Sufficiently Advanced Technology…
…is indistinguishable from magic. – Arthur C. Clarke
CHAPTER 3 – Self-Discovery
Tim blinked at the sudden light that washed over his face as Ron Weasley yanked back the curtains on his four-poster bed.
"C'mon, sleepyhead, you'll miss breakfast," said Ron cheerfully, as Tim sat up in bed. He remembered now. After dinner the previous evening, his new house- and year-mates – the five other Griffindor sixth-year boys – had escorted him up moving staircases and through an opening guarded by a portrait of a large woman in a pink gown. The image had moved and spoken to them, acting very suspicious before it would allow them through. This, at least, Tim did not find unusual. It was very similar to Oracle's security in the Clocktower of Gotham City. The students escorted Tim through a common room and up to the dormitory he was apparently to share with them. At least, his name was on the door, and there was a bed for him in the chamber.
Looking around, Tim saw that he, Ron, and Harry Potter were the only ones now present in the room. Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnegan, and Dean Thomas had apparently already left for the Great Hall and food.
Tim climbed out of bed and went in search of his clothes. He didn't really want to wear the same clothes from the day before, but he didn't have much choice.
"What're you looking for?" Harry asked, after several seconds of watching Tim hunt.
"My clothes," Tim replied briefly.
"Try the trunk at the foot of your bed," was the helpful suggestion.
Trunk. What would his clothes be doing in a trunk this morning, when he had draped them over a chair last night? But since the clothes weren't anywhere in sight, Tim figured it couldn't hurt.
Sure enough, there they were. The really startling part, however, was that they had been cleaned and neatly folded. Even his sneakers were clean – and Tim hadn't thought that was possible.
"Who does the laundry around here, anyway?" Tim asked as he quickly dressed.
"House elves."
"How's what?"
"We'll take you to meet them later," Ron promised. "Right now, I'm hungry. Let's go already!"
Tim got another surprise at breakfast, when he heard what sounded like a rush of wind overhead. He looked up just in time to duck as a large horde of birds swept low over his head. After a moment, he realized that they were all owls. Like so much else in this place, this struck him as odd, since owls were not known for flying either in flocks or in the daytime, but he didn't have time to ponder it. A brown owl landed in front of his plate, and hooted as best it could around a scroll held in its beak. Speechless, Tim stared at the owl.
"Well, take it," Harry urged. Fearing for his fingers, Tim tentatively reached out and carefully took hold of the scroll. The owl let go, hooted again, and took off. Tim looked at Harry, who made unrolling motions. Tim opened the scroll to find a note summoning him to Professor Dumbledore's office immediately after breakfast. He looked at Harry again.
"I'm supposed to report to the Headmaster's office right now," he said. "How do I get there?"
"Doesn't the note say?" asked Harry.
Tim looked at the note again. "It just says 'Follow the arrow'."
"So follow the arrow."
Tim looked so confused that Harry took pity on him.
"Stand up and face the door."
Tim did so.
"Now look at the note."
Tim looked, and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. The decorative arrow at the top of the note, which had been pointing to the left, was now pointing straight ahead.
"Ooookaaaay."
Tim walked down the hall. As he walked out the door, he watched the arrow rotate like a compass needle, until it was pointing to the staircase. He continued to follow the arrow, and eventually found himself facing a stone gargoyle.
"Now what?" he said, not really sure if he expected an answer or not. He looked at the note again, and saw that the arrow had vanished. In its place were two words: Parrot Pastry. A password?
Tim sighed. Feeling rather foolish, he looked at the gargoyle and loudly said, "Parrot Pastry." Immediately the gargoyle moved and the wall opened to reveal a staircase spiraling slowly upward. Tim put a foot on the lowest step, just as if he were getting on an escalator, and was carried upward to a closed door. He lifted the brass griffin which served as a knocker, and dropped it. Instead of the loud 'clunk' he expected, there was a delicate musical chime. It was followed by a voice inviting him to enter.
He walked into the large office behind the door. He paid little attention to the many wondrous objects scattered throughout the room, as he was more interested in the man behind the desk. Professor Dumbledore rose to greet him, motioning him to take a seat.
"Well, Mr. Drake, you were not exactly what I was expecting when I cast Professionalus Supportus. Of course, I am not sure exactly what I was expecting. However, I believe you will do quite nicely. Yes, quite nicely, indeed."
Tim took a deep breath.
"Headmaster, I believe you may have me confused with someone else. My coming here was purely accidental."
"Are you not an investigator of crimes which baffle the ordinary authorities?"
"Yes, but–"
"Are you not skilled in reading meaning from the smallest pieces of evidence?"
"Yes, but–"
"Do you not have a large body of knowledge to rely upon?"
"Yes, but–"
"Are you not tireless in your pursuit of wrongdoers?"
"Yes, but–"
"Is it not your mission to protect innocents from evil?"
"Yes, but–"
"Do you not bring the offenders to justice?"
"Yes, but–"
"Well, then – you are exactly what I requested!"
Tim looked at the calmly smiling Headmaster. He tried again.
"But Headmaster – I don't belong here. I'm not even a wizard!"
"Yes, Mr. Drake, you are, in fact, a wizard."
"Uhh…I am?"
"You are."
Tim buried his face in his hands. Things were getting worse by the minute. He looked up as Dumbledore began to speak again.
"You could not have passed through the barrier at King's Cross Station if you were not a wizard, Mr. Drake. There are very few wizarding schools in America, and not all wizards in that country are invited to receive formal magical education. Especially, I regret to say, those such as yourself, who were born of non-wizarding parents. Has no one ever referred to you as a wizard?"
"Well, I've sometimes been called a computer wizard."
"And a computer is…?"
"An…instrument…used for storing, comparing and analyzing large amounts of information."
"And people have called you a wizard with respect to this…computer?"
"Yeah. Some people say I have a magical touch with them."
"Quod Erat Demonstrandum." The Headmaster smiled widely, and spread his hands in satisfaction.
Tim sighed in near-despair. He tried one last argument, without any real hope of success.
"But, Professor, I'm just an apprentice crimefighter."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled even more brightly.
"Well, then, we have only one option. We must invite your mentor to join us."
Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson had remained in their hotel suite that morning, impatiently waiting to hear from Tim. As they finished their room service breakfast, they were startled by a loud tapping on the window glass. Dick and Bruce glanced at each other in surprise – Tim did not ordinarily enter via windows in the daytime – and turned to look at the window. Two pairs of black eyebrows shot up in surprise at the sight of a large owl rapping its beak on the glass. Dick went over to the window to see what was wrong with the bird, and noticed a large roll of paper tied to its leg.
"Bruce, you'd better come look at this."
Bruce rose to join him. After a close look at the owl, he reached out and threw the window open. The owl entered, flew once around the room, its wings barely missing the occupants' heads, and then landed on the table. It hooted once, and held out its leg. The two men looked at each other. Then Dick reached out and carefully detached the roll. Once its leg was free, the owl hooted again and flew back out the window.
"Ooookaaay." Dick unrolled the paper, to find that it was a large envelope. Opening the envelope, he pulled out two pieces of paper – no, parchment – and a small pouch with a third piece of parchment attached to it. Recognizing Tim's handwriting on one of the parchments, Bruce snatched it and began to read. After a few moments, Dick looked at him quizzically.
"Well?"
"Listen and you'll learn." With that, Bruce sat down in a chair and began to read Tim's letter aloud.
'Dear Bruce and Dick,
Cass and I are now enrolled as students in – get this! – Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. (Apparently magic is much more common than any of us thought.) At any rate, we have learned that the murders are magically caused. The people here are just as anxious as we are to stop them, but they need our help. The enclosed parchment is an official invitation for you to come here in undercover roles. (Muggles are non-magic folk.) The pouch includes instructions how to get here.
Please come. It's really weird here, but I think these people – most of them – are trustworthy. By the way, electronic devices don't work here, which is why I didn't contact you yesterday. I'll tell you all about it when you get here. See you soon, I hope.
Tim
Dick picked up the second parchment. This one was an ornate proclamation, offering Bruce Wayne and Richard Grayson positions as Guest Lecturers in the Field of Muggle Studies, signed and sealed by Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Bruce reached for the pouch. Without opening it, he detached the small parchment on its side and read the instructions. His eyebrows flew up again, and he handed it to Dick. Dick scanned it, looked at Bruce, and mouthed the words, 'FLOO network???'
Bruce shrugged. "Tim gave us the safe code, so I guess we take this at face value for now."
"So are we going?" Dick asked. He was rewarded by a Look from Bruce.
"What do you think?" Bruce got out of his chair and began to gather their things.
A few minutes later, they were standing in front of the suite fireplace, carrying their belongings. They looked at each other momentarily, and Dick quipped, "You did remember the burn ointment, didn't you – just in case?"
"Just follow the instructions," came the answering growl.
They each reached in the pouch and took out a handful of glittering powder.
"Here goes." Before Bruce could stop him, Dick threw the powder into the fire. The flames immediately turned bright green and rose to the top of the fireplace. Dick stepped into the green fire, called loudly and clearly, "Hogwarts School, Headmaster's Office," and vanished in a swirl of smoke. Bruce followed suit.
TO BE CONTINUED…