Content warnings can be found at the end of this chapter.

It was not as lonely an Easter break as Tim had feared. Having sworn off meeting with the Gryffindor trio under daylight, he spent the time reconnecting with the Ravenclaw trio. They were surprisingly chill with his being on the Inquisitorial Squad—Purdie had delivered a large chocolate egg to Tim that had been made by Molly Weasley and delivered to Purdie by Ginny, Cordelia was having a grand old time reporting to Tim at the end of the day with her tally of exactly how many House points the Slytherins had docked from each house, and Aruna played chess with him daily, always challenging him in new ways with her skill with the game. Once he'd let them know that he was extending his stay at Hogwarts indefinitely, they had only been spending more and more time around each other.

He particularly enjoyed skimming through the career leaflets that had been dumped in the Ravenclaw Common Room for all the fifth years facing upcoming career counselling. While he felt absolutely no pressure as to what to choose (a position in the Ministry, that was sure to please Umbridge), it was interesting listening to his classmates dream about their futures.

"—and there's a whole slew of N.E.W.T.s that they suggest you take, all of which I'm confident I can achieve an 'Outstanding' in, except for perhaps Herbology, but they say an 'Exceeds Expectations' is enough—"

Cordelia was hoping to become an Auror, apparently having been set on the profession since reading a book called The Three Curses of Azkaban when she was twelve. Wizarding law enforcement seemed to have the most rigorous requirements for potential applicants out of all the jobs represented in these pamphlets. However, if anyone was capable of getting a job that difficult, it would be Cordelia, who both could brew an Erumpent Potion with her eyes shut and had successfully managed to shoulder-throw Zacharias Smith in one of their last D.A. lessons. Her social skills were less than ideal in a neurotypical sense, but Mad-Eye Moody was living proof that one could have terrible social etiquette and still get hired as an Auror, so Tim didn't think she had much to worry about.

Purdie got a little frustrated when he sorted through the pamphlets twice only to find that none of them were directed towards his career path.

"I mean, I assume that Care of Magical Creatures is important, given that they usually produce the cores of wands, and Herbology, since that's what the wands are made of, but it's like no one even cares about where their wands are coming from!"

He was apparently dead-set on apprenticing under Garrick Ollivander and becoming the next big wandmaker, having caused a lot of trouble in his youth due to his frequent theft of his parents' wands. It was clear from the reverence that he showed his own wand, a long, polished piece of pinewood, that he had a deep respect for the craft.

"So, Aruna, what do you want to do after graduating?" Tim asked the girl, who was combing her fingers through her pet owl's feathers and whispering soft words to it in Hindi. She glanced over at Tim, shrugged, and then turned back to her work.

Tim walked over to where Purdie was laying across one of the common room couches. "Hey, Purdie, what's Aruna looking to do after graduating?"

Purdie looked up and shook his head. "No one knows. She's never brought up the subject, and she's never given an answer. Everyone's got a different idea of what she'll do. Personally, I think she's gonna do something completely crazy, like found her own wizarding school back in Chhattisgarh."

"No, she's definitely going to go pro in the wizarding chess sphere," Anthony piped up from across the room.

"Unspeakable," said Cordelia, "it's just the logical answer." And thus the room fell into one of its apparently age-old debates.

It was equally fascinating learning about his classmates' parents and their respective careers, many of which were also not represented well in the pamphlets. Some people's parents, like Purdie and Padma's respective fathers, worked internationally and rarely visited home, while others, like Anthony's mother and Sue's father, were content to be stay-at-home parents, which Tim felt was a particularly admirable job when raising children prone to accidental magic. Michael's moms both worked for the Ministry of Magic, meaning that he had all the insider info on what was going on in the wizarding world, much like Ron. Even the Muggle-born and half-blood students were joining in on the fun, bragging about their Muggle parents' professions.

"My dad is a professor at Cambridge," Cordelia said proudly, puffing out her chest. "He works in the Linguistics department. Did you know he's fluent in six languages?"

"Eh, knowing multiple languages isn't that hard," remarked Anthony, who was fluent in Yiddish and French as well as English.

"Dialects are," Aruna commented from across the room.

Tim nodded, "Oof, yeah." He himself still struggled with all the Arabic dialects spoken within the League of Assassins.

"You speak another language?" Anthony grinned and held out his arms like he was welcoming Tim into his family. "Which one?"

"Uh…" Tim was currently fluent in eight languages (not including regional dialects) and could passably speak maybe seven more in addition to that. "A lot." Not nearly as many as Damian or Bruce, those two knew practically every known language between the two of them, but languages were a big thing in the Wayne house.

"He knows Arabic," said Aruna.

"Seriously?" Sue gasped. "That's so cool! My mom's been trying to teach me Mandarin since I was little, but it's, like, super hard."

Tim winced. "Yeah, Mandarin languages are tough. Tonal languages are usually harder for native English speakers."

"You speak it?"

Tim tilted his hand back and forth. "Eh, enough to get by in Beijing. My Cantonese is much better."

"Wait, how many languages do you know?" Purdie asked. "English, Arabic, Cantonese…?"

Tim bit his lip and started counting on his fingers. "Uh…yeah, also American Sign Language, because my sister uses it, Russian and French through work, Spanish, German, and I can translate some dead languages. Those are the big ones."

"So you know more?" Purdie said, his voice pitched higher than normal.

"Not, like, great, but, yeah, I know more. My younger brother knows, like, every language, though. He's much better than I am." Tim felt like this was an important thing to note, just in case his friends were thinking he was something special.

Mandy seemed absolutely thrilled by Tim's knowledge. "You said your sister uses sign?" At Tim's nod, she waved her hands around excitedly. "So does my sister, Emily! She's in Gryffindor, and she's hard of hearing," which then got the two of them on a long discussion about the differences between ASL and BSL, and for a while, they attempted to communicate with one another using their respective signs to limited success. Each only seemed to understand about a third of what the other was trying to say, but the activity was fun nonetheless, and Mandy even started teaching some sign to their fellow Ravenclaws with promises to continue at a later date.

Every couple of nights, Tim would sneak up to the Gryffindor common room to catch up with Ron, Hermione, and Harry. Ron always had something to talk about, whether it was his anxiety over the upcoming exams ("Six weeks? It's like they're trying to fail me!") or his opinions on this year's batch of chocolate eggs ("A broomstick, finally. Last year's decoration was a leprechaun. A leprechaun! As if I wasn't rooting for Krum in the Quidditch World Cup!"). His conversation starters would usually lead to bickering between himself and Hermione while Tim and Harry watched from the sidelines.

Harry, however, was oddly detached from his friends. He seemed to be going through some kind of depressive slump, and Tim wasn't sure what he could do to help. When he confided this to Hermione, she told him that it seemed to have all started after Harry's last Occlumency lesson.

"You're not learning Occlumency anymore?" Tim asked, shocked at how quickly Harry had picked up such an advanced technique.

Harry shrugged stiffly. "Snape thinks I'm good to go." It was painfully clear that he was lying, but, as for why exactly he was doing so, Tim was unclear. He decided to take his concerns directly to the source.

"I found his work ethic to be sorely lacking, much like his father." Snape muttered that last part to himself, but Tim could read his lips well enough to understand. "Our lessons were a waste of both of our time. So I terminated them."

Tim folded his arms. "So, what, you're just not gonna teach him? Even though that was literally Dumbledore's last request?"

The man wouldn't look Tim in the eyes as he paced back and forth. "Though I have been teaching for over a decade, even I cannot teach someone who is unwilling to learn."

"How do you expect him to learn if you're refusing to teach him?"

"If he truly wants to know how to guard his mind, he will come to me himself and prove that he is willing to put in the necessary effort."

Yeah, knowing Harry and Snape's relationship, that wasn't happening any time soon. Given Snape's tendencies in Potions to teach in one specific way that catered to a neurotypical audience, Tim wondered if Harry being "unwilling to learn" was less a problem of Harry's work ethic and more a problem of Snape's inflexible teaching style.

Well, as the saying went, "Be the change you want to see in the world."

"Okay, Harry, new plan," Tim announced the next evening, sitting down next to the boy while he was attempting to study with Ron and Hermione. "Mondays and Wednesdays, 5th floor, East Wing, you're taking Occlumency lessons again."

"Snape still wants to teach me?" said Harry incredulously.

"Nope. You'll be learning from me."

Inspired. Genius. Art.

Tim didn't quite know the best way to describe the Weasley twins' performance Monday evening. He had been positively giddy when Umbridge had bustled up to him, face dripping with sweat, and had informed him of the giant swamp on the fifth floor that she was absolutely certain was the work of at least one of, if not both of, the Weasley twins. Upon seeing it up close and in person, Tim could indeed confirm that this could only be the handiwork of the Weasleys, judging by the scale of the chaos and the amount of trouble it would cause Umbridge specifically as the new headmistress.

And getting Peeves to get on board like that? Iconic. It was clear the school would not soon forget what had gone down that night. Tim certainly wouldn't. As the boys flew away, he was already in the middle of mentally writing up a letter to Bruce about investing in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

The Weasleys' escape seemed to be what finally allowed the student population to let loose in their unbridled and undisguised hatred of Umbridge, and the best thing about it was that Umbridge was running out of ideas to control them. It had reached the point where, had she taken the time to punish every student who publicly disrespected her, only the Great Hall would have been big enough to house their collective detentions.

The House Cup had become virtually obsolete at this point, as three out of the four hourglasses were consistently empty at the end of the day, which was partially due to the fact that even Cordelia had been getting overwhelmed with trying to keep track of which Houses lost which points and determining which complaints were entirely made-up in order to attain what some students apparently though were free house points. This all led to Tim 'accidentally' letting slip how the Inquisitorial Squad badges worked to a second-year Ravenclaw, and thus the coordinated attacks on the members of said squad began. Within a week, Umbridge had recalled all of the little silver pins, to the disappointment of many a D.A. member who had become particularly adept at their hexes.

Tim actually found himself quite jealous of the troublemaking going on around him. He was still faking his loyalty to Umbridge, even though she was rapidly losing the authority that had initially driven Tim to pledge said loyalty to her. But seeing the pranks being pulled on a daily basis around the castle, seeing the way students' faces actually lit up when they saw Umbridge walking towards them, made Tim long for that kind of reckless freedom.

"All right, first thing's first," Tim announced and promptly sat down on one of the chairs, waiting for Harry to follow suit. The boy looked around for a moment, as if waiting for the trick, but after obviously receiving none, he gave a near-imperceptible shrug and dragged out a chair for himself.

"What's on your mind?" Tim asked him plainly.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"It's gonna be pretty hard to focus on mental fortification if you've got other things to think about. So just start talking. The sooner you get the words out, the easier it'll be to focus on something else. Like, I'm thinking about how much I hate Umbridge."

That got a startled laugh out of Harry. "Oh, well, yeah, me too. She's a demon."

"Yeah, I'd agree if my little brother didn't already own the title. I'd say a siren. Sounds sweet until you realize what she's actually saying. I've also been thinking about my family, as you could probably guess. Especially when I'm angry. I imagine them coming in and beating up my problem."

"Wait, we're just talking about stuff that we've been thinking about lately?" Harry clarified.

Tim nodded. "Literally anything. What keeps you up at night? Just talk it out."

That got the ball rolling, and, boy, did it roll like it'd been dropped off of Mount Everest. "Oh, okay. So, um, I'm thinking about our meetings about our careers and how Snape is probably gonna ruin my chances of becoming an Auror by intentionally failing me or something, or maybe I just won't have a perfect score and that'll be enough to kick me out of his N.E.W.T.-level courses. And, um, I think about Voldemort a lot and all the visions I get, and I sometimes want to see them, not just because they helped me save Mr. Weasley's life or because I'm too curious for my own good but because the alternative is usually nightmares, and those suck shit."

"Amen," Tim sighed.

"Yeah, so I think about that a lot. And, um, I've been thinking about all this drama between Ron and Hermione and, like, I wish Ron would just admit he's got the biggest crush on her and stop flirting around with these other girls. Honestly, I think the group dynamic would be way better if he was open about that sort of thing, because God knows Hermione isn't gonna say anything because she always assumes we know what she's thinking even when we usually don't.

"And Draco, God, he's such a blood-purist-asshole but sometimes he just looks so lost and also I think he might be attracted to me? Which, weird? Not the being attracted to boys thing, my best friend's totally pan, but the being an asshole to someone you think is hot thing. I'd be more worried about it if he wasn't constantly bullying the lowerclassmen.

"Oh, and Sirius. He wasn't doing good at Christmas. I'm worried about him. I wish they'd just clear his name so he can go back to being social again. And getting therapy or something. God, I need therapy, but nobody in the wizarding world talks about that shit, and I sure as hell can't go to a Muggle and try to come up with vague metaphors about seeing someone die and being the personal target of a super-powerful blood supremacist." Harry took a deep breath, and then he looked at Tim, as though remembering where he was. "I—okay, sorry, that was a lot. Was that…what you wanted?"

Tim grinned and leaned over to pat him on the shoulder. "That's exactly what I wanted. Now, I'm gonna tell you about purposeful, positive dissociation and how that's important when you're protecting your mind."

Almost immediately after the Quidditch finals (Tim had never seen Ron so genuinely proud of himself), exam season was upon the fifth and seventh years, and, surprisingly, Tim found himself caring very little about O.W.L.s. Wren's words from winter break had stuck with him, and every time he caught himself beginning to worry about his grades, he remembered that this was a mission and that, as CRO of WayneTech, he had nothing to worry about in terms of how these tests would affect his future careers. Instead, Tim chose to focus on the combative spells and charms they had practiced in the D.A., which would actually be useful to Tim. It made a lot more sense to focus on battle spells that he might use in a future battle with Voldemort or his Death Eaters instead of worrying about the important dates of the six giant wars.

Never was being a Ravenclaw so intense as it was during O.W.L. season. Since meeting his fellow Ravenclaws, Tim had always thought that the bookworm-nerd stereotyping of Ravenclaws was not that accurate—in his mind, the house was home of people with a vision, people who defied the status quo, and most of the neurodivergent population of Hogwarts. However, it became clear over the next week that Ravenclaws had impossibly high standards for themselves and a competitive streak to rival Garfield Logan.

Tim actually spent much of his time checking in on his classmates' mental health, an entirely new kind of superheroing for Tim. He'd always envied the way Clark and Dick and Dinah were able to connect with people and be there for them when times were tough. For the longest time, Tim had assumed that was the job of the perfect people—to help the broken people like himself. It came as a real shock to Tim when he learned that everyone was a little broken, but that didn't mean that they couldn't help other people mend. The fact that Dick had mental health struggles of his own still baffled Tim. How could someone be so selfless and so caring when they themselves were struggling so much?

Tim learned a lot about his classmates over the next week. Michael Corner couldn't focus on studying because he was still trying to get over his break-up with Ginny Weasley. Lisa's ADHD was making it difficult for her to focus on one specific subject instead of trying to study all of them at once. Padma felt guilty about being more academically gifted than her twin sister, Parvati. Isobel was particularly stressed about her Transfiguration O.W.L., as both of her older brothers had gotten 'Outstanding' on theirs. Cordelia had actually had a breakdown one night during which she confessed to Tim that she was convinced that Umbridge was going to flunk her in all of her O.W.L.s because of her status as a Muggle-born. It really was surprising what people would tell Tim when he offered an ear. Apparently, a lot of people just needed someone to talk to, and Tim became that person for a while.

Tim thought it would be weird to say that he enjoyed it, seeing as people were practically pouring out their hearts and souls in front of him, but he couldn't deny that it felt good to witness people getting things off their chests. Three separate classmates came out to him over the course of one week, in fact, which was a record for Tim; he in turn came out to everyone by walking into the crowded Ravenclaw common room one night and yelling out, "I'M BISEXUAL, AND Y'ALL GOTTA DEAL WITH IT," before retiring to his room for the night. Within three days, he had over a dozen anonymous love letters, which, while not-at-all the point of coming out to everyone, was a nice confidence booster, nonetheless.

Tim also enjoyed learning about the underground drug trade going on at Hogwarts. Not that he condoned such actions, no, he'd definitely never smoked weed on patrol before, no way, he was a good, law-abiding citizen. But wizard drugs were different. Supposedly, for every drug there was a potion that could instantly undo its effects, which Tim decided to learn how to brew as soon as was humanly possible and stock it inside his utility belt.

Tim was shocked to learn that all this was going on under Professor McGonagall's nose, as she'd surely disapprove, but Tim did some more detective work, spoke to a few house-elves, and quickly discovered that the reason it was concealed so well and everyone seemed unusually safe about everything was because the whole operation was run by Hufflepuffs, specifically Professor Sprout and Robin Botesdale, the wix in the D.A. Robin was the moneymaker (because a teacher profiting off of such things would surely raise a couple of eyebrows), but Sprout always seemed to have new equipment in her greenhouses despite much of the school's budget going into the Potions department, which Tim hadn't even noticed until he dove headfirst into his little investigation. And if anyone thought they saw Tim smoking something called "hotsy" with Purdie, they were sorely mistaken, because Tim was a good, law-abiding citizen.

No one seemed hungry the day of the first exam, which just proved how (literally and figuratively) sober everyone was. Just about every fifth and seventh-year student was muttering under their breaths, shoving their noses into textbooks, or staring blankly at their untouched breakfasts. Tim felt a little guilty that he didn't have to worry about O.W.L.s like they did, but then he remembered the slew of exams and tests he took back when he was actually in high school, and that helped him reconcile with his guilt. He didn't deserve to feel guilty if he'd already done his über-important tests, right? At least, that's what he told himself when he sat down for his Charms exam.

This was Tim's mindset for the rest of the week, and it served him well. He knew he'd aced the written exams—he had a stupidly good memory for academics—but the practicals were where Tim was less sure of himself. When Professor Flitwick had given his class a whole spiel on the grave consequences of attempting to cheat during exams, Tim had worried that his amulet would be confiscated, as it was an enchanted object, but apparently, in a school full of enchanted objects, his necklace went unnoticed (he was rather surprised, however, when Isobel was caught using a well-concealed Auto-Answer Quill and was disqualified from her Transfiguration exam).

The next week of exams started similarly. He'd breezed through both portions of the Potions exams and could successfully list every important celestial body in the Solar System, something that he thought wizards might be amused to know was equally as important to Muggles as it was to themselves. It was during the nighttime Astronomy practical that things went out of hand.

The test had been going well enough. Dick's obsession with knowing the entire night sky and explaining it to Tim was finally proving itself useful, as was the memorization of the locations of every prominent constellation, which Bruce had drilled into Tim in case he'd woken up somewhere unfamiliar and needed to know what country he was in (given the amount of times Ra's had kidnapped Tim, it was not as crazy a hypothetical as it sounded). He had just finished sketching the outline of Aquila when he heard a booming roar come from outside. Tim looked up from his star chart to find that there was some sort of situation occurring at Hagrid's hut. The lights were on (not unusual), and there were multiple shadows moving about the house (definitely unusual).

"Try and concentrate, now, boys and girls," the proctor (Professor Tofty) coughed, as though that would help anyone actually focus instead of calling even more attention to the distraction itself. Tim snuck a glance to his left at Harry and Hermione, who both had their full attention on whatever was going on below.

Just as Tofty was giving them the time, there was a loud bang, and Hagrid's door flew open. The light from the doorway illuminated the giant form of Hagrid bursting out of his hut, followed by six others who were all shooting Stunners at him, their red glow particularly noticeable in the dark.

"No!" Hermione shrieked.

Tim was torn. He knew that Hagrid was a member of the Order, and so he should be able to fight back (and it did seem, much like Shazam, like the spells were just bouncing off of Hagrid), but Tim couldn't just watch as someone was getting attacked, especially when he had no idea who exactly was attacking him. It couldn't have been Death Eaters, could it?

Tim winced, watching as Fang, who had been barking up a storm, took a Stunner to the side and was knocked unconscious. Fortunately, McGonagall had just entered the scene, so Tim was sure the situation would resolve its—

McGonagall was knocked down by the force of four separate Stunning Spells, one of which came from a short figure wearing a shawl…

Umbridge. It was Umbridge. She was taking out Hagrid by force, eliminating the opposition and what she would probably call a 'dangerous half-breed.' Tim clenched the windowsill so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"COWARDS!" Hagrid boomed, his voice echoing throughout the Astronomy Tower. "RUDDY COWARDS! HAVE SOME O' THAT—AN' THAT—" He scooped up Fang's body and threw it over his shoulders so he would have room to swipe out at his enemy.

He was terrifying in the same way that Bane was terrifying; when someone who could break your back with their bare hands got visibly disturbed, that should be a red flag that you needed to get the hell out of their way. Umbridge, however, did not seem to grasp this, and she kept on attempting to Stun the man, even as he ran south at an incredible pace.

There was near-silence for the last five minutes of the exam. Everyone was staring out, waiting for something else to happen, but nothing did, save for Umbridge retreating back into the castle without even checking in on McGonagall.

I swear I'm gonna punch her in the gut the first chance I have, Tim promised himself, and the moment the frazzled proctor called the exam, Tim dashed out down the spiral staircase, ignoring Hermione's cry of, "Tim, wait—!" He had more important things to worry about.

He reached the moving staircases before anyone else, and Tim, not wanting to waste any more time than he already had, took to sliding down railings and jumping off of active staircases so that he could reach Madam Pomfrey's office as quickly as possible.

As Tim was barreling full-speed towards Madam Pomfrey's office, it was only his lightning-fast reflexes that allowed him to avoid her rushing out of the door in his direction.

"Merlin's beard!" she gasped, jumping when she saw him about to crash into her.

Tim quickly skid to a halt. "Madam Pomfrey!" he gasped, doubling over. Hogwarts was no small castle, and Tim had rushed over here at top speeds.

"Good Lord, Tim, what is going on? I heard Fang barking outside and some sort of—"

"McGonagall—needs—medical—attention—!" he gasped out, one word at a time. "Outside—follow me—!" He straightened back up and felt his side cramp up, protesting this sudden workout, but Tim ignored it and headed down to the Entrance Hall, keeping a more reasonable pace this time so that he wouldn't leave Madam Pomfrey behind.

It was a pleasant night (weather-wise, of course), and it didn't take long for Madam Pomfrey to spot McGonagall's prone form and take the lead.

"What happened to her?" Madam Pomfrey asked, checking McGonagall's neck to see if she had a pulse. Tim was happy to know that there were Healers who understood Muggle medical techniques.

"She took four Stunners to the chest," Tim relayed to her, finally having caught his breath.

"Merlin," she whispered to herself, pulling a wand out from beneath her apron. "Well, we best get her to the Hospital Wing. I can take care of her from there." She waved her wand at McGonagall's body, which lifted off of the ground and followed Madam Pomfrey as she and Tim headed back up to the castle.

"How did you see this?" she asked him as they headed back up the stairs.

"I was in my Astronomy exam," he explained. "It was dark, but Stunning Spells are pretty noticeable."

Her voice took on a more bitter quality. "And who on Earth did this to her?"

"Umbridge and some Ministry officials, I think. They were after Hagrid."

Madam Pomfrey's eyes looked murderous. "That bitch!" she hissed, but then her eyes widened, and she shook her head hurriedly. "I—what I meant was—" Tim was confused before remembering that he was still known as a public Umbridge supporter to the masses.

"Don't worry, I agree. She's a bitch."

With Hagrid missing and McGonagall out of commission, that meant that Snape was the only member of the Order of the Phoenix left at the school. Tim headed straight to the dungeons after breakfast to confront him, as there were no morning Potions classes with the fifth-years today.

"If there was ever a time for Harry to be attacked, it would be now," Tim explained to Snape as the man organized his herbs.

Snape emptied a large jar of dried nettles into a trashcan and started refilling it with a large burlap sack of freshly-dried nettles. "The Dark Lord is not planning on attacking Hogwarts," he replied without turning around.

"How can you be sure?" Tim asked before his brain caught up with his mouth and he realized that, just because Snape had renounced his ways as a Death Eater did not mean that other Death Eaters knew of this fact. "You're a double agent," he realized aloud, feeling very much like the World's Worst Detective.

Snape's shoulders tensed, but he nodded. "Indeed. The Dark Lord believes my position here at Hogwarts to be for his own benefit. Thus, I would have been the first to know of an attack on Hogwarts."

"So, what's he planning, then?"

Snape shook his head. "Such information has not been revealed to me. My post here means that I am only present for the most pressing of matters."

So then, as long as we keep Harry at Hogwarts, we should be safe. Simple enough.

CW: consensual drug use by minors, violence towards animals