Godfather Owl: Guardian of Batman [50]

Back to the present.

When Bruce arrived at the Great Hall, it was already full.

The hall was decorated brightly, with the banners of the four Hogwarts houses drifting overhead.

In the original story, only Slytherin’s green and silver colors would be displayed at this time, as they had won the House Cup.

But given the current circumstances, it felt strange to celebrate Slytherin when its founder had returned, casting a shadow over Hogwarts.

So Dumbledore broke with tradition and decorated with all four houses’ colors.

Moments later, Dumbledore entered, and the chatter quieted.

“Another year has come and gone!” he announced cheerfully. “What a remarkable year it’s been—one that has filled your minds with more than a few new thoughts, I’m sure. And now, the entire summer holiday awaits you…”

There was no trace of the burden he bore in his words or manner.

He continued on, smiling as he addressed the students.

“Now, let us turn to the House Cup award ceremony. The scores for each house are as follows: In fourth place, Gryffindor with 342 points; third place, Hufflepuff with 402 points; Ravenclaw with 426 points; and Slytherin, in the lead with 462 points.”

Bruce and Kathoom’s presence had caused the scores to shift, but inevitably, Slytherin still came out on top.

The Slytherin table erupted with cheers and foot-stomping.

Across the hall, at the Hufflepuff table, Kathoom was slumping, defeated. “Do we really have to sit through all this before we eat?”

His stomach was practically growling.

He needed food, immediately.

“Just wait,” Bruce muttered, watching Dumbledore with a hint of guilt.

It was Bruce’s mistake to have mistrusted him so blindly.

Dumbledore was on their side, Bruce realized, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that the headmaster could easily become a Dark Lord if he ever chose to.

“Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin,” Dumbledore’s voice carried on from the podium. “However, recent events must also be taken into account.”

The hall went utterly silent, and the Slytherins’ smiles faded a bit.

“It’s happening,” Kathoom muttered, half-interested. “Dumbledore’s about to find a way to award points to Gryffindor.”

And honestly, it was deserved. Their founder had personally fought to protect Hogwarts—how could he not be rewarded?

“As you all know, not long ago, Hogwarts faced… certain challenges. Professor Quirrell nearly placed us all in great danger.”

Through his half-moon spectacles, Dumbledore gazed at the quieted students below. “But in those critical moments, one student, through courage, wisdom, integrity, and conviction, passed through each professor’s challenges and stood in Quirrell’s way.

“For that, I have decided to award one hundred points—to Mr. Bruce Wayne!”

If someone had been standing just outside the hall at that moment, they might have thought an explosion had gone off, as the cheers from the Hufflepuff table roared loud enough to shake the enchanted ceiling.

With the extra hundred points, Hufflepuff had claimed the House Cup!

Bruce was immediately swept up by the crowd, with everyone eager to hug this small bat.

It was an experience like no other, and Bruce was utterly at a loss.

Kathoom fared no better; students who couldn’t get to Bruce turned their attention to the owl, tossing him high into the air in celebration.

“You’re all insane!” he squawked, flapping his wings as he tried to make a quick exit.

Caught up in the cheers, Bruce looked back to Dumbledore on the podium and found the headmaster smiling at him.

“Bruce.”

Dumbledore’s quiet voice slipped into Bruce’s ear. “Stop by my office after the feast, won’t you?”

In the midst of all the excitement, Hufflepuff’s triumph marked the close of the year-end feast.

—

Bruce made his way to Dumbledore’s office, Kathoom perched on his shoulder, round and full from his meal.

At the entrance, the familiar stone gargoyle waited. Bruce uttered the password: “Sherbet lemon.”

The statue turned, and Bruce climbed the stairs, knocking on the door as Dumbledore’s voice called out, “Come in!”

Bruce opened the door.

“Ah! Bruce, welcome!”

Dumbledore was seated behind his desk, a warm smile on his face. “Please, take a seat, just like last time.”

As Bruce sat down, a cup of hot cocoa appeared before him.

The owl gave a soft, approving hum.

“Professor,” Bruce began, “did you want to speak with me about something?”

Dumbledore paused, then replied, “Yes, Bruce—I wanted to apologize to you.”

“Apologize?”

“Yes, apologize.” Dumbledore sighed. “There was a time when I had unfounded suspicions about you, which was deeply inappropriate for a headmaster.”

His voice softened. “Bruce, I sincerely apologize. I hope you can forgive an old man’s mistakes.”

Bruce thought it over, and after a moment, nodded. “It’s fine, Professor. It’s all in the past now.”

Dumbledore’s expression softened, relieved.

“Thank you, Bruce. Your heart is truly a rare thing.”

He traced a gesture in the air, and a small package appeared on the desk.

“What’s this?” Bruce asked.

“A gift of apology.” Dumbledore smiled. “Go on, open it.”

Bruce unwrapped the package to reveal a sleek, black cloak that felt both soft and smooth to the touch.

“It’s woven from Thestral hair,” Dumbledore explained. “Thestrals are remarkable creatures—they can fly, become invisible, and they have a strong resistance to Dark magic.

“This cloak carries all of those properties: flight, invisibility, and protection against curses.

“I thought such a gift would be perfect for a young wizard with a love for adventure.”

There was, in fact, more Dumbledore hadn’t said.

Thestral hair held potent magic, but only those who had faced death could truly wield it.

The core of the Elder Wand was, after all, a Thestral tail hair.

Bruce was both astonished and hesitant. “This is… incredible, Professor. I’m not sure I can accept such a gift.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Take it, Bruce. In light of all you’ve done, it’s only a modest reward.”

“I haven’t really done anything, though,” Bruce said, puzzled.

“You’ll understand someday, Bruce, but not yet.”

Dumbledore gave a knowing smile.

There was no need to tell Bruce everything he’d uncovered just yet.

The headmaster had seen through Bruce’s attempt to disguise himself in his search for the Philosopher’s Stone.

Though the attempt had failed—Quirrell had recognized him immediately—it wasn’t the disguise itself that intrigued Dumbledore.

What caught his attention was that the figure of “Batman,” who appeared later, shared a costume identical to Bruce’s.

That was when Dumbledore began to piece it all together.

Bruce was an orphan. His father had died, though rumors claimed he was a wealthy American. Despite extensive investigation, no further clues about his family had turned up.

The answer was practically laid out before him.

Bruce’s father had faked his death. His true identity was the mysterious Batman!

Once Dumbledore had grasped that, Batman’s sudden appearance at Hogwarts made perfect sense.

The father had come to protect his son.

“You looked after Hogwarts,” Dumbledore mused silently, “so I’ll look after your boy.”

With that thought, he passed the cloak to Bruce.

“Oh, and,” Dumbledore added, “remember when I mentioned learning a few things from me? That offer still stands.”

—

T/N: L M A O anyway time to pay the tax to read more def, plez im broke i need money for a new lambo