A/N: Readers familiar with my other works might be accustomed to the nearly epic-length nature of the three-part Jasmine Potter series, and even the Witches of SHIELD series is quite detailed and complex. This is not like those other stories. There won't be dozens of intricately-woven plot threads this time; this is a relatively short, ten-chapter story that's intended to be lighthearted and fast-paced. This means lots of potential plot points and interactions will never get touched upon.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does. I don't own Batman, DC does.

Recommendation: This chapter's recommended fic is "Harry and Harley" by Rihaan. HP/DC crossover. In progress. Harry Potter accidentally winds up in an alternate world that is populated by superheroes rather than by magicals. He decides to make himself at home until he finds a way back — and moves in with Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn. Gotham City will never be the same...

Italics: a person's thoughts.

Chapter 02 - Arrival in London Town

Early November, 1994.

"So, you can really see it?" Bruce asked dubiously as he looked up and down the storefronts across the street.

"It's right there, plain as day," I insisted, anxious to get moving and finally set foot in Britain's magical community. We'd actually flown in the day before, but Bruce wanted to check in with Superintendent Watson at Ireland Yard first. The two were old friends, and Watson had evidently been instrumental in expediting my transfer to Bruce's guardianship (plus some other things which Bruce always refused to discuss). As a result, I'd had to wait a full day to come here. It hadn't been easy, and I suspected that Bruce did it in part to force me to practice patience — never my strong suit.

Well, enough of that. I decided to get things moving by grabbing his and Dick's hands. This caused both of them to gasp slightly in surprise as the Leaky Cauldron shimmered into view across the street.

"Holy mother of Merlin, it's just like magic!" Dick exclaimed.

"I'm not sure about this," Bruce said slowly. "There are strict licensing laws in this country. You are much too young to be entering an establishment that specializes in serving alcohol... and I'm even less sure you should be entering any establishment that looks like that. At least," he added in an undertone, "not without your full gear." I could see what he meant. The Leaky Cauldron looked as seedy and rundown as the worst of Gotham's dives — places we go to hunt, not to socialize.

"Maybe it's not so bad on the inside?" Dick suggested. "Maybe it only looks like that because they don't actually have to attract muggle customers on this side, so they don't need to make it look nice?"

"Perhaps, but that's really no excuse," Bruce insisted. "I don't let you walk around the house without regard for your hygiene and appearance just because you don't have to go out in public for the day. It's not about looking good for others, it's about self-respect."

"Gosh, I suppose you're right, Bruce. It says that they don't really respect themselves enough to take any care in how they look. From now on, I'm going to spend extra time on my hair in the morning."

"Time very well spent, old chum," Bruce said as I fought desperately not to roll my eyes. Dick already spent way more time on his hair than I did.

"Look, it really doesn't matter, does it?" I said. I couldn't believe that he was balking at this now, at the very last minute. "This is the only way to enter the magical shopping area from muggle London, so unless we plan on flying right back to Gotham and taking our chances with me losing my magic, this is the way we have to go." I looked up at him, my eyes pleading for him to not take this away from me, not when we were so close... and not because of a rundown facade!

"Very well, I suppose forward is the path we have set for ourselves," Bruce conceded. He then put one hand on my shoulder and continued, "Now remember, before crossing the street, be sure to—"

"Look both ways, I know, I know." This time, I did roll my eyes. I was fourteen, not four! How long would it be before he'd finally treat me like an adult?

"No, actually, I was going to say that you should look the opposite way from what you usually do," Bruce said, almost sounding hurt. "Here in merry old England, they drive on the other side of the road, so the cars will be coming from the opposite direction of what you're used to. I wouldn't ever want you to get hurt, but especially not now, when you're so close to starting something I know you've dreamt about."

I winced, feeling like a jerk now. "Sorry," I mumbled. How did he know I'd dreamed about being magical, though? I'd barely even admitted it to myself.

Shoving those thoughts aside, I carefully looked both ways — being sure to look the wrong way first — before the three of us crossed over to the pub which Dumbledore had told us about.

Upon entering the dark and dingy pub, I realized just how wrong Dick had been in his attempt to make excuses for how it looked on the outside — if anything, the inside was even worse.

"This isn't so bad at all," Bruce observed at my side.

I just stared at him.

"No, really," he insisted. "It's very quaint and rustic. It has an old-world charm that you simply can't find in such establishments back home. I admit, it's a bit dark in here, but it doesn't have the layers of accumulated grease and dirt that I feared from the outside."

I wrinkled my nose as I looked around, trying to see whatever it was Bruce saw in the place, but I just couldn't do it. I don't mind dark places; I don't even mind dangerous places. But that's where I go when I work at night, not during the day when I want a bite to eat.

While doing that, I caught a glimpse of someone signaling us and quickly recognized Professor McGonagall, looking just as stiff and stern as she had back at stately Wayne Manor. I'd originally assumed that her demeanor had been due to my situation, but now I was wondering if she was always like that.

McGonagall was standing on the far side of the bar with someone who looked to be my age in witch's garb and two adults who were dressed in normal clothing. As we walked over, I focused on the girl. She had bushy brown hair, was about my height and age, and was biting her bottom lip with overly large front teeth. It was obvious she was nervous about something, but for some reason the first word that popped into my mind was "adorable."

I had no time to think about that, though, because Professor McGonagall was already introducing them as Hermione Granger, a witch in my year, and her parents, Craig and Emma Granger, who were dentists from Crawley. Hermione had volunteered to accompany me to provide a peer's perspective on any questions I might have, while her parents were there to do the same for Bruce.

I offered my hand to Hermione, half expecting the tentative, clammy handshake you so often get with nervous people, but her answering grip was warm. And... tingly. A prickle like an electric current ran up my arm and down my spine, almost making me shiver. Judging by the way she stiffened slightly, it seemed like she might have felt it, too.

"Are you really from Gotham?" Hermione asked a bit timidly while the others all introduced themselves.

"Uh, yeah," I replied, trying to smile a bit. "I can't remember living anywhere else, actually." My friendly response seemed to give her confidence, and the more she talked, the stronger her voice became.

"It's so disappointing that they couldn't find you! I mean, you weren't even deliberately hiding, were you?"

"No, I was out in public a lot, using my birth name." We hadn't sought out any contact with America's magical community, but we hadn't gone out of our way to hide from it, either. I didn't go into detail, though, because we wanted them to think that none of us had known about magic until a few days ago.

"Well, I'm really glad that you have a chance to go to Hogwarts now... but it's awful that you've only been found so you can be forced into this horrible tournament!" Hermione continued, sounding quite outraged. "I researched all about it, you know, in Triwizard Tournaments: A History. In the last tournament, a manticore got loose during the first task, killing all of the competitors, all the judges, and over a hundred spectators! That's why they put an end to them! You'd have to be suicidal to enter this, which is why I'm sure you didn't do it, despite what some people are saying. And then, in the tournament before the last one..."

I had been heartened at first by her expression of support, but that quickly transformed into a cold knot in the pit of my stomach at her litany of horrors.

"Hermione!" her mother chided her. "I doubt Amy wants to hear all that. Remember you said you were going to work on not overwhelming people with information?"

"Sorry, I just... wanted to be helpful," the girl mumbled, shifting quickly back to timid as she visibly withdrew in on herself. I forced myself to smile, appreciating the sentiment, even if the way she'd handled it was... distressing. She was the first witch my age I'd ever met, and I was very much hoping that we could be friends. She was nervous — anybody could make a mistake, right?

She tried again. "Uh, have you ever seen, you know, Batman and Robin?"

"A couple of times," I answered vaguely, surprised at the question.

"Wow!" she exclaimed while her parents chuckled. "That's amazing! I've always wished I could meet them."

"Hermione here has been a fan of Batman and Robin ever since she was little," Mr. Granger said as he put his hand on her shoulder.

"Though recently I think someone else has taken over as her personal hero," her mother added with a knowing smile.

"Mum!" Hermione hissed as her cheeks started going pink.

"Oh?" I asked. Who could possibly be more admirable than Bruce and Dick? Suddenly I wasn't so sure about being friends after all.

"Yes, that new masked hero in Gotham," Mrs. Granger continued. "Batgirl, I think? We've only seen news reports about her for the past year or so."

My brain froze briefly as I tried to process that. Me?

"Hermione finds her quite inspirational," Mr. Granger said cheerfully. "I certainly can't deny that her feats are impressive, especially for someone of her apparent age."

"Muuum! Daaad!" Hermione groaned, this time hiding her face in her hands. I managed to keep smiling, but inside my stomach did a flip-flop at the idea that she found me inspirational... well, not me-me, but Batgirl-me. Still — I had fans!

But did I want fans? Or more specifically, did I want to be going to school with them? It wasn't something I had ever considered, and I wasn't sure I was comfortable with it.

"Masked hero?" McGonagall asked.

"Yes, they put on masks and go after criminals," Mr. Granger explained.

"Oh, my," McGonagall responded. "That sounds... dangerous."

"And a bit kooky, if you ask me," Bruce interjected. "I mean, anyone who puts on a costume and goes looking to brawl with criminals has to have serious psychological issues, not unlike the masked criminals they're always seen fighting."

"That's not true!" Hermione objected hotly, seemingly emboldened by her desire to defend her heroes. "They're all great people, and Batgirl in particular! It takes a special sort of person to stand side-by-side with veteran crimefighters, battling evil villains who are so much bigger and stronger than her!"

I may not have known what to think about fangirls, but praise like that was going to go to my head if she kept it up.

"Well, I don't suppose that matters very much, since they are all so far away," McGonagall said, obviously trying to forestall any arguments. "Are you ready to begin your shopping for Hogwarts, Miss Potter?"

"Absolutely!"

"To the alley!" Bruce exclaimed, nearly making both Dick and me snort in amusement.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley, the main shopping area for Britain's wizarding community," McGonagall announced once we were through the strangely moving wall. It was an amazing place, and now I thought I could see the "quaintness" and "old-world" charm that Bruce had been talking about back in the pub. The architecture looked like something out of a Dickens novel, and I could just about imagine how every community must have looked similar, once upon a time.

"Ah, commerce," Bruce said dramatically as he sniffed the air. "The romance, the excitement of monetary exchanges. Why, it's the very heart and soul of any great society."

"Indeed it is," McGonagall said with an approving nod while I simply looked confused. I turned, hoping to find support from another girl my age, only to see Hermione nodding and smiling as well. I felt like taking back what I had thought earlier before coming to Britain: witches and wizards are even weirder than citizens of Gotham.

"Speaking of which," McGonagall continued, "we should go to Gringotts Bank."

"I brought plenty of traveller's checks," Bruce started to say, but McGonagall shook her head.

"I'm afraid the stores here only take wizarding money — gold, silver, and bronze coins minted by the goblins who run the bank. They may exchange your... travelling checks for gold, but Miss Potter has a vault of coins left to her by her parents, and she needs to officially claim that anyway." As we walked down the alley, I was torn between listening to McGonagall explain the goblins and the wizarding economy on the one hand, and trying to absorb all the sights, sounds, and smells around us on the other.

I don't think I managed to do either justice, because I kept finding myself glancing at Hermione, who seemed to be drinking in McGonagall's impromptu lecture as if she'd never heard any of it before. I couldn't help but wonder why such basic information hadn't been given to her and her parents long ago.

"I'm never going to get a Gringotts vault," Hermione swore as she stumbled down the steps out of the bank. "Never, never, never!" I could see Dick smirking at her, and I was tempted to join him since I had enjoyed the cart ride as much as he had — it was almost as exciting as Batman's flying.

But Dick wasn't the one who would suffer a lifetime of bad service from the goblins because of Hermione throwing up on the cart driver — a cart driver who also happened to be the branch manager, no less.

He had evidently decided to take care of us personally (but anonymously) because he was interested in learning more about both the Potter heir and the current head of Wayne Enterprises. We didn't know that at first, obviously, but the truth came out when his guards made themselves known in the wake of Hermione's projectile vomiting.

I'd never been so embarrassed in all my life — and that's saying something, given who I live with. (I mean, just look at some of the stuff Bruce says sometimes!) Fortunately for me, the opportunity to do business with someone as rich as Bruce Wayne ensured that everyone kept their heads — literally and figuratively. In the end, while the elder Grangers were comforting their sick daughter, Bruce talked privately with the manager and promised to return to discuss investments. That would allow me to return without fear. Embarrassment, but no fear.

"I'm so sorry about that," Mrs. Granger said to us. "If we'd had any idea that the trip would be like that..."

"We've only ever just exchanged pounds for galleons at the teller windows," Mr. Granger explained.

"Think nothing of it," Bruce insisted. "Not everyone is well-suited to that level of excitement."

"Maybe if we strapped her in for a few more rides, it would desensitize her," Dick suggested helpfully.

When I saw Hermione turn ominously green at the idea, I said hastily, "I don't think she'll let you do it that easy."

"Easily," both Hermione and Bruce said simultaneously.

They looked at each other for a moment before Hermione continued, "Good grammar is essential, Amaryllis."

"It's Amy," I retorted, starting to get annoyed with her.

"Indeed it is, Hermione," Bruce said, completely ignoring me. "Good grammar is the foundation of language and effective communication, without which we will surely never realize the dream of the eventual brotherhood of man."

Hermione smiled smugly as I looked back and forth between her and Bruce, trying to process the fact that there were two of them in the world. Two! And worse yet, I was probably going to be around this witch a lot at Hogwarts.

"We mustn't tarry," McGonagall cut in briskly. "There is still much to do and buy."

For the most part, magical shopping was pretty much like muggle shopping. The products were different — space-expanded trunks with multiple compartments instead of Gucci handbags, and frog spleen instead of caviar — but the basic shopping experience was the same.

At least it was until we got to the most unusual and wizarding-specific product, the magical wand. Ollivander, the gaunt old wandmaker, was so creepy that he reminded me of Jonathan Crane, and I was tempted to ask him if he had any relatives by that name in America. Judging by the reactions of Hermione and McGonagall, though, I had a feeling that his behavior was normal for him.

"I've been waiting for you to enter my domain, Miss Potter," he said in a voice that made me want to look at my feet for a trap door. "I was so disappointed when you didn't show up three years ago..." He used a magical measuring tape to get all sorts of measurements from my dominant hand, then walked into the back of his store, only to return moments later with a long, thin box. "Here — cherry, nine and a quarter inches, with a dragon heartstring core." I just looked at him as I held the piece of wood in my hands.

"Well, give it a wave," he said a bit impatiently, so I whipped the wand in the air. Immediately, dozens of boxes went flying violently off the shelves, and Ollivander almost leapt over the counter to pull the wand out of my hand.

"No, no, not that one," he muttered before returning to the depths of his stock to find another.

"Here," he said upon his return a few moments later. "Banyan tree, twelve inches, with a hippogriff feather core." I waved this one a bit more cautiously, and suddenly everyone's clothes were switched — except mine. Personally, I thought Bruce looked rather fetching in Mrs. Granger's yellow dress, but there was much grumbling before Ollivander could set things right again.

"Maybe this one... Rubber tree, ten and three-quarters inches. It's core is the heartstring of a magical, spotted hyena." An even more cautious wave from me gave everyone clown makeup. Bruce and Dick were definitely looking a bit grim before Ollivander could fix them.

Sorry! I mouthed.

"Quite the tricky customer," I could hear Ollivander muttering from deeper in his shop. "Hmm... I wonder..." he continued as he returned. "It would be ironic if you were destined for this wand when its brother gave you that..." He trailed off as he looked in bewilderment at my bare forehead. "Oh, well, not this one, then," he finished, tossing it aside.

It was several minutes before he came back once again, this time with a very old box. "I've only ever used this wood the one time because no one has ever been a match for this wand."

He pulled the wand out very carefully, almost lovingly. "Evergreen magnolia, also known as the bat tree. Eleven inches with a ruddock feather core."

Gingerly I accepted the wand from the creepy wizard, and with a look around to make sure that everyone else had braced themselves, I gave it a slow wave. Instead of the expected disaster, like turning everyone into toads, I felt a warm rush through my body as multi-colored sparks streamed from the wand tip. It was the most incredible thing I'd ever experienced.

Hearing about magic was cool. Watching magic being done for the first time was amazing. But actually doing magic myself? Feeling an active connection to my own magic? There are no words... except perhaps to say that I felt truly complete and whole for the first time ever.

The flash of lightning and crack of thunder outside, despite it being a clear day, was a bit more ominous — was someone trying to tell me something? Well, no time to worry about it now — we needed to be moving on. The others seemed to agree, as everyone studiously ignored what had happened outside and Bruce paid for my wand before McGonagall quickly ushered us back out into the street.

"The only thing left is a pet, if you wish to bring one," McGonagall said after checking her list.

"A pet?" I asked, looking to Bruce for guidance.

"It's fine with me," he said with a shrug. "We can all learn a great deal from the close companionship of an animal."

"Last year, I got a cat," Hermione piped up. "Well, technically he's part cat and part kneazle, which is a magical species of cat. He's been a great companion."

"There are magical species of regular animals?" I asked. "I mean, I sort of expected there to be magical animals, just not magical versions of normal ones."

"There are, though not of everything, Miss Potter," the professor said, handing me the Hogwarts shopping list which said that we could bring a owl, a cat, or a toad.

I didn't know if I really wanted to take a pet — I already had quite a lot on my plate this year, thank you very much — but it was worth a look, so we all trooped off to Magical Menagerie. Bruce and Dick went immediately to the owls, seeing them as a valuable tool for communication within the magical community, while I just wandered around to see what caught my eye, if anything.

Soon I realized that I could hear someone or something speaking — but in an extremely high-pitched voice, like nothing I'd ever heard before.

"I'm hungry. When are they going to feed me?"

"Hello?" I called out. "Who is that?"

"Oh, it's just another stupid pink-skin. I want food!"

"Hey — who are you calling stupid?" I asked, starting to get a bit miffed.

"You can understand? You can speak?"

"Well, obviously," I said. "And I've been speaking for years."

"No one here has ever spoken to me before."

I softened a bit at that. "Sorry to hear that — that's pretty rude," I said. "But where are you?"

"In the corner, up high."

I went over to where I heard the squeaky voice and looked up, only to gaze into two of the cutest, blackest eyes I've ever seen.

"Ah, I've see you've encountered our vledermus," came a deep voice from behind me, causing me to jump slightly. I silently berated myself for not having been more aware of my surroundings. Normally no one would be able to sneak up on me — well, no one but Bruce or Dick — but for some reason, I'd been totally entranced by the squeaky voice.

"A what?" I asked, now trying to split my attention between him and the eyes in the corner.

"A vledermus," the large man said. "It's a magical species of bat, similar to fruit bats. They are about the size of a small Asian fruit bat and can have a wingspan up to about two feet, though they are carnivorous like smaller bats."

"He's... he's beautiful," I said in wonder.

"Indeed he is, and quite rare, too," the man said. "Very few witches and wizards are interested in bats, though, at least in Britain, so he's the only one I have. And he's been here for a while, too."

That settled it. "I'll take him."

"Excellent! I'll even throw in a cage and some supplies, since I've had so much trouble finding a companion for him."

"Great, thanks," I said absently, not really listening. I reached out and let the little guy crawl onto my arm. In just a few seconds, he was snuggled against my neck, buried in my red hair.

That's how Bruce and Dick met him — black eyes peering out through my hair — when I found them amongst the owls a couple of minutes later.

"I thought we'd get this snowy owl," Bruce said, gesturing to the bird on Dick's shoulder, beating him about the head with its wings and trying to eat his ear. "She's evidently been here for a while — very picky, for some reason, but she seems to tolerate us quite well."

"Yeah, I can tell," I observed dryly.

"Keep working on your bird calls, Dick," Bruce said to him. "If more people practiced them, we might one day be able to really communicate with our fine feathered friends."

"I'll... ow! I'll work on it!"

"And then maybe you can find something she wants to eat more than your ear," he added.

"Good idea!" Dick said fervently.

"Now... what exactly is that in your hair?" Bruce asked when he turned back to me.

"A magical bat," I answered. When Bruce raised a questioning eyebrow, I added. "He's cute. And I can understand him."

"Really?"

The bat squeaked, and I translated, "Yes, and Igor says that you're much too skeptical for your own good."

"Igor?"

"Yes, it's a perfect name. He likes it."

Bruce just slowly shook his head, but he didn't try to dissuade me.

Hermione was another story entirely.

"You can't get a bat!" she insisted. "Bats aren't on the list of approved animals for Hogwarts."

"I don't care," I said, wondering what happened to the timid witch I'd met earlier and annoyed that she was trying to separate the two of us. For some reason, I felt very attached to him already. "Igor likes me. He says you need to lighten up, though."

"What? He does not! You can't understand him!" Hermione objected.

"Sure I can. Can't you understand your cat?" I asked.

"Part-kneazle," she corrected. "And no, I can't understand him. Why would I?"

"Maybe because you're both magical?"

"Is there a problem here, Miss Potter?" McGonagall asked as she walked up.

"Ama... I mean, Amy wants to bring a bat to Hogwarts, but she can't, of course," Hermione said quickly. "It's not on the list of approved animals."

As McGonagall looked intently at my right shoulder where Igor was clinging to my hair, I realized that maybe Hermione's problem was that she was too much a stickler for the rules. Bruce tends to be a stickler, too, but at least he understands that sometimes there are exceptions.

Well, regardless, I wasn't going to let her separate me from Igor. The very thought was making me feel queasy, and I thought I'd do just about anything to protect him. Hermione wasn't a professor, so what right did she have to make such pronouncements?

"Is that a vledermus, Miss Potter?" McGonagall asked. "Those are quite unusual. I don't think I've ever seen one before."

"He's the only one here," I told the professor. "I found Igor because I could understand what he was saying."

"Did you really?" she asked, a bit surprised. "If you can understand the sounds he's making, it must be that you're starting a familiar bond — and so quickly, too!"

I frowned. "Actually, I'm not familiar with it at all — this is all still pretty new to me," I pointed out.

She blinked at me in confusion for a moment, then her expression cleared. "Ah, no — it's a magical bond between a witch or wizard and the magical animal they've taken as a companion, also known as a familiar," McGonagall explained. "They're not exactly rare, but they aren't common, either, especially at your age. For whatever reason, you and... Igor, is it? You and Igor must be very much in sync for such a bond to start so quickly. Normally you'd need special permission to bring a vledermus to Hogwarts, but with a familiar bond already forming, permission is automatic."

I grinned smugly at Hermione, who simply huffed and crossed her arms, clearly upset at not being right for a change. I no longer cared why I thought she was adorable when I first saw her — at that point, I was sure she was way more annoying than she was worth.

By the time we left Magical Menagerie with a snowy owl, a vledermus, and all the necessary supplies both animals required, we'd spent far longer in there than anyone had anticipated — long enough to be tracked down by the press, apparently. I wasn't entirely surprised that someone approached me, to be honest: the more time we'd spent shopping, the more people seemed to recognize me and start staring. I'm not unaccustomed to being looked at — being the ward of Bruce Wayne has always garnered me a certain amount of attention — but there was something about the looks I was getting from wizards and witches that was far more unnerving than the ones I've ever gotten in Gotham, Metropolis, or anywhere else.

And it wasn't too hard to figure out why. Elsewhere, I was just the ward of a very wealthy man; here, I was apparently viewed as some sort of savior — a savior who'd gone missing, no less. I definitely got the impression that they expected something from me, though I couldn't for the life of me figure out what.

Bruce, Dick, Alfred, and I had debated how to handle something like this, but unfortunately we hadn't come up with anything useful — nothing beyond me just grinning and bearing it, at least.

"Miss Potter? Miss Potter? I'm Rita Skeeter, reporter for the Daily Prophet. Would you have time for an interview?"

A woman who reminded me a bit of Poison Ivy had bustled up and was now waiting expectantly, brandishing some sort of green feather at me. Oh, yeah — they write with quills, I reminded myself. The magical world was going to take a lot of getting used to.

For a moment, I thought I heard Hermione growling beside me, but Bruce quickly handed the cage containing his new snowy owl over to Dick and stepped in to charm the annoying-sounding woman with his dazzling smile. "Excuse me, I'm Bruce Wayne, Amy's guardian. If you wish to conduct any interviews, it really should be with me first."

She pulled down her glasses slightly and eyed him up and down. "Well, now," she purred, "I'd love to do you — er, I mean, talk to you. So you raised the Girl Who Lived? Where has she been? What has she been doing?"

"Miss Skeeter, please," Bruce said, holding up his hands in surrender. "We've just spent a long day shopping, and we're all very tired. Perhaps this would be better done in a day or two, once we've settled into our new house in Hogsmeade." He then reached into a pocket and pulled out a card. "Here's our new address. Why don't you stop by tomorrow afternoon so we can talk over some tea?"

"That would be lovely!" she gushed, plucking the card from his fingers. "I'll definitely be there." She walked away, though not without a lingering — and somewhat predatory — backward glance.

"You handled that well," Mrs. Granger observed.

"She's a horrid person!" Hermione said. "She writes awful, awful things about people. You really shouldn't talk to her at all."

"Oh, I'm sure she isn't that bad," Bruce said. "It's not easy being a reporter, forced to create exciting stories out of plain, ordinary people like Amy, Dick, and me. We really should try to be more understanding of the terrible pressures that reporters must work under."

This time, Hermione joined me in looking at Bruce like he was crazy, but that didn't make me any happier with her — maybe I wasn't being fair, but I was still pretty upset at her attempt to separate me from Igor. As luck would have it, I had to sit next to her when we all went back to the Leaky Cauldron for dinner, but I tried to ignore her while Bruce and Dick talked to the elder Grangers, and for the most part she kept pretty quiet.

"Are you really moving to Hogsmeade?" Mr. Granger asked. "I thought it was an all-magical community."

"Oh, yes," Bruce said. "With Amy forced to participate in this horrible tournament, Dick and I insisted that we be allowed to live close by so we could actively support her."

"I can't imagine what I'd do if our daughter were in the same situation," Mrs. Granger said. "You must have been going crazy ever since you found out. It would be tough for anyone, I'm sure."

"Well, we're not just anyone," Bruce assured the Grangers.

"When will you be moving in?" McGonagall asked.

"Alfred is already there, setting things up," Dick answered. "We'll sleep there tonight, in fact."

"Alfred?" Mr. Granger asked.

"Our butler," Bruce supplied. "He's a distant relation of Amy's and how she came to be a part of our family."

"Butler?" Hermione asked softly. "Butler! You're... you're that Bruce Wayne!" I was frankly surprised that she was only just then figuring that out, but then I remembered that she'd been out of the muggle world for most of the past three years, so maybe she'd lost touch with some things.

"I'm not aware of any other," Bruce said with a charming smile.

"Oh!" Mrs. Granger gasped. "Wayne Enterprises? So that's why the goblin was so interested in talking to you! I never expected someone like you to be here..."

"Multi-billionaires put on their hand-made cashmere socks one at a time, just like everyone else," Bruce assured her.

"Will you still be able to run your businesses while you're here?" Mr. Granger asked curiously. "I know we wouldn't be able to just pick up and leave our practice for an extended period of time."

"Lucius Fox will take care of the day-to-day operations, and I'll be in contact with the Board of Directors if they need me," Bruce said. "This isn't actually my first time visiting your great nation. Dick and I came here to London once on, uh... business. But that was a few years ago. As for Dick and Amy here, they won't be neglecting their studies. We brought along more than a thousand key works of literature, biological specimens, and other materials necessary for a well-rounded education."

"I expect to study pretty hard while I'm here," Dick put in.

"You're keeping up with muggle education, too, in addition to your classes at Hogwarts?" Mrs. Granger asked me.

"Sure," I answered. "I need to study magic for this tournament, but that doesn't mean I'll just drop everything else — math, physics, literature, biology. There's a lot I'm studying and need to keep current with."

"I wish I could do that," Hermione said under her breath, sounding a bit disgruntled.

"We've always been disappointed that Hogwarts doesn't teach mundane subjects alongside magic," Mrs. Granger said.

"Ensuring that Amy would be able to keep up with non-magical studies was another of the conditions we insisted on before allowing her to come," Bruce said. "We wouldn't permit them to lock her in a remote castle and keep her isolated from the rest of the world — that just didn't make any sense to us."

"There's quite a lot about the magical world that doesn't make any sense," Mr. Granger said with a bit of a growl, ignoring the way McGonagall went even stiffer than usual. The two elder Grangers proceeded to regale us with stories about problems they'd experienced with the magical world, including a surprising amount of bigotry, much to the consternation of McGonagall and the embarrassment of Hermione.

McGonagall's reaction I understood, since it was her culture and community which was being criticized — accurate or not, that sort of thing just makes people defensive. Hermione's reaction was more perplexing, but just as I started trying to puzzle it out, I remembered that I was supposed to be ignoring her.

Once dinner was over, McGonagall handed us a portkey that took us to Hogsmeade, dropping us not too far from the house Bruce had purchased. Although I didn't land quite as gracefully as the guys, I thought the portkey ride was almost as much fun as the cart ride — and as a bonus, we didn't have to deal with the goblins to get it!

Our new home-away-from-home wasn't nearly as large as stately Wayne Manor, but it turned out to be quite a bit bigger on the inside than it was on the outside, surprising all of us. In the library, where Alfred had already unpacked all the books, he showed us a bust of Merlin. Flipping back the head revealed a rune which needed to be pressed to open a hidden room — but it only worked for those whose blood had been keyed into the rune, which Alfred promptly helped us to do.

"Did you take care of all this, Alfred?" I asked. I hadn't thought that a squib could do this sort of thing, or at least that was the impression he'd always given me when talking about magic.

"Not at all," he answered. "One of my old mates from my days in the army is a muggle whose sister is a witch, and she came over to handle all of this. She even took a magical vow to not reveal anything."

"Excellent work, Alfred!" Bruce declared.

"Thank you, sir."

"Have you learned anything more since you arrived?"

"Yes, sir, quite a bit, though I'm afraid it's almost all in the realm of rumor rather than hard facts."

"No matter, there's often more truth in rumors whispered in the dark than there is in the headlines shouted from the street corner," Bruce responded, making me wonder again why he was so eager to talk to that reporter. Before I could ask, though, Alfred was already serving tea and sitting down to tell us what he knew.

Rumors whispered in the dark was right: the stories he recounted about what had allegedly been happening at Hogwarts over the past couple of years were more the stuff of ghost stories and nightmares than the goings-on at any decent school. I wasn't sure whether to believe them or not, but Bruce insisted on at least taking them seriously. Usually he was all about facts rather than speculation, but this was one time when he said that keeping an open mind might be more valuable.

Still, giant snakes and soul-sucking demons were quite a bit more than I ever thought I'd be facing, even as a masked crime fighter.

We should have gone to bed early instead of staying up late into the night talking strategy, but I don't think any of us would have been able to sleep anyway.

Can Amy Potter learn magic fast enough to survive in this deadly tournament? How will the witches and wizards of Hogwarts react to the arrival of their long-absent savior? Tune in next week — same Bat-Time! Same Bat-Channel!