As the executor of the Wayne estate, Alfred was still quite busy even with his charge away at school. Added to those responsibilities, he had his hands full keeping the details of Master Bruce's schooling quiet from various parties who had some, real or imagined, interest in the sole heir to the Wayne fortune. Despite these duties, without the boy around, things were rather quiet. He found himself looking most forward to the moment each week when Robin appeared on the perch they'd put out on the penthouse balcony.
"Dear Alfred,
My first week has gone well. I promise that I am keeping out of trouble. I've had to explain about my parents a few times, but so far everyone has been very respectful. I've made a few new friends, too. You would be very proud of me.
My classes are going well. You wouldn't believe it, but History class is taught by an actual ghost! I asked another ghost, but she couldn't tell me anything about my parents. She was very sorry about it.
Another teacher here is from Gotham City. His name is Professor Nygma, he asks a lot of riddles and he seems to know a lot about everything.
Professor McGonagall also teaches one of my classes. Do you think maybe she works too hard?
I still miss you.
Love,
- Bruce."
It was hardly surprising to find out that Professor McGonagall was overworking herself. Everything about their sole encounter suggested that she lived and breathed her work. And I don't? He thought ruefully. Of course, Alfred was only responsible for the care of one child, Professor McGonagall had... actually, how many students did attend the Wizard school? It hadn't come up. Perhaps he should write to the Professor and ask.
Or was he just thinking to write and ask because he'd met a witty, intelligent woman who could quote the Bard as easily as he did? Certainly better not to bother her. After all, she had a whole school full of magical miscreants to manage and little enough time to answer questions from curious butlers.
At least young Master Bruce was getting along, and making friends. If not for the fact that they boy had never directly lied to him, he might have doubted it. Still, there was a conspicuous lack of detail about his first week and just after settling into the routine is when potential troublemakers were most likely to start flexing their muscles. Best remind the lad about restraint before they do.
Despite his warning, however, a month later Robin arrived looking exhausted from racing the much larger brown owl that sedately landed next to him. He collected both letters, but made sure to read the one delivered by Robin first, out on the balcony where both birds could see him. While he was no expert on reading their expressions, he thought the small bird looked relieved.
"Dear Alfred,
Professor McGonagall said she'll be writing to you, too. I hope Robin gets there first with this letter. I really messed up.
On the train ride here some bullies tried to start a fight and I think I embarrassed them when I knocked one down and one of the prefects showed up and stopped it. Then I ran into another one on the stairs. There wasn't anyone around to stop the fight and he's a lot bigger than me. So I pushed him down the stairs.
He was only stunned and the nurse says he'll be fine but I could really have hurt him. I didn't think about what would happen after he fell and I could have jumped the railing or just begged him to let me go or even just taken a beating but I almost killed him instead!
I know I let you down and I'm really sorry,
- Bruce."
It was no worse than he'd feared, indeed it was better than he'd feared since the other boy would be fine. From the sound of it, Bruce had finally learned the lesson about restraint the hard way, but he had learned it. Still, it would be a good idea to write back and remind him of its importance.
The brown school owl carried with it the promised letter from the Headmistress, mostly repeating the tale from Bruce's letter. She added that, upon seeing that the larger boy was injured, Bruce ran for help and took responsibility for his mistake. In a post-script she added, "I had hoped that your warning at the pub was an exaggeration. Luckily Nathan Jones has a hard head, probably since he rarely uses it. I am impressed that he didn't try to get out of trouble, you've raised a young man to be proud of."
He couldn't take the credit for that, but he had to agree with her. Best to remind Bruce of that as well.
He should also send the Professor a response, the school's owl did seem to be waiting for one, after all. As he composed one, he idly wondered how Wizard schools punished rulebreakers. Something he learned in Bruce's next letter.
"Dear Alfred,
Detentions at Hogwarts have you helping one of the professors with something. Professor Nygma decided I should help him sort his research notes for three nights for my punishment. He had notes and books and maps from all sorts of different places. George and Miles helped me go through some of the things he assigned me. We couldn't figure out what he's looking for though. Miles thinks that Nygma's research is why he decided to come to Hogwarts in the first place, so it must be important. George thinks it's boring.
Maybe they're both right?
Love,
- Bruce."
It hardly seemed likely to Alfred that one of the professors was up to something nefarious, as young Miles Duncan seemed to believe. Then again, what did he know about Wizard schools? Maybe all the staff were up to something nefarious. Professor McGonagall had said the school was old and quite prestigious, perhaps Professor Nygma simply wanted access to its library and took the job for that.
If looking into it kept the boys out of trouble, though, the pursuit didn't seem harmful. If only something would come along to engage the boy's interest outside his classes.
"Dear Alfred,
My classes continue to go well. My best class is actually broomstick flying! The coach insisted that I'm one of the best new fliers she's ever seen, she even sent me through the Advanced Obstacle Course halfway through the first semester.
She also said she'll be insulted if I don't try out for the school Quidditch team and then George said the same thing. Quidditch is a game played on broomsticks and it's very popular. It's a bit like rugby and polo and basketball and dodgeball all mixed together.
I got to see my first game this weekend and it was exciting. It's very physical and any bad play runs the risk of a two or three story fall. It sounds like injuries are common but the nurse can fix almost anything so no one cares. I do like flying, and if I try out then I'll get to fly a lot and even have my own broom.
Mom used to love watching the Knights games. Do you think she would have liked this too?
Do you think I should try out?
- Bruce."
A sport played on broomstick sounded fairly ridiculous to Alfred, but then again, he'd initially scoffed at the notion that Professor McGonagall had flown to their balcony back in July. Perhaps this seemed perfectly sensible to the Wizards, it was far from the most ridiculous thing he'd heard recently.
Regardless of his thoughts about the sport, Alfred heartily agreed with Bruce taking up any activity that might help him socialize with his peers and try to move forward with his life. The last thing he wanted was to find out that Bruce's dreams were once again taking him back to the night his parents died.
Unfortunately, a letter exactly like that arrived a few weeks later.
"Dear Alfred,
I think I found out why Professor Desmond is always so mean to my class in particular. I asked Talia about him, and she says he's been short with everyone since he started last year, but he seems to especially hate my class because Julian Desmond (who is in my year and house) is his son and they don't get one at all. I already suspected that, but I accidentally overheard an argument between them. Julian told me why they don't get along, but I don't think he wants me to tell anyone.
The nightmares came back recently. It started after George, Miles, and I found an old tunnel beneath the castle. We didn't get very far before we got scared and ran back upstairs. I don't know why, but being down there felt like I was back in the alley. I keep trying to remember what Dr. Thompkins told me, about how they'll fade in a while, but it's hard. Knowing that my friends were down there with me helps a little, though.
Love,
- Bruce."
It was the first time Bruce had mentioned the nightmares that had plagued him for so long. Dreams that returned him to that alley, and morphed their attacker into a grinning monster. Alfred had hoped that moving to a place so far removed from Gotham City had given Bruce the space to get away from those dreams at last. What could have triggered them again, or would they plague the boy for the rest of his life?
It was just as well that the holiday was coming soon, perhaps then he could provide better comfort to the boy.
As the time approached for the train from Hogwarts to arrive, Alfred waited patiently at King's Cross station. He'd tried carefully testing the border between platforms nine and ten, but the wall remained quite solid. Old instincts kept him aware of the surrounding crowd, though he stood patiently and carefully didn't appear to watch anyone or anything in particular. As he observed the crowd, he noted three other groups of adults nearby.
The first, largest group were perfectly ordinary passengers coming and going about their perfectly ordinary business. "Muggles" as he'd heard Professor McGonagall refer to them. Refer to us, he reminded himself. Now that he was in on the "secret" it was hard to see himself as part of the general crowd.
The opposite of them was the second group, those who came along some time after he did. These were clearly full fledged wizards and, if one knew what to look for, they stood out as much as, if not more than, the Professor had during their first encounter. To some extent, her complete confidence in her attire had offset how outlandish it was. These wizards and witches not only didn't know or care how to dress themselves in normal company, but they also drew attention to it with their obvious discomfort. Eventually, when they believed no one was watching them, members of this group would make their way to the barrier and attempt to discretely fall through it.
Then there was the third and smallest group, Alfred's group, those who were "in" but who still couldn't pass through the barrier and were instead left outside, waiting and watching. Most would, like him, try the barrier once, just to be sure, then surrender and take up a vigil nearby.
Eventually, quite without any warning that he could detect, people began to exit through the barrier. They did so in small groups, no more than three at a time, and if they expected yet more to follow they would patiently wait for the rest of their party nearby, pretending to be doing anything else. These groups were much like the second group that he'd noted before, save that they counted a number of children in their number. These were, no doubt, Master Bruce's schoolmates.
Eventually Bruce himself exited the barrier, two other boys in tow. Just as certainly, they must be George Cross and Miles Duncan, Bruce's new friends. Robin sat happily singing in his cage as Bruce pushed his baggage along. There was something very subtly off about Bruce, but it took Alfred a moment of watching him talk with the other boys to realize what it was. He's smiling. The boy's actually smiling. All three boys quickly calmed themselves as they approached
Alfred tried to contain his shock, and joy, as Bruce introduced his two young friends. Each one solemnly shook his hand and introduced himself, "Hello, Master George. Hello, Master Miles. It's a pleasure to finally meet both of you, I've heard so much about you from Master Bruce's letters. I'm very glad to know he has such good friends at school." Miles smiled at the recognition, though George shuffled a little nervously.
While Alfred took over the baggage trolley, Bruce bade his young friends goodbye. As they reentered the barrier to collect their parents he shouted, "We're meeting up at Diagon Alley, right?"
"Yeah! Right after Christmas!"
Though he made it clear first that Bruce should have checked with him before making such a promise, on the day after Boxing Day Alfred went along to the marketplace where they'd originally purchased Bruce's school supplies. Christmas itself was fairly subdued, Alfred prepared dinner for just the two of them, with the promise that his friends could join them next year so long as he could discuss the matter with their parents first. Since he had no idea what the boy might want or need at his magic school, Alfred had decided to keep the Bruce's Christmas gift simple: a collection of myths and fables. Perhaps he might find out how much of the old stories was actually true.
So far the holiday break had gone quietly. Bruce made a few obligatory appearances at some functions, mainly to offer reassurance to those who needed it that he was healthy and hale and that his lack of such contact in the previous months was indeed simply that he attended a strict boarding school and his guardian wanted him to focus on his studies. As always, he endured quietly and patiently. He and the other boys enthusiastically exchanged letters, with Robin getting quite a workout over the break, heading out with another letter only the day after he'd returned with a response. Still, the little bird never showed any sign of exhaustion or discomfort, always eagerly announcing each completed delivery and flying off again with equal enthusiasm.
Once again, Alfred couldn't quite force his eyes to focus on the little pub until after Bruce had led them both through the front door. They waited there, Alfred sipping an unfamiliar ale, while Bruce had a pumpkin juice. Although he was technically living on Bruce's money, it still felt odd letting the lad pay for his drink, but the barkeep didn't accept pounds and the money-changer was in the marketplace beyond. Eventually a group of six people, including the two boys that Alfred had briefly met at King's Cross, entered the little pub.
The three boys greeted each other immediately, leaving the five adults to awkwardly introduce themselves.
Just as he'd encountered at the train station, wizard adults had trouble correctly identifying "Muggle" clothing to wear while out and about in London. Mr. Cross' yellow Hawaiian shirt could have been plausibly paired with nearly anything, except for the tartan kilt he'd chosen; a pair of penny loafers completed the absurdity. Nor did any part of her husband's ensemble go along with Mrs. Cross' poodle skirt and go-go boot combination. The Duncans were marginally better, they apparently purchased their costumes from a literal costume shop, and might have been completely inconspicuous on a London street a few centuries earlier. Alfred took pity the adults' obvious discomfort with their Muggle clothes, and agreed to escort the boys while their parents changed into "normal" clothes.
"All right, boys," he said after they entered the market proper, "Where shall we go first before we meet your parents again?"
To Alfred's surprise, Bruce was just as excited as his young friends to browse the joke shop. On the one hand, Alfred supposed he should try to discourage the boys from getting into any sort of mischief. On the other, he was astonished to hear Bruce seeming to take an interest in such relatively normal activities for a boy his age. Perhaps I will owe Professor McGonagall that pie before this semester is out, after all.
It was some effort to maintain a subtle mask of disapproval as he escorted the three boys into the shop that was proudly labelled Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, a mask that instantly dropped once he was through the door.
A large portrait of an affable, redheaded young man greeted everyone who came into the shop. Literally greeted them, tossing out the names of familiar customers and making jokes about their appearance. Of course the paintings talk, Alfred had mistakenly thought he was through being surprised. The figure in the painting ("Fred Weasley, Co-Founder, 1978 - 1998," according to the plaque) apparently noticed his new customer's surprise and froze mid-word, pretending to be an ordinary painting in an absurd and awkward pose. Although he quite ostentatiously kept blinking and watched Alfred move into the store.
The interior was packed, mostly with what Alfred guessed were students taking advantage of the break. After reading a few labels, Alfred decided he didn't envy teachers who had to deal with the students who armed themselves here.
Bruce was examining a display rack that held X-Ray Specs that Alfred was willing to bet actually worked, along with products like Extendable Ears and Mirror Glasses, whose function he could only guess at. As Bruce was carefully going over the package labels, he was approached by a read-headed man who bore some resemblance to the portrait at the front. His brother perhaps? Alfred positioned himself at a discrete distance, so that he could monitor the exchange without interfering, his gaze carefully focusing on everything without betraying the real target of his observation.
"Hello, can I help you find anything, young man?" Before Bruce could say anything the proprietor, which he must be, looked over the items in Bruce's basket, "Wait," he started muttering something that Alfred couldn't catch, then looked over Bruce again, apparently considering something about the boy's appearance carefully. Finally, he said, "Let me guess. You just started at Hogwarts and you and your mates think the new Professor's up to something dodgy, right?"
Bruce's expression obviously answered the question, because the man laughed out loud. "Wait until I tell Hermione about this," he finally sighed and collected himself .He held out his hand for Bruce to shake, which he clearly reluctantly did, "Ron Weasley, my brother George owns the shop. I help out during the holidays."
"Bruce Wayne. What - how did you know?"
Mister Weasley smiled and tapped his nose conspiratorially, "Some things never change; there's always something funny going on at Hogwarts."
Suddenly he stood up and began rummaging through the merchandise on one shelf, "Still, if you're digging for secrets you've got a good start there. Now where did they put that thing, I told them not to hide it in the back." After another moment and then a triumphant shout, he pulled out a bundle of black cloth. "It's a Shadow Cloak, makes you look like part of the shadows." As he spoke, Mister Weasley turned the bundle of cloth. It never seemed to betray a fold or line, As though the shadows the fabric casts blend into the fabric itself, Alfred realized. The proprietor went on, "It's not as good as a proper Invisibility Cloak but it's still great for sneaking around, and it's a steal at ten galleons and two sickles."
If Alfred remembered the conversion rates correctly, that was hardly a steal. Still, he'd have gladly paid far more for such a garment in his previous life. Bruce took the Cloak from Mister Weasley carefully and placed it into his basket along with his other purchases. Though he continued to examine the shelves, Bruce added nothing else and a few minutes later he reunited with his two friends as the boys brought their purchases to the counter.
After placing the small stack of coins Bruce handed him into the till, Mister Weasley leaned down over the counter, "A word of advice, Bruce: Secrets are a part of life at Hogwarts. Nobody knows everything that's hidden in the castle." With that last, cryptic remark he bid the group goodbye before turning to his next customer.
On their way out, the painting of the late Fred Weasley had changed his position but froze again the instant Alfred looked at him. Just as Alfred turned again to leave, the painting winked.
By the time they left the shop, the other adults had finished getting changed and were already making appropriately disapproving noises over how their children had chosen to spend their allowances.
