Godfather Owl: Guardian of Batman [30]

“That’s pretty much everything.”

Inside Hogwarts’ Great Hall, Hermione held the owl, recounting the events from Potions class to Bruce.

Since learning that Hermione didn’t have many friends in Gryffindor, Bruce had decided to join her for evening study sessions after class.

“So how’s Harry doing now?” Bruce asked.

“He’s back to normal,” Hermione replied. “Ron’s taking him around the school right now, trying to track down the Weasley twins. Apparently, everyone thinks they’re behind the prank.”

No, not them.

Bruce glanced at the owl nestled in Hermione’s arms. Here was the real mastermind.

Kathoom sat on her shoulder, looking extremely pleased, as if the entire debacle in Potions class had been a performance staged for his own entertainment.

“What are you staring at?” Kathoom huffed. “We’re not done here, you know! Apologize to me now, and I might forgive you.”

Bruce rolled his eyes, choosing to ignore the owl, and instead asked Hermione a pressing question.

“And what about afterward? I mean… now that Harry’s back to normal, do you think Snape will treat him the same way?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione admitted. “But Harry’s absolutely thrilled with Snape right now. He’s already looking forward to his next Potions class.”

“Well, good luck to him.”

With that, Bruce brushed off the whole ordeal. Since no one seemed particularly traumatized, and Harry himself seemed to find it amusing in hindsight, Bruce saw no need to expose the truth.

Study time soon came to an end.

“It’s getting late. You should probably head back and get some rest.”

Bruce packed away his books, ready to return to the Hufflepuff common room. Kathoom leaped from Hermione’s arms onto Bruce’s head, where they both resumed their silent treatment of each other.

Hermione sighed, a little disappointed. She’d fed Kathoom so many treats that day, only for him to leave without even looking back. She made a mental note that next time, she’d raise an owl from scratch.

“Alright, see you tomorrow!”

—

Just as Bruce turned a corner, almost at the common room entrance, a shadow blocked his path.

It was Snape.

“Good evening, Wayne.” Snape’s voice dripped with his usual sinister charm. “I didn’t expect to run into you here.”

Then his eyes landed on Kathoom perched atop Bruce’s head, and for a brief moment, his mouth twitched as though suppressing a smile, though he quickly regained his composure.

Bruce kept his thoughts to himself. So, he just happened to bump into him outside the Hufflepuff common room? Right.

“Have you finished your paper on Polyjuice Potion?” Snape asked coolly.

Bruce frowned. “Professor, I recall the deadline is next Monday, and it’s only Friday.”

“I’m aware.”

Snape’s tone was icy. “But I’d like to see it now. Is that a problem?”

Why? You don’t think you’ll make it to Monday?

Bruce held back his sarcasm, instead replying, “Yes, I’ve completed it, Professor.”

It was just a paper, after all. The main event was supposed to be Monday, when he’d give Snape a taste of his modified Polyjuice Potion.

He took the essay from his bag and handed it to Snape.

Snape scanned the paper rapidly, then let out a derisive snort. “Just as I thought.”

Thought what?

Snape lifted his gaze, his dark eyes scrutinizing Bruce. “Wayne, the potion that turned Harry into a girl earlier today—that was your handiwork, wasn’t it?”

It wasn’t me!

Bruce was thoroughly exasperated. The real culprit was right here, sitting smugly on his head. But he couldn’t just blurt that out. Who would believe his owl was a potion-brewing mastermind?

In any case, Bruce wasn’t surprised that Snape suspected him. The modified gender-changing potion was based on Snape’s own original formula for the Polyjuice Potion. Once he examined Harry, he would likely have recognized the potion’s origins.

Snape, being the proud potion master he was, would naturally think of Bruce as the only other “genius” capable of such an innovation. Besides, Bruce had been studying Polyjuice Potion for his paper, which likely didn’t help his case.

“Professor, I—”

Bruce started to explain, but Snape cut him off.

“I don’t care about the details,” Snape muttered. “Rewrite your paper, and this time, include the recipe for that potion. I’ll even consider adding fifty points to Hufflepuff.”

With that, Snape turned and swept away, his robes billowing behind him.

Bruce stood there, a little dazed. Was it really so hard for Snape to figure out this potion himself?

“He’s probably just being cautious,” Kathoom muttered from Bruce’s head. “He doesn’t want to risk making the potion himself only to have Harry turn into a brunette by accident.”

Bruce gave him a curious look. “Why would Snape care whether Harry has red hair?”

“That’s none of your business,” Kathoom replied, quickly shifting the subject. “So, are you going to hand over the formula? That’s fifty points, you know.”

“I suppose so. It’s not like the formula is that valuable,” Bruce shrugged. “The students in Hufflepuff have been nice to me. Winning the House Cup would be a nice way to thank them.”

“House Cup?” Kathoom scoffed. “Don’t get your hopes up. Gryffindor’s winning this year. That’s already decided.”

No matter how many points Bruce racked up, Dumbledore would likely find some excuse to put Gryffindor back in the lead.

“What? There’s favoritism in Hogwarts?” Bruce’s brow furrowed.

“Oh, don’t be so serious,” Kathoom waved it off. “The House Cup is purely symbolic anyway. Make up your own ‘Hufflepuff Champion’ title if it’ll make you feel better.”

Bruce shook his head, nearly dislodging Kathoom in the process, and continued into the Hufflepuff common room.

“Are you still mad about that prank?” Kathoom’s voice held a hint of contrition. “Alright, alright. I’ve done some thinking too. Maybe I should apologize. So, here it is: You were wrong, and I forgive you.”

Bruce barely managed to stifle a laugh.

Kathoom seemed to think an apology could just erase everything? Where did he learn that logic?

Bruce was on the verge of calling Kathoom out when, just as he entered the common room, a voice suddenly called out to him.

“Are you a student of Hufflepuff?”

Bruce spun around, his heart pounding. The common room was empty.

Who was speaking?!

Every hair on his arms stood up as he scanned the room, and finally, his eyes landed on something chilling: the portrait of Lady Helga Hufflepuff, which had always been stationary, was now staring directly at him.

Lady Hufflepuff’s expression was unmistakably anxious, yet far beyond mere worry.

It was raw, bone-deep terror.

“Find your Headmaster!” she gasped, her voice trembling. “The end of Hogwarts is near! From beginning to end, from yesterday to tomorrow, three Dark Lords’ shadows will cover this castle entirely!”