Godfather Owl: Guardian of Batman [25]

Bruce met Snape’s gaze unflinchingly.

Why not look away?

Because he wasn’t afraid.

Kathoom had mentioned it more than once—Bruce drew strength from his fear. And it was no joke.

Having faced the terror of his parents’ murder, Bruce had long decided that nothing else in this world could possibly unsettle him more than that.

And surely, he thought, a professor was hardly something to cower before.

The proud young Batman would never lower his head.

Neither, it seemed, would the self-proclaimed Demon King standing on Bruce’s desk. With wings akimbo, Kathoom stared Snape down as if daring him to try his worst.

After all, it wasn’t as though Snape had any reason to target a harmless-looking owl.

“Wayne.”

Sure enough, Snape called Bruce’s name.

Like a sudden peal of thunder, every student turned their eyes to Bruce.

“How does one obtain sap from the slumber bean?”

This particular potion ingredient was covered in the first-year potions book. And the correct answer, which involved slicing the slumber bean, was in the latter part of the text—a small trap for an unsuspecting student.

Snape lifted his head, clearly relishing the opportunity for Bruce to make a fool of himself.

And Bruce, to his own surprise, found himself hesitating as his thoughts drifted back to three hours earlier.

—

“Bruce, wake up!”

It was far too early in the morning, and the rustling sound of flipping pages soon filled his ears. A solid thump landed square on Bruce’s face, nearly jarring him from sleep.

“What the—”

Halfway into a reflexive curse, Bruce opened his eyes, only to see the clock.

Six o’clock.

Normally, Bruce’s disciplined schedule had him up early, but this was a solid half-hour off his usual time, and he was still groggy. Peering down, he saw the book Kathoom had tossed at him.

Or what was left of a book, anyway.

The pages looked barely held together, as if one careless turn would reduce it to dust. And from the looks of things, Kathoom’s careless toss hadn’t done it any favors.

Moreover, the book’s previous owner had scrawled notes all over it, blackening almost every margin.

“What is this—a Potions textbook?” Bruce asked, managing to identify it after a few pages.

“Yup! First-year edition, no less.” Kathoom looked quite proud. “And not just first-year—I managed to find you a complete set, from first year all the way to NEWTs.”

“It’s old and covered in scribbles.” Bruce shook his head, though he continued to flip through it.

Then, halfway in, he was hooked.

He looked up only after a good ten minutes, his expression changed.

“This book’s owner was a genius!” Bruce muttered in excitement. “Their notes are brilliant—some of their methods align with mine, and there are even a few that hadn’t occurred to me.”

“Of course,” Kathoom said, clearly pleased. “But there’s no need to compare. Whoever owned this book probably grew up with magic, unlike you.”

“No, that’s not it!” Bruce replied quickly. “This feels like getting inside the mind of a peer. It’s like a conversation with a fellow prodigy—a rare opportunity.”

Then he remembered something.

“Wait. A book filled with notes like these…must have been precious to someone. How exactly did you find it?”

“Oh, that’s nothing!”

Kathoom grinned, clearly waiting for this question. “The castle is full of owls who are now working for me. I’ve got eyes everywhere; a mere textbook is no challenge.”

While Bruce didn’t know how much was bragging versus truth, he had to admit Kathoom had done him a favor.

And the value of this book was simply immeasurable. Bruce had to know more about its former owner.

He flipped through to the back and found a line written in tiny, cramped letters at the bottom of the cover page:

This book is the property of the Half-Blood Prince.

—

Now, back in Potions class, as Snape’s question hung in the air, Bruce found himself weighing two answers. The standard, textbook response—and an unconventional method suggested by none other than the Half-Blood Prince.

Which one to give?

“Wayne,” Snape sneered as he waited, clearly expecting an embarrassing pause.

The silence was filled with the faint rustling of pages, as other students frantically skimmed their books, hoping not to be Snape’s next target.

Sitting next to Bruce, Justin Finch-Fletchley finally found the answer, mouthing it to Bruce just as Snape’s sharp glance sent him shrinking back into his seat.

“It seems,” Snape began, “that we have a student here who neither respects his professor nor cares to respect the subject…”

“You should use the flat side of a silver knife to press out the sap.”

Bruce’s response cut through the murmur of the classroom, startling everyone.

There was a collective intake of breath. Was he wrong?

Justin looked ready to bury his head in his arms, as though Bruce was about to face utter annihilation.

Yet, even as the seconds ticked on, Snape’s expected criticism did not come.

Instead, Snape, who was standing stock-still at the front of the class, seemed thrown entirely off-balance.

“Professor?” Bruce asked, his tone polite. “Is there something incorrect about my answer?”

Justin nearly groaned. Was Bruce trying to provoke Snape?

“Wayne.” Snape’s voice finally broke the silence, his tone measured. “Where exactly did you come across that method?”

“I thought it up myself,” Bruce replied smoothly, showing no sign of revealing his source. “Was my answer wrong, Professor?”

“It’s… not wrong. It’s entirely correct…” Snape stumbled slightly, muttering “correct, correct” to himself, seemingly caught in a private inner turmoil.

Ordinarily, Snape could easily dock points from a student for any deviation from the textbook, especially a first-year. But this time, he hesitated.

At long last, he looked Bruce dead in the eye.

“Any student who thought of using a knife blade to press out sap…well, let’s just say such creativity is rare indeed. Five points to Hufflepuff.”

The entire class froze. Some students pinched themselves, wondering if they’d somehow fallen into a dream.

Wasn’t Snape the professor infamous for never awarding points outside of Slytherin? And now, he’d given Hufflepuff five points?

Bruce alone had the faintest inkling of what might have happened.

He wasted no time, telepathically probing the smug owl still perched on his desk.

“Kathoom, tell me the truth…is Snape the Half-Blood Prince?”

—

T/N: HE FIGURED IT OUT ALREADY!