forward enough to break out of his control and act on the aforementioned emotions.

It was frustrating, and yet, it was something he had to do. After all, if he had powers such as this, then it only stood to reason that others would have it as well. For that reason, he must continue to train. This time, he even had the unimaginable advantage of having a baby body. 

Sure, his functionally unlimited finances as the Wayne heir were unavailable right now, but his current guardians were not hurting in any financial sense, from the reports he read inside his father’s home office. They were also in a well off area, with house help, along with a fancy car, and if the statements were to be believed, a multi million dollar portfolio, which was a mix of stocks, bonds, and gold. He saw nothing regarding any real estate they might own, but he was sure they had something there as well.

Knowing a little about the financial landscape of the future, he could have changed a few things here and there, but overall, it was fine, especially since both of his guardians were working professionals. Both Doctors.

Neurosurgeon and Cardiologist.

Incredibly lucrative careers, so anything he might need during his training could easily be provided by his guardians.

And he was being provided with everything he might need at this stage, so no need to do anything that might tip off his guardians about his true nature. While he was good at acting in his previous life, acting as a womaniser playboy with no regard or responsibility for his wreath was quite a bit different from acting as a six year old normal child instead of the metahuman that he was.

Sighing, he set the Cube down with a thought, looking all around his room, full of stuff of various size, shape, and weight. All good training, and training was mandatory, especially if he wanted to save his current guardians.

He might have been too young to do anything but watch in horror back then, but now? Now, he wouldn't let that happen. No matter what.

___xx___

He was seven years old now, and with another year spent practising that internal energy, he had grown massively more talented with it. He was at a point with his telekinesis that he could lift his bed with ease, or play around with over a dozen different items without any issue. He could not yet shape the power like he wanted to, so that he could use it as a key for every lock, but he was confident he could get there.

It was only a matter of time.

Unfortunately, it was also a matter of time that something bad happened to Bruce Wayne. It was a fact of the matter. The Universe was not a good place, and everything must be balanced. He shuddered to think what might be taken from him to balance the fact that he was handed such a potent metahuman power at such a young age, which presumably meant that he still had time to grow it quite a bit.

The ability to exert power on the same level as his adult self, the ability to enhance his hearing enough to hear what was going on in the house next door, the ability to lift almost a hundred kilos with just his mind, the ability to do all that and more, could not possibly be given to him for free.

With the breadth of enemies that the League had to deal with from back home, some of them certainly were capable of creating entire false realities to fool his mind and make him think that it was real, but there was a limit to that as well. He had thought the same at first, but after years of no sign, he had to accept that either this was his new reality, or his decidedly human mind could not overcome this and he had to wait for his allies to rescue him.

Either way, he was going to have to live this new life of his with the assumption that this was it. That this was reality, and as such, he was going to continue training as if his life depended on it.

He sneezed, a rare thing since he never got sick, as he shut the window with a thought. The urge to develop the habit of waving his hands to visualise the effect and, as such, simplify the whole process was incredibly tempting, but he refrained from doing that for a number of reasons.

The chief of which was the fact that he might be watched. He hadn’t found any proof of surveillance, but he did not come this far without relying on his forward thinking. It was just plain better to assume that he was being watched at all times and act on that information.

Right now, though, his babysitter was in the living room, watching TV, under the assumption that he was sleeping. A reasonable thing to assume, as it was his bedtime and he had been a model child for all the years Bethany had been watching him.

So, he knew what happened when Bethany watched too much TV. He heard her breathing even out as he stepped out of his room, using his power to mask the sound somehow, before waltzing into the library. The massive library that had everything, including the day’s newspapers.

17 July 1970. He was seven years old and, as such, wasn’t supposed to be up this late, even if the task was reading more and more books. A ridiculous rule in his opinion, but his parents were medical professionals and, as such, presumably knew better. Little did they know that repeated use of his powers had clearly had an effect on his growth. 

He was taller than he should be, had a better immune system, digestive system, senses, strength, and even a lower sleep requirement than children his age should have.

Going through the entire newspaper, he saw nothing of note happening here. No new wars, no new country falling to ruin, no rumours about the supernatural world. Nothing that would indicate that he was living in a world that had children with powers. So, either he was one of a kind, which was a little alarming, or the others had powers that were somehow hidden. Not just the powers themselves but any effects they might have on society itself.

So, he was looking at the first ever metahuman, which was just unlikely, or he was looking at a global operation designed to suppress or neutralise any mention of metahuman activities from leaking to the rest of the world. 

That assumption also came with the realisation that there might be a society of such beings somewhere, and they had the means to hide everything from the world’s population, presumably through either hijacking the world’s governments or having agreements with them. He suspected a mixture of both of them to be the truth, if a civilization of metahumans existed somewhere.

Even with that assumption, came a few glaring problems. Sure, right now, the theoretical metahuman police did not have to worry about the democratisation of information dissemination, as controlling print media and a few dozen governments was more than enough to stop critical information from reaching the vast majority of the planet, but what of the future?

That strategy was likely to fall apart immediately in the age of smartphones. After all, the government was never known to be agile and adaptable in serious situations.

Shaking his head, he dismissed those thoughts. They were theoretical, for a reason. He had to keep watch over his mind, lest he find himself being sucked into such theoretical thoughts all the time. It was not his fault that school was incredibly boring; the after-school clubs even more so. 

It was a chore to keep his physical stats in check during all the physical clubs, and the book reading clubs had age appropriate books, and, as such, were entirely useless to him. A few times, he heard his female guardian cry that he was not like normal children and just preferred to live in his books, making him feel bad, but realistically, there was not much he could do about that.  

Obviously, his guardians did not think any less of him for that, professionals that they were, but they did take him to another medical professional, and after hearing them talk through the wall in the Clinic, he was not diagnosed with anything but a peculiar attraction towards books.

Since then, his library hours were somehow even more monitored than before, but in return, he did get access to higher order books, so he considered that a win.

Hence, this breaking into the library of his own home, just so he could read for a few more hours.

It really could not be understated just how boring being a child was, even if he had metahuman powers to play with, especially since he couldn't just up and leave the household. He wanted to be the good child here, and that limited his options drastically.

“Brucie bear! We’re home,” He heard his female guardian whisper to herself after opening the living room, making him quietly snap the book shut and slip it in the library before walking back into his room to go to sleep. 

One more oddity that he had mostly ignored since his birth. His name. 

It was the same. Bruce Wayne.

Thankfully, his guardians were not named Thomas and Martha. He was not sure he could have survived the mental anxiety that would have come with it.