The feast wrapped up swiftly. After Dumbledore reviewed a few ground rules and the whole school sang the school song, each house’s prefects led the new students toward their common rooms.
The Hufflepuff common room was one of the most secure in Hogwarts, equipped with a deterrent charm to ward off any unauthorized intruders.
The entrance lay down the corridor to the right of the kitchens, hidden among a row of large barrels.
“Alright, everyone, make sure you remember this rhythm!” called Gabriel Truman, the Hufflepuff prefect, as he demonstrated.
“To enter, tap the second barrel in the middle of the second row to the rhythm of ‘Helga Hufflepuff.’ The lid will rotate open, and voilà, the entrance will appear. Easy, right?”
No passwords, no riddles.
Bruce offered his critique with a nod. “Interesting way to enter.”
In fact, it sparked ideas. Someday, he thought, when he designed his own secret base back in Gotham, he’d like to install a system like this. Perhaps a hidden passageway at Wayne Manor that opened only when the right melody was played on a piano.
“Now, remember to get the rhythm right,” Truman continued, emphasizing each word. “If you tap the wrong barrel, hit the wrong rhythm, or use the wrong number of taps, another barrel will open instead, dousing you in vinegar.”
He demonstrated again at a slower pace, opening the passageway and leading everyone through.
The Hufflepuff common room was simple yet cozy, filled with soft armchairs and the gentle aroma of herbs. A painting on the wall depicted a cheerful, slightly plump woman with red hair holding a golden cup.
“That’s Helga Hufflepuff,” Truman explained. “One of Hogwarts’ four founders.”
“Why doesn’t the painting move?” asked a curious student.
“Good question,” Truman replied, frowning. “It used to, until recently. I’ll have to report this.”
It wasn’t unusual for magical portraits to move less frequently over time, especially as the magic powering them faded. Once, Helga’s portrait had been able to chat with students and even teach some basic spells. But those days were long past.
“Right,” Truman said. “Girls, follow me, and I’ll show you to your dormitories. Boys, wait here.”
The boys eventually followed Truman to their own dorm, where their luggage had already been placed beside each bed. The late hour found Bruce lying in bed, its yellow velvet canopy framing the darkened room. Beside him, Kathoom perched on his pillow.
“Miss Gotham yet?” the owl asked.
“Don’t ask silly questions.”
Bruce sat up slightly, knowing their telepathic link meant they wouldn’t wake their sleeping roommates.
“Well, we finally saw Dumbledore in person today,” Bruce mused, recalling the imposing figure with the white beard. “Just as the books said—unfathomable.”
“What do you think of him?” Kathoom asked.
“Honestly? He’s terrifying,” Bruce replied, falling into thought. “They say he’s one of the most powerful wizards of our time, respected by countless followers. But who holds him accountable? If he ever decided to turn on people, who would be able to stop him?”
Kathoom chuckled. “You really don’t trust anyone, do you?”
“I’m not distrustful without reason,” Bruce said, voice low. “If someone like that existed in Gotham, I’d never sleep soundly again.”
“So what, planning a Batman vs. Dumbledore showdown?”
“No,” Bruce replied, shaking his head. “But I need to understand his weaknesses, just in case.”
And there it was: Bruce’s natural inclination to consider every contingency. Kathoom suspected that if Bruce ever found himself in the Warhammer universe, he’d probably try to dethrone the Emperor just for the sake of keeping a close eye on him.
“Relax,” Kathoom said, breaking the silence. “There’s no need to worry about Dumbledore. He’ll take care of himself.”
As a spectator with all the answers, Kathoom felt obligated to steer Bruce back to his actual goals. They weren’t here to save or reshape the wizarding world—they were here to grow stronger.
“Dumbledore won’t be an issue. Focus on your real problem—Jason Todd.”
Bruce paused, surprised to hear the name. “Jason? It’s been ages since I last heard anything about him. He came after me so fiercely back then, but after that… nothing.”
Bruce had nearly convinced himself Jason had abandoned his vendetta.
“He’s your protégé, remember? He won’t fight without a plan.”
Kathoom continued, “Today, I overheard some professors discussing him. It seems he’s been hunting down certain magical artifacts, possibly to give himself an edge over the wizarding world. Unlike you, he doesn’t abide by a no-kill rule.”
Bruce frowned. “And you’re looking forward to that?”
“Oh, definitely.” Kathoom’s voice held a touch of glee. “I’d love to see a little ‘Gotham-style shock and awe’ shake up this stagnant magical society.”
—
As a first-year Hufflepuff, Bruce’s classes were primarily with Ravenclaws.
His first day’s schedule included double Potions in the morning, followed by Herbology and History of Magic in the afternoon.
Potions class was held in a chilly dungeon. The walls were lined with glass jars containing preserved animal parts, some of which sent shivers down the spines of the first-year Hufflepuffs.
Their professor, Severus Snape, was a tall, gaunt figure with greasy black hair and a hooked nose. His eyes were cold, almost lifeless.
“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” Snape began, launching directly into his lesson without a word of introduction or pleasantries. He had a habit of speaking in a flat, cold tone that gave even the most attentive students a reason to avert their gaze.
“Since this is a subject that requires no silly wand-waving, many of you will doubt it has any connection to magic at all,” he continued, letting his gaze sweep over the students, who immediately lowered their eyes, unwilling to meet his glare.
Only Bruce held his head high, sitting straight, meeting Snape’s icy stare without fear.
Snape’s brow creased slightly as he continued.
“I do not expect you to truly understand the delicate beauty of simmering cauldrons with their shimmering fumes, or the soft power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind and ensnaring the senses…
“I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper on death—”
“But only if you’re not the dunderheads I usually have to teach.”
With these words, Snape’s dark eyes bore into Bruce, as if silently challenging this fearless student who dared to stare back.
—
T/N: A batman with potions oh dear
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