Chapter 40

Godfather Owl: Guardian of Batman [40]

“You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that—but did you ever stop to consider one thing?”

Kathoom flipped himself around and settled back on Bruce’s shoulder.

“All your reasoning relies on one assumption—that Dumbledore’s a villain. What if he’s not?”

“I think the evidence is obvious.”

Bruce countered, “Think about it—if we’re talking about a Dark Lord who could destroy Hogwarts, they’d have to be stronger than Dumbledore, right? And is there anyone in the wizarding world more powerful than him?”

Hmm…

If he didn’t already know the story, Kathoom might have started to doubt himself.

So he tried a different angle. “The path to the Philosopher’s Stone is full of traps. Do you have any plan to deal with them? For instance, what are you going to do about that three-headed dog?”

“Not to worry.”

Bruce’s eyes were steady with a confidence Kathoom hadn’t seen before. “Quirrell will handle that part for me.”

He’d already prepared for this moment. Without another word, Bruce pulled down the cowl of his Batman costume.

—

Moments later, Bruce found himself outside the fourth-floor corridor—the door was already ajar.

“See that?” Bruce whispered. “Quirrell’s already here.”

Pushing the door open, he was greeted by the sound of rhythmic snoring along with the soft strains of harp music.

Inside, the three-headed dog was fast asleep beside a harp, which was playing on its own.

At the dog’s feet lay an open trapdoor.

“This is where you come in,” Bruce said, turning to Kathoom.

Kathoom had a sinking feeling.

Sure enough, a second later, Bruce grabbed him and tossed him into the trapdoor.

“How’s it looking?” Bruce whispered from above. “Is it deep?”

“Just jump down!” Kathoom’s voice echoed back, sounding exasperated. “It’s a soft landing.”

Satisfied, Bruce followed, landing on a thick, spongy mass of vines.

“Devil’s Snare?”

Bruce recognized the plant immediately and knew how to handle it.

Before the snare could wrap around him, he cast a spell, conjuring a bluebell flame that sent it recoiling.

“Let’s go.”

Bruce motioned to Kathoom, heading down a narrow stone passageway.

—

To safeguard the Philosopher’s Stone, each Hogwarts professor had set up a unique obstacle.

There was Hagrid’s three-headed dog, Professor Sprout’s Devil’s Snare, Professor Flitwick’s enchanted flying keys, Professor McGonagall’s massive chessboard, Quirrell’s troll, and Professor Snape’s logic-based potions puzzle.

Each barrier was daunting, meant to give intruders quite a challenge.

But to Bruce, these obstacles were hardly insurmountable.

The next room was filled with flying keys, one of which would unlock the door to the next level.

Bruce’s solution was simple.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

At his spell, all the keys froze in midair. Hopping onto a broom nearby, he swiftly plucked the right one.

He then made his way to the life-sized chessboard.

If Ron could win this game, so could Bruce.

He moved across the board and advanced to the next challenge—Quirrell’s troll.

Except, Quirrell had already handled it himself. The troll lay sprawled on the floor, unconscious, with a massive, bloody lump on its head.

Bruce walked past the troll without a second glance.

In the following room, a wall of magical flames blocked his path. To pass through, he had to solve a logic puzzle and drink the correct potion.

A tough task for most wizards.

But for Bruce?

Child’s play.

—

After navigating through the challenges, Bruce finally reached the final chamber.

At the center of the room stood a massive mirror—the Mirror of Erised.

And in front of it, exactly as Bruce had expected, stood Quirrell.

“Quirrell!” Bruce strode forward in his Batman costume. “Your days of doing Dumbledore’s dirty work are over. Hand over the Philosopher’s Stone!”

Quirrell turned slowly, his eyes narrowing as he took in the strange figure before him.

“Bruce Wayne?”

Bruce was stunned. “How did you know?”

He thought his disguise was perfect.

Quirrell smirked. “Your owl, of course!” He pointed to Kathoom. “You’ve been with him so long, you must’ve forgotten he’s even there.”

Bruce turned to glare at Kathoom.

“How is this my fault?” Kathoom protested. “You want me to wear a mask too?”

“All right, enough chatter.”

Bruce held out his hand, his voice cold. “Quirrell, give me the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“You want this?”

Quirrell’s hand rose, revealing a blood-red crystal glittering between his fingers.

Kathoom’s eyes widened in alarm.

How had Quirrell gotten the Philosopher’s Stone?

“Dumbledore thought he’d hidden it so cleverly.”

Quirrell sneered. “Only someone who wanted to find the Stone but had no intention of using it could retrieve it from the mirror. Ironic, isn’t it? If I hadn’t already found something better, I might not have managed it.”

“What are you talking about?” Bruce was baffled.

What did he mean by Dumbledore’s protection?

Weren’t Quirrell and Dumbledore on the same side?

“Speechless?” Kathoom sighed.

He’d imagined this scene countless times, rehearsing how he’d mock Bruce when the truth hit him.

But now that it had actually happened, he didn’t feel much like mocking.

Because Bruce was already sinking into profound self-doubt.

“Dumbledore’s… a good guy?” Bruce murmured, struggling to accept it. “But my reasoning—it all made sense…”

“Because you weren’t reasoning, Bruce. You were trying to prove yourself right.”

Kathoom explained gently. “You found clues only to confirm the answer you wanted. That’s the danger of tunnel vision.

“But it’s all right. You’re young, and you’re learning. Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Kathoom turned to Quirrell.

He suspected that Jason had played a hand in corrupting Quirrell. And now it seemed Bruce wouldn’t be able to handle this crisis alone.

“What’s the matter?” Quirrell taunted. “What happened to all that bravado? You’re well-protected, I’ll admit—I counted seventeen protective spells on you. I can’t touch you… yet.

“But no matter. You aren’t my target, anyway. Someone else will handle you.

“My true target is Dumbledore.

“And today, he will die.”

Quirrell raised the Stone, and in his hand, it shattered into dust.

“I don’t need this anymore.”

He vanished from the room, the entrance sealing behind him as though alive, trapping Bruce underground.

“Kathoom—”

Bruce sank to the floor, curling up, his head bowed as he fought back tears.

His confidence had been utterly shattered.

“I’m useless, aren’t I?”

His voice trembled, the tears evident. “I thought my reasoning was flawless. I thought I was prepared. I thought I could get the Stone easily…”

He’d even dressed up as Batman. Now, he felt like a clown.