Godfather Owl: Guardian of Batman [98]

Lockhart’s attack had far more impact than Snape’s.

In just a few days, rumors had transformed him into a saint.

“Professor Lockhart sacrificed himself for us!”

A young witch cried, “He ventured out alone to confront the Heir of Ravenclaw, hoping to solve the school’s crisis!

“He wanted to bear all the danger on his own, just like all his other daring adventures!”

As she finished, another witch rose, slamming the table.

“We must avenge Professor Lockhart!” she declared, “We’re all he has left now!”

“Revenge! Revenge!”

In the midst of a group of overly impassioned young witches, Kathoom stood out like a sore thumb.

He raised one wing, clenched into a tiny fist.

“Fight, fight, fight! For Professor Lockhart!”

The owl squawked. “I am ablaze with the desire to face the Heir of Slytherin in battle! I’m no mere owl—I am a war hawk!”

Unfortunately, the young witches couldn’t understand a word he was saying.

If Lockhart were to witness this scene, he would surely be deeply moved.

His saintly reputation was partly thanks to Professor McGonagall, who confirmed that even while unconscious, Lockhart had maintained a heroic stance.

Of course, it had actually been set by Kathoom.

Bruce thought that if Lockhart ever woke up, he’d owe Kathoom a solid debt of gratitude.

—

“Aw, Bruce! Training again? Take a break, why don’t you?”

Kathoom, having stirred up the crowd, flew back to Bruce’s side.

Ever since learning there was an enemy lurking within Hogwarts, young Batman had doubled his training.

Red Comet, the Shield Charm, the Vanishing Spell, Transfiguration…

He ran through each spell he’d learned, determined not to falter in a critical moment.

If he had one weak spot, it was the Patronus Charm.

That spell had eluded him—he’d yet to cast it successfully.

“Kathoom, you’d better be preparing yourself, too.”

Bruce didn’t stop practicing as he spoke. “The enemy could show up at any moment.”

And that enemy was something he’d been longing to uncover.

But each time he tried to pinpoint their identity, a mental fog descended, clouding his thoughts.

Bruce suspected he might have been cursed.

“I’m always prepared,” Kathoom replied, tapping the thorny crown on his head.

“Though, if I’m honest, I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

The owl continued, “Think about it, Bruce—since Cornelius Fudge confirmed he’d attend the séance, more outsiders have arrived at Hogwarts.

“No kidding—this is the fullest the castle’s been all year.

“If someone wanted to cause a commotion or pull off something big, today would be the perfect time.”

“That’s out of my hands now.”

Bruce replied, “The séance is starting soon, and with Dumbledore and so many others around, if something goes wrong, there’s not much more I could do.”

Speaking of the séance—

“Bruce, even Harry got to attend, but they’re still not letting you join?” Kathoom asked.

“What am I supposed to do?”

Bruce shook his head. “I already told Dumbledore about my ‘deep connection’ with Lockhart, hoping he’d bring me along.

“But he still refused!”

“Come on.”

Kathoom rolled his eyes. “When have you ever backed down over someone saying ‘no’? Hurry up and figure something out, or I’ll just go alone!”

Bruce clicked his tongue, then pulled out a two-way mirror.

“Joining the séance may be impossible, but we can still watch.”

Bruce said, “I gave Harry the other mirror so he can broadcast the scene to us.”

“Oh, you sly devil. This is why I stick around with you!”

Kathoom ruffled his feathers and pulled out a stash of snacks. “Alright, let’s sit back and enjoy the show!”

—

In the Gryffindor common room, Harry was preparing to leave for the hospital wing.

Ron tried to reassure him, “Don’t worry, Snape will be alright.”

He said it with only a small pang of honesty.

Snape was always kind to Harry, but he had no such sympathy for Ron.

In fact, whenever Snape saw Ron and Harry together, he took it as an opportunity to make snide remarks.

And he never passed up a chance to target Ron in class.

When he’d first heard Snape was attacked, Ron did, admittedly, have a fleeting moment of hope that Snape wouldn’t recover.

He wouldn’t mind if the man was, well, out of the picture.

But seeing how downcast Harry was, Ron couldn’t hold onto the thought for long.

So, all in all, it was better for Snape to pull through.

Otherwise, Harry’s “murderer of mentors” reputation might actually stick.

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry said, adjusting the mirror-badge Bruce had clipped onto his chest.

“I trust Dumbledore—he’ll save Professor Snape!”

Ron nodded. “Also, don’t forget to tell Dumbledore my theory. Finding the Chamber of Ravenclaw is key too!”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione hadn’t been idle lately.

They’d spent hours scouring records about secret chambers, hoping to find something useful.

But their efforts had been in vain. No matter how many books they went through, there was no record of any legend about a Chamber of Ravenclaw.

There was one for Slytherin, but that wasn’t the point.

So Ron put forth his own theory—

“Maybe there never was a Chamber of Ravenclaw at all!” he’d said. “It could be a new room created by the culprit, a place they’re hiding in.”

Hermione didn’t agree, but she couldn’t come up with any evidence to dispute it.

Harry promised to pass Ron’s message on to Dumbledore.

With that, he headed off to the hospital wing.

—

When Harry arrived, he found the room already packed with people.

Dumbledore was there, along with Professors Gale, McGonagall, Minister Fudge…

And a few other professors he didn’t recognize, like a bejeweled woman wearing glasses and a shawl that shimmered.

He later learned her name was Professor Trelawney, the Divination teacher.

“Ah, Harry, you’re here.”

Dumbledore greeted him with a warm smile. “Find a place and make yourself comfortable.”

Harry wore Bruce’s two-way mirror disguised as a silver badge on his chest.

Outwardly, it looked like a silver emblem rather than a mirror, so Bruce and Kathoom’s faces wouldn’t appear on the other end.

Of course, a little trick like this wouldn’t slip past Dumbledore.

After all, he’d taught Bruce the finer points of advanced Transfiguration.

But Dumbledore only glanced at the badge and said nothing.

Once everyone had gathered, Fudge impatiently blurted, “Can we start now, Dumbledore?”

“I know you’re eager, Cornelius, but hold your horses.”

Dumbledore took out the diary, which now bore even more pronounced burn marks.

Fudge frowned. “Dumbledore, what happened to the diary? Last time I saw it, it wasn’t this scorched. Don’t tell me you’ve been setting fire to it for fun?”

He didn’t actually care about the diary; his concern was about the overall visual presentation.

When the reporters took photos, he’d be holding this diary for posterity.

If it looked singed beyond recognition, it might imply that the ritual had been grueling, casting doubt on his “heroic” image.

“Of course not, Cornelius,” Dumbledore replied calmly. “Do I strike you as the type to play with fire?”

Fudge chuckled nervously, unsure how to respond.

Professor Gale began preparations, shutting all doors and windows, then piling up herbs and aromatic spices.

“A word of caution,” Gale said icily. “Whatever you see, don’t panic. Even if the smoke forms the most terrifying Dark wizard, it’s not real.”

“No worries, we’re not scared,” Fudge said confidently. “With Dumbledore here, not even Voldemort himself could lay a hand on us.”

Gale’s mouth twitched in mild annoyance.

Voldemort wasn’t even who he was talking about.

Just then, Trelawney, whom Harry found slightly eccentric, pulled out a deck of tarot cards and announced—

“Let me divine our chances of success for this séance!”

She drew a card but hadn’t flipped it over when Professor McGonagall reached out and stopped her.

“Sybill, let’s not,” McGonagall said. “If the cards show bad omens, are we really going to back out now?”

Her message was clear.

They were too close to back down over something as trivial as a fortune reading.

Trelawney opened her mouth, wanting to explain, but McGonagall gave her no chance and simply shoved the tarot card back into the deck.

Without so much as a glance at it.

Professor Trelawney muttered under her breath.

She wanted to shout out loud.

Minerva, are you serious? Is it that you don’t trust Divination, or you don’t trust me?

I’ve got tricks to guarantee a perfect fortune!

Trelawney was utterly disappointed; this would have been her grand entrance, bound to be widely reported.

All ruined by McGonagall.

But no one paid her any mind, as the séance had officially begun.

As the herbs and spices ignited, a faint haze filled the room.

The smoke wasn’t overpowering; it actually smelled rather pleasant, and no one felt uncomfortable.

Slowly, the smoke coalesced in front of them, forming a screen-like surface.

Dumbledore opened the diary, and immediately, a line of text appeared.

“I’m ready, Professor Dumbledore.”

It was still Tom Riddle’s soul. After a few “friendly conversations” with Dumbledore, he’d become quite compliant.

No more attempts at manipulation.

Dumbledore tapped the diary with his wand.

The ink seemed to spread across the page, creating an image, which was mirrored in the smoke.

Everyone raised their heads, eyes fixed on the screen as shadowy figures began to take shape.

First came the outline, then clarity, and finally, they saw him—the figure was Snape.

Harry’s eyes shone as he gazed at his still-living professor!

Everyone focused on the smoke, eager to see what would happen next.

And then, from within the smoke, they heard a sound—a baby’s cry.