Okay, so this is the last official chapter. The next one will be a li'l teaser of what's to come, and that's when I'll write all my end-of-story notes. For now, just enjoy Tim in his element and some much-needed closure concerning certain ex-convict-godfathers.
Tim was notoriously good at being able to take things in stride, so when he was introduced to the Minister for Magic as basically a superhero ambassador, instead of spitting out a very confused, "What the actual fuck?" he held out his gloved hand towards Fudge and greeted the man politely.
Because what was Tim supposed to do? Tell Fudge the current cover story—that he was just a student at Hogwarts whom Dumbledore had brought into battle? Tim knew how that sounded, how poorly that reflected on himself, Dumbledore, and Hogwarts as a whole. Students weren't supposed to be fighting Death Eaters! He was only a child! Never mind that he was one of the most capable fighters in this room, no, he was just a boy.
"New—but there—but the Justice League is full of Mug—"
"Cornelius," Dumbledore said, his voice horrifyingly calm and steady, "I am only going to ask this once of you. You will give the order to remove Dolores Umbridge from Hogwarts, and you will tell your Aurors to stop searching for my Care of Magical Creatures teacher so that he can return to work." He said these with such authority that it sounded as though they had already happened.
"I—you—on whose authority—" Fudge sputtered.
"My patience for your antics has grown incredibly thin, Minister," Dumbledore told him with cold fury. "I believe that a long talk over a nice cup of tea would do the both of us well, don't you agree?" It was crystal-clear that Dumbledore was leaving no room for argument, and, apparently, even Fudge could see this, for he hung his head low, his face a bright red.
"I—that sounds—I suppose so—"
"Very good, very good," Dumbledore smiled. "Now then, we reach the matter of where to house such criminals as the Death Eaters captured tonight. With Azkaban out of commission, it will be substantially more difficult to keep them from harming the public. Anti-Disapparition Charms can only do so much…"
As Dumbledore was saying this, Diana appeared next to Tim and walked up to the Headmaster and the Minister, three Death Eaters lassoed up and slung over her shoulder like they were bundles of hay.
"The Justice League can help with that," she told the two of them, and Tim had to stop himself from laughing at how Fudge shrunk away from her after giving her a once-over. As Diana was obviously taller and buffer than both of the men, Tim could understand the reaction. He, too, felt that way when he was around Amazons.
"The—pardon?" Poor Fudge, he really was out of his league here. "Dumbledore, who is this girl?"
Dumbledore looked, if possible, like he respected Fudge even less than before. "This woman is Diana of Themyscira, a founding member of the Justice League of America. Without the help of her and her associates, this assault on the Ministry would have succeeded."
Fudge bristled at these words. "Now, see here, Dumbledore! For a wizard to be associating with Muggles—"
"—is completely legal under Clause 290 of the International Statute of Secrecy," Tim interrupted, stepping forward. "It states that wixen—well, it says wizards, but that's a different problem—are allowed to use magic in front of any Muggle who is a registered member of the Justice League International and any of its subsidiary branches. Isn't that right?" Tim had, of course, read through the entirety of the International Statute of Secrecy and its addendums last summer so he would know all the loopholes that would benefit him in the long run. The 'Clause 290' was honestly a guess on his part—he knew that it was one of the more recent clauses, so he'd just opted for the most recent one.
Fudge raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by Tim's knowledge on the subject. "T-that's—that's true, but—how did you—?"
Tim held out his hand again and reintroduced himself. "Timothy Drake-Wayne. CRO of Wayne Enterprises, Head Wizard of Gotham City and the surrounding suburbs, and official Wizard Liaison for the Justice League International."
If Dumbledore was allowed to make shit up in front of the Minister for Magic, so was Tim.
If Tim was good at improvised negotiations, Dumbledore was like the improv partner Tim never knew he needed. Over the next half-hour, dozens of measures were set-up between the JLA and the British Ministry of Magic, and most of it was due to an incredible back-and-forth between Tim and Dumbledore where one of them would suggest a measure and the other would 'yes-and' it like they'd been discussing these things for hours before. Tim had to admit, even if he disagreed with Dumbledore on many of their personal opinions and methods of doing things, he was able to recognize a natural leader in his midst. Dumbledore spoke with authority in a way that Tim could only dream of, the way that Clark and Diana and Bruce spoke.
Tim had picked up on Diana's idea earlier—namely, that the JLI could hold the captured Death Eaters in their maximum-security prison on their old moon-base, the Justice League International Supermax Prison. They'd never been legally allowed to use the place (something about 'accountability' or some shit, like Arkham Asylum could safely house the Joker better than the JLA could—and yet Clark still whipped out the Phantom Zone Projector in battles, and the UN just looked the other direction because if it was an international threat, all bets were off), but since the British Ministry of Magic was not affiliated with any Muggle government, they could authorize the usage of the JLISM without needing to consult with the UN about the legality of such.
Was it super unethical to make deals like this behind the Muggles' backs? Yes.
Was the JLISM the safest place to keep magical criminals of every variety? Also yes.
Tim was a Bat. He was used to making those tough decisions. Apparently, so was Dumbledore, and Fudge was basically a bystander at this point, so his word was moot in Tim's eyes. For a man who had apparently turned down the position of Minister for Magic multiple times, Dumbledore had a way of influencing Fudge to do what he wanted.
Of course, there were still some personal matters between Tim and Dumbledore that they needed to get out of the way.
"First and foremost," Dumbledore started, after he'd sat down in his cushy chair in his office amidst many a cheerful greeting from headmasters and headmistresses past, "I would like to apologize for the distress my keeping you here at school has caused you, though I cannot in honesty say that I regret my actions."
"I didn't expect you to," Tim admitted, sipping at a mug of coffee that Dumbledore had mercifully provided for him. "But that doesn't mean I forgive you for it. And I'm definitely not forgetting about it any time soon."
Dumbledore nodded in a resigned manner. "As you said, I did not expect you to. However, there is another matter that must be discussed."
"You making up a job for me without my knowledge?" Tim suggested.
"We will get to that, I assure you," Dumbledore told him. "No, this is about the actions you and your classmates took against Dolores Umbridge yesterday. Assaulting a teacher is not something taken lightly here at Hogwarts. In fact, it is considered grounds for immediate expulsion—"
"I told them to do it," Tim interrupted hurriedly, standing up. "I let Harry and Hermione break into her office, I punched Umbridge, and I was the one who tied her up and broke her wand. Anything the others did was out of self-defense." It wasn't exactly the whole truth, but Tim was willing to take the blame for it.
"I see. In that case, I will discuss the matter of your expulsion with the Deputy Headmistress. That being said…"
"It doesn't really matter if I get expelled, since being an ambassador is kind of a full-time job?" Tim finished the man's thought because Tim had been thinking the same thing.
Dumbledore nodded, looking at Tim over his spectacles as if expecting a specific reaction out of him. "The decision to continue alongside the Order of the Phoenix is ultimately your choice. I understand that as the Wizard Liaison for the Justice League International, you will have a more active role in diplomatic happenings in the upcoming year, and thus, you may not have the time to contribute to the planning and execution of covert missions, but we would be happy to make the necessary accommodations for you to perform both roles to their full capacity."
Was that a challenge? That sounded like a challenge. Tim loved challenges. Tim was a whore for challenges.
"I'll think about it," he told the man, even though there wasn't much doubt in his mind what he'd do.
Tim arrived at breakfast running on exactly zero hours of sleep, still pumped up by the adrenaline of the fight the night previous. He was the first to enter the Great Hall that morning and spent a great deal of time by himself, scribbling in a notebook about more things he'd have to worry about as an official Justice League ambassador.
Step 1: (he wrote) convince the JLI to appoint me as a diplomat
Step 2: ?
Step 3: profit $$$
Sure, he was a little sleepy, but he could make a list just fine. Pretty soon, people began to file into the Great Hall, sleep in their eyes, like Voldemort hadn't just made his first public appearance in over a decade, like Umbridge wasn't maybe still locked in her office and tied to a chair.
Hermione peered over his shoulder before she sat down beside him at the Gryffindor table. "Tim, is that Russian?"
He glanced down at his notes and blinked a couple times before actually focusing on the words. "Shit, I was supposed to be writing in shorthand."
"Mate, I don't think anyone else would know the difference," Ron admitted, sitting opposite Hermione. "By the way, what did Snape need you for?"
Tim shrugged. "He was just asking how Harry's Occlumency lessons were going. You know, because of the visions."
Harry plopped down beside Ron and yawned. "Bullshit. That bastard doesn't give a shit about me. You were at the Department of Mysteries, weren't you?"
"I was?"
"Tim, I was having visions all night about it. I—Voldemort was fighting Dumbledore, Fudge was in his pajamas, it was a whole thing. I'm pretty sure Voldemort couldn't've made it up if he tried."
Huh. "We raided the Department of Mysteries and caught a bunch of Death Eaters," Tim told them, seeing no reason to lie when it was probably going to be in the papers within a couple days anyways. "We caught all of them except for Lestrange and Voldemort himself."
"How many of them were there?" asked Ron.
"Over a dozen," Tim told them. "I got some of my friends to come help."
"More vigilantes?" Hermione whispered.
"No, no, just a couple of superheroes I know. They were a huge help, trust me."
Harry frowned. "I saw Dumbledore," he insisted. "Was he there? Where's he been this whole time? Is he back?"
"Yeah, he was there. Not sure what he was doing while he was gone, but he came back for the fight. He'll probably be arriving at breakfast any moment now."
And, indeed, when the old wizard stepped into the Great Hall, looking like he owned the place (he did, everyone knew he did), he received a standing ovation from three out of the four Houses. Lee Jordan managed to get about a third of the student body chanting, "UMBITCH!" over and over again before McGonagall gave them all a withering look that immediately silenced them. Tim was almost certain that Flitwick and Sprout had joined in on the cheer before it had been shut down.
Tim spared a glance at Malfoy, who looked off without his lackeys sitting beside him, but then Tim remembered that he'd locked them in Umbridge's office with her, and it made a lot more sense.
Malfoy was looking at Tim like he wanted to murder him right then and there. Tim actually winced, not because he felt even remotely intimidated by the boy, but because he was busy wondering how Malfoy would react upon hearing that his father had been arrested and that Tim had been one of the people to facilitate it.
Tim would find out, Sunday morning, after the official story had been published in the Daily Prophet (which was at least seventy-five percent focused on 'The Boy Who Lived' and his incredible bravery to have faced such mockery at the hands of presumably unknown forces), that Malfoy's reaction was to corner him with the now-released Crabbe and Goyle in an abandoned corridor where no teachers could interrupt them.
"You're dead, Drake-Wayne," Malfoy hissed. "You're going to pay—I'm going to make you pay for what you did to my father…"
"How so?" Tim asked, watching vaguely as the three boys drew their wands in unison.
"How—?" Malfoy sputtered. "I'm—I'm going to—well, I'm—"
"I've taken on Death Eaters twice now," Tim interrupted, "and, as you've apparently noticed by now, I've been the one coming out on top, so I do wonder what exactly you're going to do to me that they haven't tried and failed to do."
Tim found himself filled with a surprising amount of pity as Malfoy's face reddened and contorted into something raging. In his tenure as a Gotham vigilante, Tim had seen how children changed when a parent—especially a father—was incarcerated. It wasn't exactly conducive to a healthy upbringing. Tim could sympathize with the position he'd indirectly put Malfoy in without regretting doing it—though he bemoaned the long-term consequences it would have on the boy's psyche.
"You're going to pay," Malfoy repeated, though this time, it was said in barely more than a whisper, and his voice cracked at the last syllable. He continued to point his wand at Tim with a trembling hand before abruptly stuffing it away and stalking off with a confused Crabbe and Goyle following behind.
Tim's heart broke a little at the boy's condition.
Tim didn't see Umbridge leave. Apparently, they'd tried to keep the whole thing on the down-low, but the resulting parties in each House's common rooms spoke of a very noticeable change in attitude concerning her departure. Tim was sure it was a combination of Umbridge's removal and the end of exams, but students were partying like the Purge was coming their way. Tim couldn't speak for the Hufflepuffs, but, as for the Gryffindors and the Ravenclaws (whose both parties Tim had attended), the atmosphere was not unlike a bachelor's party. People were yelling, shots were being had, there were random people sleeping on the couches everywhere, and plenty of people making out. Tim knew himself well enough to know that he was something of a lightweight, but that didn't stop him from taking part in the occasional Fizzing Whizzbee shot and spending some time with the resident stoners smoking alihotsy and snacking on popcorn that was regularly refreshed by the house-elves.
There was one student, however, who didn't seem to be partying as hard as everyone else, and it was, surprisingly, the one person he'd most expected to be celebrating Umbridge's departure. Tim found Harry in a corner of the Gryffindor common room late at night, long past when the shared revelry had ended and students had called it a night, speaking in a low whisper to Ron and Hermione, who were both holding his hands like they expected him to Disapparate under their very noses.
"Well, you sure seem excited for the end of school," Tim remarked, sitting down next to them without notice. All three of them flinched at his sudden appearance.
"Blimey, Tim, stop it with the 'appearing-out-of-nowhere' nonsense!" Ron gasped, squeezing Harry's left hand tighter.
"Fat chance," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes. "But what are you doing in the Gryffindor common room? Again…"
"Just checking up on the Chosen One and his friends," Tim joked, referencing the newspaper article from the day before that had spoken in-depth about how Harry was supposedly the 'Chosen One,' meant to take down Voldemort, though there was no substantial proof as to why this would be the case.
The Gryffindors, however, did not seem to take this joke so lightly. Ron frowned, Hermione tensed up, and Harry leaned back against the stone walls and closed his eyes.
"Dumbledore told you about that, did he?" Harry sighed.
"About what?" Tim asked.
"You know," Hermione said slowly, like she expected better from Tim, "the prophecy?"
"The one about you and Voldemort?" said Tim. "It said in the Daily Prophet that it was destroyed in the battle." He didn't remember it getting destroyed, specifically, but he did recall that a bunch of prophecy-stocked shelves had fallen over during the scuffle.
"So, he…didn't tell you?" Harry said, opening his eyes and staring at Tim. "That'd be a first."
"About the contents of the prophecy?" Tim asked, though it wasn't really a question, more of a deduction. "No, he didn't. But he told you."
"Yeah," Harry sighed. "Apparently, he found out about me wanting to spend the summer with Sirius, and he was opposed to it, and I got really mad at him, and then he told me about the prophecy."
Tim nodded. "Yeah, the sequence of events there doesn't quite add up. Anyways, what'd he say about the prophecy?" Hermione and Ron shared a glance before looking back at Harry, who shrugged like he was desperately trying to be casual and not-at-all panicked.
"Oh, nothing much," Harry said, his voice trembling just enough for Tim to notice. "Just that I'm either destined to off Voldemort, or he's gonna off me. You know, basic prophecy nonsense."
It didn't sound like Harry thought it was nonsense. It sounded like Harry was terrified. As he should be. He was fated to kill or be killed. Tim had heard his fair share of prophecies, and while he had initially been a skeptic to that kind of fortune-telling, he'd learned through years of seeing prophecies fulfilled firsthand that they were not something to be messed with. Prophecies always played out, whether you liked it or not.
"And, what, you're just okay with that?" Tim asked, knowing as a certainty that Harry was not.
"I mean, it certainly explains why he's always trying to kill me," Harry commented blandly.
"Do you remember exactly what the prophecy said?" Tim asked, leaning closer. "What were the exact words used? Those things can be kind of wacky with how they play out."
Harry closed his eyes again and leaned back. "The one—the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..." he started, reciting the words slowly but carefully, like he'd been saying it to himself dozens of times and wanted to get it right. "Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..."
Tim ran over the words in his head a couple of times.
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord…
He will have power the Dark Lord knows not…
Neither can live while the other survives…
Tim smiled softly, which threw off the Gryffindors' solemn mood. "So, what you're saying is that it's basically guaranteed that you're going to defeat Voldemort."
"Or he'll kill me," Harry mumbled, pulling his legs towards his chest and hunching in on himself.
Tim shook his head. "Not likely. There's no reason for a prophecy to talk about 'having the power to vanquish' someone and 'having power' his enemy 'knows not' unless the point is that this is the person that's gonna defeat the bad guy. It's Chekhov's gun."
"Chekhov's what now?" said Ron.
"Chekhov's gun," Tim repeated. "You know, like, if a gun's loaded, it's gonna be shot."
"What's a gun?" Ron asked.
Tim paused, trying to think of a better way to explain it. "Okay, like, if you're reading a book, and someone at the beginning says that they're great at herbology, you should expect that, later on in the story, that factor should come into play. Maybe there's some problem that only herbology can solve. Maybe the villain kills them off because their herbology knowledge would have revealed their identity. The point is that, if an author gives you a piece of information, you should assume that it's relevant to the story."
"But what does that have to do with Harry and You-Know-Who?"
"Why would the prophecy state that Harry has the 'power to defeat the Dark Lord' if it expected Harry to be killed by Voldemort? If he got killed by Voldemort, then, clearly, he didn't have the power to defeat him. The only reason a prophecy would need to state that is if there was a certainty that Harry would defeat Voldemort."
Hermione squeezed Harry's hand gently. "Tim, that's sweet and all, but that's just a literary theory. If Harry was guaranteed to kill Voldemort, wouldn't the prophecy have said so?"
"Prophecies are intentionally vague, that's just their nature," Tim told them. "The real meaning's supposed to be hidden. It's all a matter of interpretation. Harry, you told me you cast your first corporeal Patronus because you knew you already could, right?"
"Yeah, but that was, like, time-travel shit," Ron pointed out.
"Doesn't matter. What mattered was that he believed he could. I know it sounds stupid, but if you don't really believe you can do something, you won't be able to do it. It's gonna be a lot easier to defeat Voldemort if you actually believe you can."
Harry sighed, placing his head in his hands. "I don't exactly think I can, though."
Tim snorted. "I'm not saying right now, god, that would just be stupid. It's just something to work on. Self-confidence isn't born in a day."
"You really think I'll beat him?" Harry asked, looking up at Tim with wide eyes.
"Harry," Tim told him gently, taking his hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze, "I know you can."
Tim had a very different end-of-year feast than the rest of Hogwarts. For one, he wasn't at Hogwarts currently. He, along with Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny, had all gotten permission to leave school a few days early, traveling out of Hogsmeade by Floo directly to Grimmauld Place, which had been officially registered to the Floo Network that day. In fact, Grimmauld Place was almost unrecognizable from the decrepit dwelling place Tim had visited before heading to the Department of Mysteries. The peeling wallpaper had been replaced with smoothed walls painted in reds and yellows, and there were no more creaky floorboards, even on the staircases. There had been a complete overhaul of the furniture, moldy couches and worn tables replaced with newer, comfortable furniture of a much better build, and many charmed to keep growing no matter how many people were using it.
And that was just what a visitor might notice on the communal floors. There were more personal changes up the stairs, like the portrait of Walburga Black being finally removed by the ever-clever counter-charmwork of Albus Dumbledore and the gruesome wall of house-elves-passed being taken down.. In fact, Dumbledore was crucial to some of the most stubborn aspects of the house, whether it be by removing curses from the violent grandfather clock and the haunting music box, or by being able to successfully label every unknown dark item locked in various cabinets. When Hermione and Tim arrived, they combined their collective knowledge of the contents of the old library to sort the books so they could protect the ones with dark magic that needed not to see the light of day (if ever they had) and section off the ones with overtly problematic themes so the everyday reader didn't have to wonder if the book they were picking up was going to have blood-supremacist overtones in the second half.
Save for the vocally-cruel painting of Walburga, none of the family heirlooms were thrown away. Sirius had been more than eager to burn that part of his life, but Hermione had been the one to push for their preservation, not only to ensure that important history was not lost, but also because she had been the sole person to realize what they meant to Kreacher, and it was through this persistent campaign that she became the first person in many years to truly earn the respect and trust of the family's house-elf.
And what was the cause of this truly colossal overhaul of the Most Noble House of Black? Well, it was because a court date had been set for the last day of the semester at Hogwarts, and that was to review Sirius Black's life sentence in Azkaban 'in light of recent information being revealed.' Basically, if the politics worked out like Tim expected, Sirius was about to officially be a free man for the first time in fifteen years, and that brought the man a kind of hope he'd clearly forgotten the feeling of. It was during this time that Molly had brought up, like she so often did, the fact that Grimmauld Place was a mess, to which Sirius had suddenly commented, "Actually, yeah, fuck it. You're right. I've got way too much money in my inheritance. Let's remodel this whole place."
So, Molly and Sirius had been the initial collaborators, and soon everyone in the Order had had some kind of contribution to make. By the end of June, the house was nearly unrecognizable. No longer could you open the cupboard under the sink and find the cramped quarters of Kreacher—he now lived in a spacious cubby in the room that housed the archived records of the old house and its previous ownership. No longer could you find the burnt-off face of Sirius Black amidst the rest of his family tree, which had been scrubbed off (much to its inhabitants' dismay) and replaced with a chart of every member, past and present, of the Order of the Phoenix and their relation to one another. The house belonged to them as much as it belonged to Sirius, and he wanted everyone to know that.
It was an unusually quiet morning that Tim woke up to, so, of course, after taking a jog around the neighborhood, he returned to a rambunctious house full of life, because Sirius, Dumbledore, Kingsley, and Remus had all returned home from their trip to the Ministry of Magic, and Sirius was officially a free man, cleared of all charges and issued an official pardon on behalf of the Minister for Magic. Molly was already in the kitchen preparing a feast for everyone, Tonks was magically carrying in boxes of booze, and Sirius, who looked practically unrecognizable with his fresh haircut and formal attire, was hugging Harry tightly, his face pressed into the boy's hair, and his whole body trembled as he sobbed and spun his godson around. In fact, Sirius was hugging everybody, so elated was he at the prospect of getting to interact with society again and host people at his house and be in public and live a little.
When he got to Tim, he couldn't help but spin him around a little like he had with Harry, and he said, "I'm so glad you Side-Along Apparated with Mundungus that one time. You've done so much here. I don't know where we'd—where I'd be without you. Thank you, Tim."
And Tim, seeing what he'd accomplished, seeing at least one life that had been made better in part by his existence, said, "Anytime." There was nothing that made you feel more needed than when you could see the effect your existence had on the people around you, and, right now, Tim was feeling very needed, and so he committed this moment to memory, to recall when he didn't always feel so needed, as a reminder that he'd given someone hope, just like Robin was supposed to.
Listen. Listen. I respect every author who decides to keep Sirius alive, but that's not enough for me. I need him to be happy, goddammit, and that starts with overhauling his super problematic living situation. I want this man to be able to live again, not just be alive, and I will use all my fanfiction powers to make that happen.