A few hours later…
The private jet Ascendancy looked less like a plane and more like the kind of high-tech spaceship Iron Man would build if he got bored and decided to out-fancy Elon Musk. The exterior was sleek, black, and probably coated in something unpronounceable. Inside? Think Hogwarts common room meets Silicon Valley startup lounge, with a dash of James Bond.
Rosa Vasquez sat curled up on a cream leather loveseat that was so soft it might've been woven from actual cloud matter. She held a mug of hot chocolate the size of a toddler and whispered to her husband, "Victor, we are on a private jet. A jet. Like in the movies!"
Victor, who had been pretending not to inspect the stitching on the leather (it was flawless, much to his craftsman soul's irritation), nodded slowly. "This armrest has heated cup holders. I have never in my life wondered if my cup holder was warm enough, and now I feel like a peasant."
"That's because billionaires are terrified of lukewarm coffee," came the smooth British drawl of Hadrian Peverell—please, call him Harry—as he sauntered into the lounge area, looking like he'd just stepped out of a GQ cover shoot called Tech Wizards and the Billionaires Who Charm Them.
Harry stood by the in-flight bar, which had been thoroughly detoxed of alcohol and now proudly featured sparkling mocktails, imported tea blends, and a charcuterie board that looked like it had a trust fund. Dobson, his unnervingly competent butler who looked suspiciously like a former MI6 agent and moved like he was always five steps ahead, glided through the cabin with a tray of fresh scones.
"Anyone for a cranberry-orange?" Dobson asked in his usual polite-but-this-could-also-be-a-threat tone.
Mary Bromfield, who was absolutely not trying to overthink the fact that she was perched at the bar two feet from the most charming billionaire in the Western Hemisphere, accepted an espresso from Harry with a grin that might've caused global warming.
"Careful," Harry said, his emerald green eyes twinkling as he held the cup just a bit too long before passing it. "It's hot. Then again, I imagine Gotham students have a high tolerance for risky behavior."
Mary took it with a slightly wobbly laugh. "Only on days that end in 'Y.'"
Her cheeks burned so red they were visible from orbit. She silently thanked the caffeine gods and tried not to let her fingers tremble.
Billy, who was trying really hard to look like a normal teenager and not the magical powerhouse secretly known as Shazam, sat a few feet away with Freddy and Darla. He leaned toward Freddy and whispered, "I still can't believe the dog story worked."
Freddy—world-class skeptic and professional sarcasm distributor—raised an eyebrow. "Seriously. Harry Peverell tells our parents you saved his dog named Padfoot, and they just believe him?"
Billy shrugged. "I mean… he said it really convincingly. And smiled. Like, that smile."
Darla leaned in between them, practically vibrating with excitement. "Do you think the dog's invisible? Or, like, a werewolf in disguise? What if it's a ghost dog?!"
Across the cabin, Pedro was pretending to be engrossed in a Sudoku puzzle that he had already finished but was using as a shield against human interaction.
"Padfoot's not a real dog," he muttered without looking up. "It's a code. Harry told me Padfoot is the nickname of Sirius Blackwood—his godfather. Also, the guy who bought three TV networks just to try and cancel reality TV."
"Wait, we're talking about code names now?" Eugene piped up, eyes wide. "I call Omega Phantom!"
"You don't get to name yourself," Freddy shot back.
Victor and Rosa had joined Harry at the center of the lounge, sipping mint tea like they weren't currently breaking multiple laws of physics by traveling at near-supersonic speed in something that had a marble-topped buffet station.
"We just wanted to thank you again, Mr. Peverell," Rosa said warmly. "You didn't have to do this."
Harry gave his most disarming smile—the one that probably melted bank vaults. "Please, call me Harry. And it's really nothing. Billy was kind enough to rescue my dearly beloved Padfoot from a very dramatic misunderstanding with a street sweeper. The least I could do was return the favor. Besides, I couldn't pass up a chance to see Mary's campus. Gotham U's media program is supposed to be legendary."
Mary nearly choked on her espresso. "Well. I mean. It's got some cool stuff. And, like, a library. And… buildings."
Victor narrowed his eyes in Dad-Mode™. "So this is just a friendly visit?"
"Oh, absolutely," Harry said with that same, suspiciously innocent grin. "Completely normal billionaire behavior. Flying a whole family across the country. On a whim. Nothing mysterious at all."
As if on cue, the cockpit chimed. "Mr. Peverell, we're beginning our descent into Gotham."
Harry sat back in his armchair—which somehow managed to recline, swivel, and probably do taxes. "Fantastic. I've always had a fondness for cities with brooding skylines and rampant crime statistics."
What he didn't say was this trip doubled as a covert op. Two reasons:
Bruce Wayne had finally managed to get all the Superheroes to meet and discuss the possibility of forming a team—an elite group of heroes who could defend the world: the Justice League.
Diana of Themyscira—yes, that Diana—would be in attendance.
He wasn't nervous. Not technically. Just mildly panicked in the chest cavity, because how exactly was he supposed to act normal around an actual Amazon warrior goddess who could bench press a semi-truck and debate Aristotle at the same time?
Mary giggled again at something he said, and Harry winked because flirting was fun and Mary was stunning—but his heart? That was a battlefield already claimed by a woman with a tiara and a sword.
Meanwhile, chaos had erupted in the back cabin.
"Why are we stuck on 'sensual crimson'? I wanted 'heroic thunderstorm!'" Freddy shouted, gesturing at the moody red LED lighting that now bathed the ceiling.
"I enhanced the panel!" Eugene declared proudly.
"You gave it a virus!" Pedro snapped.
"I gave it sentience!"
"Guys," Billy said, burying his face in his hands, "we are literally landing in Gotham."
Harry raised his teacup toward the Vasquez parents. "Brace for impact."
And somewhere far below, in the heart of Gotham City, destiny waited—with a Bat, a Goddess, and enough trouble to turn a dog rescue into a legend.
But for now, the cabin hummed with warmth, laughter, and just a dash of billionaire chaos. And for a few more minutes, they were just a family in the sky.
—
The Ascendancy touched down on the private tarmac of Gotham International like it was auditioning for a Bond movie. The kind of entrance that made even Bruce Wayne's Batplane sulk in its hangar and question its career choices. Sleek. Silent. Dramatic. Very Harry.
Inside, the Vasquez kids—who had been yawning and stretching and wondering if Gotham smelled like Bat-cologne (spoiler: it did)—were now staring out the window like they'd just been hit with a magical glamour spell.
Cameras flashed at a respectful, totally contractual distance. Velvet ropes lined the private terminal. Waiting beyond them was a scene that screamed royalty meets red carpet meets wizarding rockstars. There were flower arrangements. There were bodyguards in tuxedos. There was even a live string quartet casually playing in the background like this was just another Friday night in Gotham.
Billy rubbed his eyes. "Uh… did we land at the Oscars?"
"Correction," Freddy said, peering out the window, "we landed in Harry's version of the Oscars. Which is to say: extra with a capital E."
Mary let out a low whistle. "Holy Olympus on a broomstick… are those spotlights?"
"I think one of them's shaped like a phoenix," Eugene muttered. "Because of course it is."
The doors opened with an almost magical whoosh.
And then Harry stepped out.
Trench coat flaring like he'd timed it with the wind (he had), boots clicking against the tarmac, expression calm, confident, and just a hair shy of come at me, world. Behind him, Dobson—his perfectly terrifying, ex-spy-looking butler—followed with two briefcases, sunglasses on despite it being night, and a look that could give Batman a stress headache.
Three figures approached, parting the crowd like they were in a slow-motion hero shot.
Lily Peverell reached Harry first. Auburn hair pulled into a perfect French twist, sharp green eyes that could disarm missiles, and a wardrobe that screamed "elegant world-dominating genius." She pulled Harry into a hug that was somehow both warm and intimidating.
"My sweet boy," she murmured. "You look thinner than I like. Are you living off sarcasm and iced coffee again?"
Harry smirked. "I had a sarcasm salad with a side of charm yesterday. Very low-calorie."
"Of course you did," Lily said dryly. "Next time add protein. Maybe humility."
"Out of stock. Blame Sirius."
Speak of the devil—Sirius Blackwood strode forward, five o'clock shadow perfectly scruffy, muscles barely restrained by a designer blazer, and an energy that screamed "I know twelve different martial arts and also how to sabrage champagne." He pulled Harry into a one-armed hug and grinned like trouble incarnate.
"Kiddo! You bring me a dog-saving superhero, or was that just you trying to upstage me again?"
"I never upstage," Harry replied, deadpan. "I merely shine brighter."
"Ouch," Freddy muttered. "That burn had its own zip code."
James Peverell came next, looking every inch the roguishly handsome media mogul he was. Windswept hair. Stylish glasses. A trench coat that screamed, I once dodged sniper fire to get a story and then made it back in time for dinner. He clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder.
"Good flight, son? Please tell me Dobson didn't land it again."
"One time, Dad. One time," Harry groaned. "And it was a very impressive Statue of Liberty loop."
"That was legendary," Sirius said. "We should frame that footage."
"Already did," James added. "It's in my office."
Behind Harry, the Vasquez family had come to a full stop at the bottom of the steps, looking like tourists who'd accidentally wandered onto a superhero film set.
Harry turned, the very picture of chill. "Rosa Vasquez," he said, gesturing like a host at a royal ball, "meet the people responsible for whatever I am today. My mother, Lily. My father, James. My godfather, Sirius. Together, they're smarter, cooler, and more terrifying than the Justice League."
Rosa blinked. Victor whispered, "Are we underdressed?"
Lily stepped forward and knelt slightly to Darla's level. "You must be Darla. I've heard you're faster than the wind and probably smarter than half my lab assistants."
Darla nodded seriously. "Are you really a scientist?"
Lily smiled. "I've got more degrees than a thermometer."
James shook Victor's hand warmly. "Harry's told us a lot about your family. You must be the man with the magical toolbox."
"Uh… yeah," Victor said. "I build stuff."
"Excellent," Sirius chimed in. "We need someone sane around here."
Rosa chuckled nervously. "This is… very nice. And very… big."
Harry grinned. "Wait until you see the hotel."
As Dobson led the staff in handling luggage (with military precision and mild disdain), Sirius threw an arm around Freddy and said, "You must be the mouthy one. I like you."
Freddy beamed. "I knew I had favorite-uncle potential."
Pedro quietly watched everything with wide eyes until James began chatting with him about baseball and Gotham Knights stats, and suddenly Pedro was all in.
Mary, meanwhile, was trying very hard not to melt as Harry offered her a hand into the limousine. She didn't blush, exactly. Her face just… adjusted hue. Slightly. Maybe.
"You alright?" Harry asked, voice casual.
"I'm good," Mary said. "This is just… wow."
Harry smiled. "Yeah. Welcome to Gotham. It only gets weirder from here."
Sirius clapped his hands together. "Alright, troops! Blackgate Grand Hotel awaits. There's a planetarium tour, a Gotham U walk-through for Miss Mary here, and brunch with beakers for the grownups. I may have accidentally bought a museum. Long story."
Eugene perked up. "Why'd you buy a museum?"
"Because Bruce Wayne said I couldn't."
Harry looked impressed. "Petty. I respect that."
As the convoy of sleek black limos pulled out onto the highway, Rosa and Victor were already being swept up in Lily's charmingly terrifying world of lab tours and brunch invites. The kids were glued to the windows, gaping at Gotham's skyline like it might break into musical theater at any moment.
And Sirius leaned over to whisper to Harry, "You sure this whole 'distract the parents' plan is gonna work?"
Harry smirked. "By the time Billy and I sneak off for the League meeting, Rosa will be so deep into Lily's science bunker, she won't even remember what day it is."
Sirius snorted. "What about Victor?"
"James just offered to take him to a Gotham Knights game. He'll be gone all of Sunday."
"Damn," Sirius said. "Remind me to never cross you."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "You already did. Twice."
"Yeah. That's why I still have nightmares about that karaoke revenge plot."
"Should've known better than to butcher 'Livin' on a Prayer' in my presence."
And with that, the Vasquez family was officially, blissfully, and unknowingly— distracted.
Just in time for Eidolon and Shazam to face the gods.
—
The Blackgate Grand didn't just scream old money—it whispered it seductively in twenty languages while adjusting its diamond cufflinks. The lobby was a cathedral of marble and gold, where chandeliers sparkled like they were flexing on every light fixture in the tri-state area. A string quartet in tuxedos played something that sounded like Mozart's fever dream while the air smelled faintly of sandalwood, cashmere, and "we don't speak to the help, darling."
The Vasquez family stood at the entrance, looking collectively like a family of moderately traumatized raccoons that had accidentally wandered into the Louvre.
"This place smells like new leather and broken generational curses," Freddy muttered, eyes wide as he took in the velvet drapes and the concierge with a diamond-studded bowtie.
Mary elbowed him. "Freddy! Be nice. And try not to steal anything."
"I'm not gonna steal! I'm just gonna... appreciate aggressively."
Sirius, James, and Lily didn't walk in. They made an entrance. Sirius was in black leather that somehow looked designer and dangerous at the same time. James wore a suit that probably had a backstory and at least two theme songs. Lily? Lily floated. That was the only explanation. She had this elegant, otherworldly glow, like Galadriel decided to vacation in Gotham.
They weren't just rich. They were mythic.
Dobson, who looked like someone had taken Daniel Craig's face and Toby Jones' posture and run them through a charm filter, appeared at the front desk. He held out a tray of golden keys like he was presenting sacred relics.
"Mr. and Mrs. Vasquez," he said with a smooth British accent so sharp it could slice marble. "We've taken the liberty of upgrading you to the Aurora Suite. Two bedrooms. Skyline view. Hot tub with customizable bubble pressure. Chef Ramon is already preparing your preferred breakfast."
Victor blinked. "We have preferred breakfast?"
"You do now," Lily said, smiling like she'd personally written their family into the guestbook of Olympus.
"Rosa," she added, looping an arm gently through hers, "wait until you see the tea bar. All herbal. All imported. From India."
"I—Sorry, did you say India?"
James, meanwhile, had handed Pedro a Gotham Knights cap signed by the entire team. "Heard you're a fan. Hope you'll join us in our box next week."
Pedro forgot how to speak English for a second.
Sirius leaned against the front desk like he'd invented furniture. "Kids," he said, eyeing Darla and Eugene, "you ever heard of an infinity pool that plays whale sounds and EDM underwater at 2 AM?"
Eugene looked like someone had plugged him into a socket. "That's the most Gotham thing I've ever heard."
"Can we really go swimming?" Darla asked, clutching her stuffed unicorn with righteous hope.
"Sweetheart," Sirius said solemnly, "you're with the Peverell-Blackwood crew now. Our chaos is five-star rated."
Billy gave Harry a look. The you-people-are-insane-but-I-might-love-you-for-it look.
"This is insane," Billy whispered.
Harry grinned like a fox who'd just discovered the chicken coop had a back door. "You haven't even seen the chocolate fountain yet."
"How are they so good at this?"
Harry adjusted his jacket and gave him a sideways glance. "Charm. Distract. Overwhelm. Repeat. It's our version of magic."
As they passed a glass wall showing off Gotham's glittering skyline, Lily asked Rosa, "So... how do you manage six kids?"
Rosa laughed nervously. "Honestly? I think they're managing me."
Lily nodded approvingly. "That means you're doing it right."
Mary, trailing behind with Billy and Harry, glanced between the trio of ultra-glam adults and her own giggling siblings.
"Are they always like this?" she whispered.
"Only when they're trying," Harry replied. "You should see what they do to people who bring boxed wine to dinner."
Right then, a hotel staffer appeared with a clipboard... and a tuxedoed cat.
"For Miss Darla," the staffer said, presenting the feline like it was royalty. "This is Mr. Whiskerstein. He will be your emotional support cat for the duration of your stay."
Darla squealed so high, glass trembled.
Victor muttered, "This is a dream. I fell asleep on the plane. I'm gonna wake up with Billy's elbow in my ribs."
"I only elbow you when you snore," Billy said absently, watching Sirius high-five Eugene.
Sirius clapped his hands. "Alright, team! Dessert tasting in the ballroom. Louie the pastry chef makes lava cakes so good they've been declared a public menace in five states."
"I want five!" Eugene announced.
"You'll get six," Sirius promised.
As the golden elevator doors slid shut, Harry leaned back, hands in his pockets, watching the Vasquezes slowly dissolve into laughter and wonder.
"Phase One," he said, smirking, "complete."
Mary raised an eyebrow. "Phase Two?"
Harry winked. "That would be telling."
Behind them, the quartet shifted to jazz. Gotham jazz. The kind that hinted at secrets in alleyways and heroes in hiding.
Tomorrow? That's when the real fun would begin.
—
Victor Vasquez had faced hurricanes, demon gods, and the DMV. But waking up six kids in a hotel suite that had a chocolate fountain? That was true horror. The kind that should've come with a warning label and hazard pay.
"Darla," Victor said, rubbing his temples as he watched his youngest zoom in circles around the breakfast table, "that's your third chocolate-covered marshmallow."
She skidded to a stop—briefly. "I need the sugar, Papa. It's for stamina. College tours are cardio."
"Sweetie, your teeth are buzzing."
"EXACTLY."
Freddy stumbled out of his room, hair sticking out in defiance of gravity, wearing pajama pants and one sock. "What year is it?" he groaned. "Is this still Gotham?"
"Geographically, yes," said Dobson, who appeared at Freddy's elbow like an overqualified British ninja. "Philosophically? You are now in the Kingdom of Opulence."
Freddy blinked. "Did you just quote a perfume ad?"
"Only the finest ones, Master Freeman."
Dobson, looking like James Bond had decided to try out butlering for kicks, set down a plate of waffles topped with gold-dusted strawberries. The man could serve breakfast and existential wisdom like it was nothing.
Mary, meanwhile, sat at the breakfast table like she was running for president. Graceful, confident, and armed with a blazer that said, I'm smarter than you and also might save your life later. Her hair was perfect. Her omelet had truffle oil. Her coffee had its own fan club.
"Okay, I know this is wild," she said, beaming at her family, "but can we take a moment to appreciate that none of you ruined my outfit today?"
"Give us time," Eugene said from within a cereal bowl that probably cost more than a used car.
Across the room, Sirius Blackwood reclined like a rockstar-slash-secret agent, shirtless under a robe that looked stolen from a Bond villain, reading the Gotham Times with tinted sunglasses and an expression that said, I dare you to question this vibe.
James Peverell, elegant and composed as a renaissance prince, buttered his toast with all the precision of a general planning a siege.
"Dobson," he said, "more orange juice, if you please."
"Freshly squeezed, or infused with dragonfruit and the tears of a Renaissance poet?"
Lily—glowing like she'd been dipped in charisma and sunshine—smiled over her teacup. "Why not both?"
Then there was Harry.
He lounged back in his chair like the CEO of a superhero startup, one arm over the backrest, sipping coffee with the calm menace of someone who'd taken out a Death Eater before breakfast and still had time for bagels.
Billy leaned over. "Did you even sleep?"
"Define 'sleep,'" Harry replied, flicking a grape into his mouth without looking.
"You're glowing."
"I moisturize with destiny."
Freddy raised a waffle in toast. "To breakfast like royalty."
"Not royalty," Harry said, smirking. "Just so cool people assume we are."
—
Mary Bromfield practically floated across campus. With levels of poise and enthusiasm that put Hermione Granger to shame as she led her very loud, very extra, very them entourage down the stone pathways.
"That's Crayfield Hall," she announced, pointing at a stately building with ivy climbing like it had tenure. "I have Advanced Psych there with Dr. Hennings. He once led a TED Talk and two revolutions. And that—" she gestured dramatically, like Vanna White on Red Bull, "—is where I organized the Great Iced Coffee Rebellion after they tried to ban caffeine in the library."
Pedro gave an impressed nod. "I'd follow you into battle."
"You basically already do," Mary replied, grinning.
Victor and Rosa brought up the rear, holding hands like proud parents in a feel-good movie. But Victor's eyes kept scanning the skies like Joker-shaped drones were about to drop glitter bombs.
"This is too nice," Rosa whispered.
"I know," Victor muttered. "Something's gonna explode."
"Statistically," Harry said, strolling just behind them, "you're not wrong. This is Gotham."
Freddy yelped and swatted at something near his leg.
"Mutant squirrel," Harry said calmly, tossing him a canister. "PeverellTech repellant. Use liberally. Don't ask what it's made of."
The campus was abuzz. Word spread faster than gossip at a royal wedding: Mary Bromfield had arrived. With a squad.
And not just any squad.
Sirius Blackwood. James and Lily Peverell. And Harry Peverell, who is rumoured to have once suplexed Lex Luthor for making a rude comment about orphans.
People stared. One guy walked into a trash can. Another dropped his phone mid-sneaky-selfie.
"That's the library," Mary said, nodding toward a gorgeous building that looked like it smelled like ink and anxiety. "I practically lived there last semester."
Harry inhaled deeply. "Mmm. Old books and desperation. My Hogwarts nostalgia is acting up."
Darla clung to Mary's side like an adorable backpack. "I wanna go here."
"You're six."
"Exactly. I've got time to build a resume."
Inside the Student Union, Dobson had apparently conjured a pop-up rest lounge. Mini croissants. A hydration bar. Lavender-scented towels.
"Are we royalty now?" Freddy asked, taking a bite of a croissant like it owed him money.
"No," Harry said, sipping from a thermos that probably had coffee brewed from mountain dew and ambition. "But it's fun when people think you are."
Mary stopped in front of the "Women in STEM" wall. Her photo—beaming, arms crossed, radiating world-domination energy—was front and center.
Sirius leaned over to Billy. "We're thinking of putting her on the money next."
"She'd like that," Billy replied. "Just make sure it's sparkly."
Mary spun. "Okay! Group photo in front of the coffee cart! They named a drink after me!"
Eugene groaned. "Please tell me it's the 'Caffeinated Queen.'"
Mary grinned. "Even better. It's called the 'Mary-ccino.'"
Victor blinked. "That's either genius marketing… or a cry for help."
They posed in front of the cart. Mary dead center, shining like the main character. Her family flanked her in all their chaotic glory. The Peverells stood like a fantasy royal court had crash-landed in an Ivy League brochure. Harry tossed up a casual thumbs-up and leaned over to James.
"Phase Two: Status Bombing."
James smirked. "And Phase Three?"
Harry winked. "Public transportation." He paused. "Just kidding. Phase Three is where the real chaos begins."
Because if you thought iced coffee and mutant squirrels were dramatic? Just wait 'til they reached Arkham Prep.
—
Vincenzo's Trattoria, Gotham Heights – 1:17 PM
Where the bread costs more than rent, and the forks probably have butlers who moonlight as spies.
Victor Vasquez was trying very hard not to look like a man experiencing a small financial aneurysm. He opened the leather-bound menu, glanced at the price of the hand-massaged Wagyu risotto, and immediately closed it again, like it might bite him.
"Rosa," he whispered out the corner of his mouth, as if the waiter might overhear and slap him with a surcharge. "This truffle butter is worth more than my truck."
Rosa didn't look up from her menu. "Then eat slow. Savor the bankruptcy."
Across the marble table—so shiny it probably came with a warning about blinding pedestrians—Sirius Blackwood and James Peverell were hunched over their side of the table like two kids watching a fireworks display. And the fireworks in question? Victor Vasquez, who was deep into his TED Talk on the sacred chaos that was American Football.
Victor pointed dramatically at a breadstick. "Alright, pretend this is the ball. You've got four downs to move ten yards. If you don't, the other team gets the ball."
James frowned. "So the point of the game is... to stop people from moving forward? That's it?"
"Exactly."
Sirius cocked an eyebrow. "And they're allowed to throw it? With their hands? That's not football. That's glorified rugby in shoulder pads."
Victor grinned. "That's America, baby. We put armor on everything."
James leaned back in his chair, muttering, "Still don't understand why they call it 'football' when they mostly use their hands."
"Yeah," Sirius said. "That's like calling dueling 'hugging' because you sometimes bump shoulders."
Victor held up his glass. "You'll get it tomorrow. Owner's suite. Wings. Hologram halftime show. Trust me, you'll be converted."
Freddy Freeman choked on his artisan lemonade. "Owner's suite?!"
Hadrian—please, call me Harry—grinned from behind his custom carbonara (complete with gold-leaf pancetta and moon basil, because of course it did). "We pulled a few strings."
James threw an arm around Harry's shoulder. "By strings, he means one phone call and a 'Do you know who I am?' stare that could make Batman flinch."
Dobson materialized beside them with his usual understated grace, setting down a dish with a flourish worthy of a stage magician. He looked like Daniel Craig had been dipped in British dignity and taught to kill with soup spoons.
"Sir, your Carbonara di Drago, with moon basil and truffle air."
"Moon basil?" Harry blinked.
"Grown under simulated lunar conditions on a biodynamic farm in the Swiss Alps. Pairs well with your mood."
Harry poked the dish with the caution of a man who'd once eaten basil that tried to eat him back. "I love this ridiculous planet."
At the other end of the table, Lily and Rosa were in full Mom Squad mode, deep in a conversation that was half therapy session, half tactical war council.
"So Darla found an injured pigeon," Rosa said, taking a sip of her wine, "and tried to splint its leg with popsicle sticks. We had a funeral for it. Turns out it was just napping."
Lily snorted. "Harry once smuggled a Niffler home from school. It hoarded every coin in a ten-block radius. We nearly had to mortgage the house to pay off the angry gnome union."
Rosa blinked. "Niffler?"
"Furry goblin kleptomaniac with a nose for precious metals."
Rosa looked off into the distance. "So... Eugene with better hair."
Eugene, across the table, had his phone out and was casually explaining blockchain to Pedro, who looked like he'd rather eat his plate.
"So like, you mine Bitcoin, but it's not actual mining, it's more like—"
"Can I eat my steak in peace without learning crypto again?" Pedro muttered.
"I'm just saying, if I sold one of these fork NFTs—"
"No."
Darla was coloring on her placemat, drawing everyone as cartoon superheroes. She held one up proudly. "Look! That's me flying a Gotham Knights blimp! And that's Freddy trying to eat a hotdog the size of a motorcycle!"
Freddy looked over. "Honestly? That's not far off."
Mary, seated like the calm in the storm, beamed at them all. She had that big-sister glow—equal parts pride, patience, and the vague threat of violence if anyone embarrassed her in front of Dobson.
"I can't believe we're all going to the game together," she said.
Billy coughed awkwardly.
Harry casually tossed a breadstick in the air, caught it without looking, and shot Billy a side-eye that said keep it cool, bro.
Because here's the thing—Harry and Billy weren't actually going to the game.
They were going to a Justice League meeting. You know, just your average world-saving schedule conflict. So, obviously, the solution was: magical Life Model Decoys. Courtesy of Lily's spellwork, Dobson's conjuration skills, and enough enchantments to make Stark Tech jealous. The LMDs looked like them, sounded like them, and if you didn't poke too hard, even passed the vibe check.
While the real Harry and Billy would be slipping off with Superman, Wonder Woman, and a guy who dressed as a bat and is more paranoid than Mad-Eye Moody.
Totally normal Saturday.
Sirius lifted his wine glass. "To armor-clad chaos, mysterious meatballs, and pretending to understand a game that involves more commercials than plays."
Victor raised his glass solemnly. "To wings, touchdowns, and the best pre-game feast I'll never financially recover from."
James clinked his glass with Harry's. "To mischief, mayhem, and magical decoys who can do the wave."
Lily and Rosa grinned across the table.
"We should plan Christmas together," Rosa said.
"Only if you bring tamales," Lily replied.
"Deal. You bring wine."
"Make it magical, and I'm in."
Outside, Gotham carried on with its usual symphony of honking, yelling, and occasional rooftop brawls. But inside Vincenzo's, surrounded by impossible food and improbable friends, two families had begun to merge into one very loud, very magical, very them kind of unit.
Tomorrow: VIP box. Holograms. Life Model Decoys.
Today? Just carbs, chaos, and Harry Potter—sorry, Hadrian freaking Blackwood—being the MVP of multitasking.
Because when you roll with the Peverell-Blackwoods, life isn't just legendary.
It's ludicrously legendary.
---
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If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Click the link below to join the conversation:
https://discord.com/invite/HHHwRsB6wd
Can't wait to see you there!
If you appreciate my work and want to support me, consider buying me a cup of coffee. Your support helps me keep writing and bringing more stories to you. You can do so via PayPal here:
https://www.paypal.me/VikrantUtekar007
Or through my Buy Me a Coffee page:
https://www.buymeacoffee.com/vikired001s
Thank you for your support!