Robin returned sometime early Monday morning with Alfred's response, which he proudly delivered during breakfast before pecking away at Bruce's bacon. In it Alfred managed to almost conceal his surprise that Bruce was getting along well with his fellow students and even making some friends. Both were things that he had found difficult in his previous schools.

Although Bruce had deliberately not mentioned his encounter with Manchester Black, it seemed Alfred had some other means of getting information. Or perhaps he had simply guessed that Bruce couldn't avoid trouble, because he had also written a stern reminder that if Bruce had any trouble with bullies he should find a teacher, not send the offender to the infirmary.

Bruce had just finished reading Alfred's letter when it came time to head to History of Magic. It was Bruce's fourth, and final, failed attempt to follow Professor Binn's notes during class. The ghost's long, monotonous drone once again lulled him into a half-awake stupor despite his best efforts to keep his quill moving. This was more alert than most of his peers, who had simply fallen asleep at their desks. When class ended those who were still partially awake shook their friends, gathered their things, and left. Professor Binns drifted back through the chalkboard as seemingly unaware of his students after class as he was during it.

As he was packing the nearly blank page of notes into his bag Bruce suddenly realized what it was that had been bothering him throughout the last few lectures. Binns spent the whole hour floating at the lectern and reading from a page of notes, but he didn't carry the notes when he came or left. Those were still sitting right there at the front of the room. If everything Binns was going to say in class was already in his notes, then wouldn't it be easier to just copy them directly?

Bruce took his time repacking his bag so that he was the only student left in the classroom. Professor Binns' notes were still sitting on the lectern where he'd left them. The yellowed pages were crammed with writing so tightly packed that Bruce had to lean in close just to make out the words. He tried to remember how the Professor had introduced today's topic, shortly before his hypnotic voice had made any further attention impossible, and spot it on the page. There it is, Binns had read aloud almost exactly what was written down here. As he read down the page Bruce was certain he saw everything he could remember hearing over the last hour.

Very carefully, to avoid damaging the ancient paper, Bruce turned the page over and saw the same handwriting tightly packed along the back and onto the next page. The stack of notes was extremely thick. Seven years' worth of lectures thick? There wasn't time to copy even the current page, but it gave him an idea. He set the top piece of paper back where he'd found it, finished packing his bag, and left the classroom.

A quick look through his textbooks didn't show anything that might help, so Bruce decided to ask Professor Flitwick that afternoon when Charms class ended. When the lecture ended students filed up to the professor's desk to hand in their homework from the previous week and, after handing his own homework in, Bruce stood to the side and waited. When the last student had left Professor Flitwick looked up from the stack of papers, "Yes, Bruce. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Sir, I was hoping you could help me with a problem I have," he'd already thought about how to bring it up, since he wasn't sure he should admit what his plan was, even if it wasn't technically cheating. "I need to make a copy of something pretty long, and I wanted to know if there was a charm I could use that would be faster than doing it by hand."

Flitwick paused and pondered the question, though Bruce couldn't tell whether he was trying to think of the answer or decide if he should share it. Finally he shrugged, "It can be done, of course, but I can't think of any simple methods. Nothing at the first year level, anyway. You might ask an older student for help." Bruce thanked him anyway and picked up his things.

On the way to dinner that evening he considered Professor Flitwick's advice, Ask an older student for help. He did know an older student he could ask, after all. Once in the Great Hall Bruce turned towards the Slytherin table rather than his own Ravenclaw.

Talia was already seated when he got there. As he walked up she looked up from her plate, "Hi, Bruce. How was your first week?" She moved to make space for him to sit next to her on the bench.

"It went fairly well, I think. I was surprised to find out one of the professors is also from Gotham City."

He and Talia talked for a short time about Professor Nygma, he used the same basic formula for her class as he did for the first years. "The riddles are tiring," she said, "But at least he seems confident about the material. Professor Desmond hated teaching the Defense class and his predecessor was a total fraud."

Eventually they came around to the other professors and he mentioned the same problem he'd mentioned to Professor Flitwick, "He suggested that I ask an older student for help."

"You know you can just buy that, right?" At his blank look she began rummaging in her bag. "I confiscated this from Evan McCulloch, the idiot was bragging about how he was going to use the mirror-specs right in the middle of the common room." From the bag came what looked like a slim magazine, though it was folded so that he couldn't see the cover. She held it just out of his reach, "You're not going to break any rules or try to cheat in class with this stuff, right?" Her tone made it clear that the actual question was, Are you dumb enough to get caught?

"Absolutely not." She nodded and handed him the magazine. He put it into his own bag to examine later, thanked Talia for her help, and on the way back to the Ravenclaw table he stopped to talk to George and Miles about their first week. Their stories matched his. Nobody in Gryffindor could stay lucid through Professor Binns' lectures, either. From the sound of it Professor Desmond wasn't very patient with any of his students, but they hadn't seen anything like the bile that he directed at Julian. There was still plenty of food at the Ravenclaw table when he eventually got there.

After dinner Bruce finally had a chance to look at the magazine. Keeping in mind what Talia had said about how it came into her hands, he decided to look through it in his dormitory and excused himself from the common room early. He pulled the curtains around his four-poster bed and looked at the cover. It wasn't a magazine at all, but a catalog for something called "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

After flicking through a few pages Bruce found the mirror-specs that had cost Evan McCulloch his catalog and, after reading the description, he could imagine what the other boy had planned to use them for and why Talia had taken this from him. Flipping through the magazine it became clear that the Weasleys took their pranks seriously. There were candies to turn your unsuspecting victim into a large bird (as a joke), snacks to temporarily cause violent illness (to get out of class), curse shields (to confound your enemies), and a multitude of other gags.

Eventually Bruce found the product Talia must have been referring to, and why she'd emphasized not getting caught cheating. In the middle of Page Thirty-Nine, right below Extendable Ears, was the Forging Folio:

"Forgot to finish your homework?
NO TROUBLE! Just grab your mate's, put it in with some blank parchment and in a minute you'll have an exact copy in YOUR handwriting!
Need a fake note?
NO TROUBLE! Get a sheet with your professor's writing on it, slip it and the note YOU wrote in and in a minute you'll have it in HIS hand!"

Just below that was a disclaimer that Weasleys' was not at all responsible when you got caught. Well Bruce wasn't really planning to cheat, after all. He sent in the order form and cash with Robin before breakfast the next morning. The catalog advised that it would be a week or two before his order came in, though their home office was in London so Bruce expected that Robin would be back in a few days.

He managed to get lost twice on his way down from the Owlery to the Great Hall. There was simply no avoiding it: The school had a mind of its own. Or rather, Bruce corrected himself, every single part of this school has a mind of its own. Literally. Doors led wherever they felt, stairs changed landing at will, and even the walls sometimes seemed to move around. "Standing all day in one spot gets dull," Elaine said later, as though this was a perfectly logical explanation.

Sometimes the changes were predictable, like a door that stayed the same place in the hall but led to a different room each day of the week. Many other changes, though, seemed to happen at random, like the sudden appearance of doors that didn't actually open or lead anywhere in between the real doors in a hallway.

Growing accustomed to this was apparently a rite of passage for new students and it took until well into September before Bruce began to understand how the building thought. Because that was the trick, the walls and doors and staircases and everything else could think for themselves. Maybe only at a very basic level, maybe only very slowly, but there was a semblance of thought behind what looked, at first, like random motion. That was what Elaine had meant.

He was pondering this while absent-mindedly eating oatmeal about a week later when Professer Flitwick came around the table again handing out a note to all the first years. Ravenclaw first-years were to be taking broomstick flying lessons with Slytherin starting Thursday afternoon. This was cause for no small amount of excitement among the first years and Bruce wasn't immune. The idea of flying through the air, regardless of the method, had been a dream for as long as he could remember. He would have been preferred to share the lesson with Gryffindor, but there was no way that anything could ruin an actual flying lesson for him.

In the eager exchange that followed Bruce was surprised to learn that even some of the students born to wizard parents had not yet flown solo on a broom. At the same time there were others already eagerly telling stories of their own aerial achievements to anyone who would listen. The morning did nothing to diminish their excitement, by lunch the general buzz moved from flying itself to sports. Apparently there was a popular game among wizards that was played while flying on broomsticks and at lunch many of the older students joined the discussion with their own sage opinions on various teams and tactics and memorable plays.

Throughout this conversation Bruce felt totally lost and it looked like a few other first years were, too. Having not grown up with in a wizard house, they didn't understand anything about the game being discussed. Eventually he made the mistake of saying so and immediately the Ravenclaw table launched into an excited, overlapping lecture about the history and rules of Quidditch. He couldn't follow the dozen or so different people who were all trying to explain things over each other.

One thing caught his attention in all the jumble, "Wait, that one ball is worth fifteen points? Isn't that unfair to the rest of the team?" It became clear right away that this was entirely the wrong thing to say. The loud, excited explanations became loud, impassioned defenses. Apart from something about league rankings, Bruce didn't manage to gather anything from the ensuing debate, though it went on for the rest of lunch.

Bruce didn't care very much for games or sports, although his mother had been a big fan of the Gotham Knights and he fondly remembered going to home games with her. He hadn't even planned to engage with the House Cup, except that there wasn't much choice but to play along since the whole school seemed to be fixated about the inter-house rivalry. Still, since Quidditch meant so much to his fellow students, Bruce decided he should at least know a little about it. So when his next free period came Bruce went to the library.

Madam Pince, the school's librarian, peered at him from across the front desk, "Do you need something?" It didn't exactly sound like an invitation to ask, more like she was accusing him of wasting her time.

"Yes, I'm looking for a book explaining the rules of Quidditch."

She sniffed loudly in annoyance but after a moment led him down one of the rows of bookshelves and, without hesitation or pausing to check the spines, pulled out a volume. The cover identified it as Quidditch Through the Ages, and it was apparently quite a popular volume if the checkout log in the front cover was anything to go by. She bustled off without a word as he tried to thank her.

It wasn't a terribly thick volume, so Bruce sat down at one of the tables and skimmed until he found the chapter about the sport's current rules. It broke down the four balls involved, the proper distances and heights of the court, the seven positions on each team, and the scoring system. There it was: while scoring a goal with the Quaffle was worth ten points, capturing the Golden Snitch was worth one-hundred and fifty and ended the game outright. The next section helped explain this a little, elaborating that final league rankings were based not on who won the match, but on how many points were scored versus how many were given. It was fairly common for a team to win a match and yet go down in the rankings.

This led into a story about how the Central City Lightning Bolts managed to win the Quidditch League of America's 1985 Championships despite not fielding a Seeker in a single game that year, after a falling out between team captain Leomund Snart and seeker Bartemius Allen. At the end of the chapter were various non-league versions of the rules, most of which eliminated the Snitch entirely or simply had it end the game without awarding extra points.

After an hour and a half Bruce felt he at least understood enough about the game to follow what was being talked about. He returned the book to the front desk and thanked Madame Pince for her help in finding it before he headed off to his next class. He noted that this time she didn't sniff in annoyance at his presence, but simply took the book and set it on the cart to be re-shelved.

His package from Weasleys' arrived the morning before the promised flying lessons were to start. A brown owl dropped off a slim package in front of him at breakfast before flying off. If he hadn't been expecting it Bruce would have had no way of knowing what it was. There were no labels on the plain, brown wrapping except "Bruce Wayne, Hogwarts" written by hand. Nothing about the package betrayed its contents or that it had come from a store at all. Clearly the Weasleys took caution not to attract attention to their customers. Bruce took his cue from them and slid the unopened package into his bookbag, responding to Louia's curious look that he would open it later.

With a double Transfiguration lesson just before lunch and his first broomstick flying class just after, Bruce had no time to open the package. He decided to leave his bag in the Ravenclaw dormitory after leaving the morning class. Once it and the Folio were stored away he ran to catch up with the rest of his class in the Great Hall. While he was certain he'd been watching where he was going, Bruce still managed to slam into someone coming around a corner near the second floor landing in front of a huge tapestry depicting the founding of the school. He stumbled back and just caught himself from falling. "Sorry, I guess I wasn't paying attention," he stammered out before he realized who he'd run into.

Nathan Jones barely moved when Bruce collided with him. The huge second year boy was nearly twice his size.

They were alone in the corridor, no teachers or prefects were anywhere in sight. Even the nearby portrait was empty, its occupant no doubt visiting another painting. Jones grinned at the little first year, "Talia's not here to save you this time."

"Your gang's not here to save you either," Bruce countered, falling back into a guard stance. It was a bluff, of course, his eyes were already scanning the area for a means of escape. With his size advantage Jones would surely beat the smaller boy in a fist-fight and if it fell to wands then Jones had a full year of experience over Bruce. There was no point in running back the way he'd come, there was no help back that way and Jones' longer legs would soon catch up to him. His best hope was to get to the Great Hall, but Jones was standing between him and the stairs.

The stairs! That was an option.

Jones didn't waste any more words or waste time going for his wand. He grabbed at Bruce. Bruce ducked under the older boy's outstretched arms, drawing his own wand. He quickly leveled it at Jones' sternum and shouted, "Flipendo!"

The older boy fell back one step and then another, except that second step wasn't there. He flapped his arms in a desperate effort to keep his balance, and for a moment it looked like he might manage it. Then, as if in slow motion, he fell backwards and tumbled down.

Jones hit the lower landing with a sickening crack.

He lay face up where he landed and made no effort to move or get up.

Bruce's eyes widened in horror, until this moment he hadn't realized what his plan really meant. He ran down the stairs a frantically putt his fingers to Jones' throat and his ear to his mouth checking for signs of a pulse or breathing. After a moment he heaved a heavy sigh of relief. The boy's eyes were unfocused, but he was breathing and Bruce felt a pulse.

Bruce ran off to find help, but he'd only gone a few steps towards the Great Hall when he heard a voice behind him, "Well, well, little Brucey. Fleeing the scene of the crime?"

Professor Nygma was standing at the second floor landing, right where Bruce and Jones had been a minute ago. How...? No time to worry about that now, "Sir, Jones is badly hurt! We have to get him to the hospital wing!"

Nygma made his way down the stairs at a leisurely pace, and eyed the stunned form of Nathan Jones at his feet. "Yes, I suppose we should. Very well, you go to the Great Hall, I believe Madam Pomfrey should be taking lunch there. I shall make sure that Mr. Jones here doesn't try moving until you get back."

Professor McGonagall was with the nurse, and followed along after hearing Bruce's hurried explanation.

When they got back Nygma was still standing over Jones, "Riddle me this, Mr. Jones: What sort of person throws someone down the stairs and then immediately runs for a doctor?" The dazed boy managed to groan in response. Nygma nodded, "Yes, I'm not sure either.

"Ah, Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall, a pleasure to see you both here. I believe this boy will need your attention," He gestured to Jones with his cane, while looking at the matron. Then he turned to the headmistress and pointed the cane towards Bruce, "And this one yours." He tipped his hat to them both and casually walked off.

Professor McGonagall looked after him in surprise, "Edward, where do you think you're going?"

"Unless you need my inexpert assistance as a nurse or a disciplinarian, I'm late for lunch." He took another step, then paused and turned back, "What is it you can give or take, but never gift; you can refuse or reject, but never return; you can have but not keep?" With that Nygma turned on his heel and left.

There was a brief silence as they watched him saunter off, which Madam Pomfrey broke, "He's been here a month and I'm already sick of his riddles."

"Regardless, Poppy, I need you to take Jones here up to the hospital wing. How is he?"

Madam Pomfrey assured them both that the boy would be back on his feet in time for his next class, then summoned a stretcher that floated in front of her and carried the injured boy away.

Once they were gone Professor McGonagall turned back to look down at Bruce, "Now tell me exactly what happened here." He did, starting with his first encounter with Manchester Black's gang back on the train all the way through to Professor Nygma's sudden appearance. Her face grew darker as he went on, but she didn't say anything until he was finished, "So you knew what you were doing, you expected him to fall down the stairs." Bruce nodded his head, his gaze down on his shoes. "Do you happen to know the answer to Professor Nygma's riddle?"

"Umm..." His head jerked up at this sudden change of topic and he tried to remember how the riddle had gone, "I think it was... a lesson?"

She nodded, "Good, although I was thinking more of his first riddle. In any event, what lesson did you learn here?"

Bruce thought about the encounter. He hadn't realized until Jones hit the lower landing just how dangerous what he'd done was, but he'd intended to push the bully down the stairs all the same. Looking back, it wasn't as though he hadn't had other options: Nygma had clearly been nearby and they weren't far from the Great Hall, he could have tried to stall until help arrived; the fall from the second to the first floor was at most fifteen feet, he could easily have jumped the railing and then run for it; he could even have padded Jones' ego and grovelled, the bully wasn't going to kill him.

"I didn't need to hurt Jones to get away, I had other options." His voice grew smaller, "I... didn't think about what would happen after he fell."

McGonagall nodded, "Good. You can't always know what they'll be, but your actions have consequences beyond the present. Keep that in mind in the future.

"Now, let's figure out your punishment," She looked up at the hourglasses that represented the current points awarded towards the House Cup. "I think ten points from both Slytherin and Ravenclaw for the fighting and another fifteen from Ravenclaw because of how you ended that fight; and I think three nights' detention should help the lesson sink in. I'll also be sending a message to Mr. Pennyworth about this incident, so I expect you to write him first." She pulled a gold watch from a pocket in her robes, "Oh, and the lunch period just ended, so you'll be doing without. Now, get to your next class."

Bruce did as she instructed, heading towards the Great Hall to meet with the rest of his class on their way to the practice field. He wasn't looking forward to flying nearly as much as he had been. He also couldn't help feeling that, out of the punishments Professor McGonagall had just assigned, the worst part was how disappointed Alfred was going to be.