Godfather Owl: Guardian of Batman [81]

In stark contrast to his usual grandiose facade, Lockhart’s teaching remained as abysmal as ever.

His idea of “Dark Arts education” involved releasing a bunch of Cornish Pixies into the classroom and having students deal with them. With the little creatures causing havoc all around, Lockhart was helpless—until Bruce finally stepped in to put an end to the chaos.

“Bravo! I remember your name—Wayne, right?”

With his hair in disarray, Lockhart praised Bruce after the last of the pixies had been captured.

“Splendid performance! You’ve got a bit of my flair. Ten points to Hufflepuff for your efforts.”

—

After Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Bruce’s suspicions were confirmed.

“Following Lockhart is a complete waste of time!”

He told Kathoom, “You said he could teach me about crafting an image, but without power to back it up, an image is just a hollow shell.

“Dumbledore must be losing his touch if he’s letting any charlatan teach here!”

Mentioning Dumbledore made Bruce recall their arrangement from the previous school year.

They had agreed that he would learn a few things from Dumbledore each week.

If Lockhart was no help, perhaps he’d go spend some time with the old headmaster.

With this in mind, Bruce headed to the headmaster’s office after his Herbology class that afternoon.

The grotesque stone gargoyle still stood guard, though the password had changed for the second year.

Evidently, Dumbledore had foreseen Bruce’s arrival, leaving a clue with a nearby portrait.

“Lemon sherbet!”

When Bruce entered the headmaster’s office, Dumbledore was already there, waiting.

“Oh, Bruce, I was just thinking it’s about time you’d come.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “Waiting for you reminded me of when I first started teaching at Hogwarts.”

“Headmaster.”

Bruce greeted him, unsure of what to say next.

“No need to be so formal. Feel free to take a seat whenever you visit.”

Dumbledore motioned Bruce to sit, then continued, “I’ve prepared a few lessons for you, ones I’m confident will be worth your while.”

Bruce took a seat and listened as Dumbledore elaborated.

“Before I became headmaster, I taught Transfiguration, a subject in which I have some confidence.”

Through his half-moon spectacles, Dumbledore looked at Bruce steadily.

“Bruce, would you be interested in becoming an Animagus?”

An Animagus is a wizard who can transform into an animal at will.

For example, Professor McGonagall could transform into a cat.

After a moment’s thought, Bruce asked, “Could I transform into something like Gryffindor’s giant squid?”

“Well, not exactly,” Dumbledore said with a shake of his head. “Mr. Gryffindor’s transformation is into a magical creature—technically, he would be considered a Mythomagus.

“Such magic is far more complex, and as far as we know, only Gryffindor has ever mastered it.”

“As far as we know?” Bruce felt as though Dumbledore knew more than he let on.

Even if Dumbledore wasn’t a Mythomagus himself, he must be close.

Bruce nodded, letting the matter drop. Progressing too quickly often led to setbacks, and to become a Mythomagus, one must first master the basics.

“For your second lesson, I’ve chosen an incantation called the Patronus Charm,” Dumbledore explained. “It’s one of the oldest and most powerful defensive spells, capable of dispelling malevolence and manifesting as a protector.

“There are also mysteries surrounding it we’ve yet to uncover.”

Dumbledore then gestured for Bruce to choose which lesson to begin with.

After a moment’s thought, Bruce answered, “I’d like to start with the Patronus Charm, Headmaster.”

“A wise choice!” Dumbledore praised. “In that case, we’ll begin this Sunday. I’m quite curious to see what form your Patronus will take.”

Probably a bat, Bruce mused.

After they settled on a schedule, Bruce left the headmaster’s office.

Despite everything, Bruce wasn’t entirely satisfied with the visit.

“What I want to learn is offensive magic, like that famous move of Dumbledore’s, Fiendfyre,” he muttered to Kathoom. “But it seems he’s only interested in teaching me about transformations and defense.”

What good would that do?

Bruce thought back to his encounter with Deathstroke.

He hadn’t been able to get through his opponent’s defenses; if only he had known a powerful enough spell, the fight wouldn’t have been so one-sided.

Becoming an Animagus or learning the Patronus Charm didn’t seem like it would turn the tides in future battles.

“Don’t get too fixated on one approach, Bruce,” Kathoom replied. “Spells and magic, no matter their kind, are all about how you use them.”

And with that, Kathoom fell silent.

Bruce had a certain flaw; although he was highly intelligent and had a sharp sense of logic, his imagination was somewhat lacking.

Kathoom remembered, in the comics, when Batman donned the Yellow Lantern ring, a ring that made imagination into reality.

Yet, all he could summon were a few mundane bats, with no creativity to his attacks.

“Though, I do understand your desire for powerful spells,” Kathoom said after a moment. “In fact, I have a plan in mind—one that’ll leave Dumbledore gobsmacked!”

“Really?” Bruce perked up. Kathoom truly had his best interests at heart.

Kathoom was, of course, looking out for him.

Whatever Bruce learned, Kathoom would reap tenfold in return.

This gave the owl even more motivation than Bruce himself.

As they headed toward the steps leading to the Great Hall, Bruce suddenly heard an odd sound.

It was as if someone was speaking right beside his ear—a man and a woman, talking, laughing.

But the moment he tried to focus, the voices vanished.

“What’s wrong, Bruce?”

Noticing something amiss, Kathoom took on an uncharacteristically serious tone. “Why are you crying!?”

“Huh?”

Bruce touched his face and found two streams of tears, already trickling down unknowingly.

He was crying!

“I don’t know!” Bruce’s voice wavered. “I just… I heard voices just now, voices that felt familiar. I’ve heard them before, but the moment I tried to place them, my thoughts felt veiled, like they were behind a curtain.”

Voices?

Kathoom frowned. Hearing voices in one’s second year—that was supposed to be Harry Potter’s story.

And those voices belonged to the Basilisk; but the creature had been killed by Dumbledore after Slytherin had left last year.

Its body had already been removed.

Just then, a shrill scream echoed in the distance.

Bruce and Kathoom exchanged a glance and sprinted toward the sound.

By the time they arrived, a crowd had already gathered, making it impossible to see through.

But one thing was clear—the writing on the wall:

“The Chamber of Ravenclaw has been opened.”

—

T/N: THERES A RAVENCLAW CHAMBER???