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

Tim allowed himself to sleep in another hour on Thursday, given that his first class was at nine o' clock that day. Plus, he wanted to attempt to do something nice for himself for once. Yesterday had not been a good day, and, according to Barbara Gordon, when one had oneself a bad day, one was supposed to pamper oneself the next day to make up for it. Tim was notoriously bad at following this bit of advice, but he somehow managed to convince himself to stay in bed. During History of Magic, he sketched out designs for a new cape instead of paying attention to Binns's coma-inducing lecture on the Goblin-Wizard Accords of 1594. During Transfiguration, he vanished his mice while humming the entirety of Green Day's Dookie to himself. And during Herbology, he quietly watched each of the Slytherin boys from last night go about their business, taking no small amount of pleasure in the way they jumped every time he called one of their names.

But by the time the evening had arrived, Tim was ready to get back to business, namely spying in on Umbridge and Harry again. This time, however, he wouldn't have to sneak around the side of the building, at least, not initially. He went to dinner early and snagged some food before heading back up to the common room, which was quickly being evacuated by the rest of the Ravenclaws. His dormitory was empty, and, after giving Alfred some sausage to munch on, he lay down on his bed and pulled out a small earpiece that hummed with magical energy.

It was three minutes to five o' clock. Tim tucked his comm link into his ear and, with a half-formed silent prayer to some vague deity, he tapped on his earlobe twice. There was a moment of static that sounded less like the electrical buzz of ocean waves and more like the whine of a strong breeze. The only explanation Tim had for this—like so many other phenomena around him—was magic. But then he could hear scratching and the whoosh of paper being handled, and Tim knew that he was connected. He pumped both of his fists into the air, celebrating this tiny accomplishment amidst a surplus of failures in this past week.

Just as the clocktower struck five, Tim heard the sickly-sweet voice of Umbridge call out, "Come in!" and the creak of her door opening. "Sit down, Mr. Potter, you know the drill." There was some shuffling around, and when Harry spoke, Tim had to turn up the volume.

"I really don't anymore, Professor." The boy's voice trembled.

"Well then, consider this the new drill. Put your bag down and take a seat." Her voice was now at the same level as Harry's. She must have gotten up and gone to stand closer to him. A moment of silence followed this, and then a small fwip as something snapped into place.

"Is this really necessary?" Harry sounded very tense now, and Tim heard him grunt a couple times.

"I believe it is, Mr. Potter. Now, you remember how last night's detention went?" A pause. She was waiting for Harry's nonverbal confirmation. Meanwhile, Alfred hopped up onto the bed and curled up on Tim's chest.

After a couple seconds, she continued, "It seemed to prove effective, so I see no reason in changing things up. Now—" she moved further away, and Tim adjusted the volume levels accordingly "—I have another question for you tonight."

"Ask away."

"How did Cedric Diggory die?"

Tim heard Harry suck in a breath. Cedric Diggory, that was the boy who had died in June. The one that Harry claimed was murdered by Voldemort.

As though he was reading Tim's mind from afar, Harry replied curtly, "He was murdered by Voldemort," his voice cracking at the end.

"Incorrect."

A harsh noise came through the receiver, and it took Tim a moment to comprehend what it was. It sounded like someone was gurgling and choking at the same time. It sounded like someone was drowning.

Tim shot up into a sitting position, ignoring the way that Alfred hissed at him and scurried away from his bed. The wet, hacking coughs were still going on. With the haste of a proper superhero, Tim started grabbing things and stuffing them into his pockets: smoke pellets, shuriken, gas pellets, laser cylinder. He snatched his staff and hooked it to the back of his belt alongside his wand. Then he tossed on his robes and fled the dormitory. The hacking noises hadn't stopped.

Tim had six levels to go down before he could even think of getting to the Defense Against the Dark Arts office, so he decided to forego the spiral staircase down to the fifth floor and opted to slide down the railing. He hopped off several feet before the rails ended and raced down the hallway to the moving staircases. They were full of plenty of students on their way to dinner, waiting eagerly for the stairs to line up in their favor. Tim didn't have that luxury right now. The coughing still hadn't let up for a moment.

As he approached the stairs, he began to debate his next choice of action. On the one hand, he didn't want to make a scene, nor did he want people getting a better grasp on his abilities, but on the other hand, a boy was suffocating at the hands of a teacher and every moment Tim wasn't there was more time for Harry to sustain serious brain injuries.

They could probably heal him with magic, the logical part of Tim's mind said. The impulsive side took in the placement of each of the staircases relative to another and in which directions they were moving. The logical side told him that he could always call a teacher. The impulsive side told him that if he went down this staircase halfway and jumped off of it, he could drop down two stories and grab onto the next staircase.

Tim slid up to the nearest staircase, pushed past a couple of younger Ravenclaws, and grabbed the railing with one hand. He used his momentum to help push himself off the ground and then hopped off that rail, dropping down two stories and grabbing that staircase he had been eyeing earlier.

He didn't have time to worry about the screams of students around him or the people on this staircase trying to help him up. He lifted himself up onto the railing, hopped onto the opposite rails, and slid down it, jumping at the last second and landing on a staircase that was sliding towards the third floor. Tim pushed aside the panicking students around him and jumped the remaining eight or so feet, landing on the second floor. Then he dashed off to Umbridge's office without looking back.

After what felt like an eternity, Umbridge vanished the water from his lungs, and Harry was able to breathe again. Exhausted, his head dropped down to his chest as he heaved in lungfuls of air.

"Now then, the correct answer is that Diggory's death was a tragic accident."

Harry continued to choke, even though his lungs were liquid-free. "He—was—murdered—!" he managed to get out between the coughs.

"I'll ask you again, Mr. Potter," Umbridge said, lifting up her wand again, her voice like poison in his ears. "How did Cedric Diggory die?"

"He—was—!" Harry stopped. He could have sworn that he had just heard a knock coming from the door. As he took another shuddering breath, it happened again. Two knocks, and then a muffled voice calling, "Professor Umbridge?"

"Who is it?" Umbridge asked, sounding harsher than she had probably intended. Harry couldn't see her, but he assumed she was debating whether or not to answer the door at all. After all, she was in the middle of administering a detention.

"It's Timothy Drake-Wayne, ma'am."

Tim? Harry gasped for air. What on Earth was Tim of all people doing here? Suddenly, it was as though a great weight was lifted off of Harry's chest, and he fell forward as the robes binding him vanished. Grabbing his knees, he steadied his breathing.

He heard the door creak open and Umbridge say, "Timothy, dear, I'm a little busy at the moment. Is it urgent?"

"N-no," Tim stuttered meekly in a voice Harry didn't recognize. "I just—I trust you, Professor Umbridge."

"What happened, Timothy?" she asked immediately, opening the door a little wider. "Are you alright?" Harry had finally regained his breath enough that he felt comfortable turning around in his seat to watch the proceedings. Tim, like most of the older students, was taller than Umbridge, so Harry was able to see his reddened face and tears threatening to burst forth. Harry wasn't as close to Tim as, say, Hermione, but this still seemed deeply out-of-character for the transfer.

Tim shook his head. "I—well—it—there was this ghost—I don't know who it was, but he—he's been following me all day, and—and he's been throwing things at me, and—and he spilled ink all over my homework for tomorrow, and I spent all week working on my Potions essay, but now I'm worried that it—"

"Timothy, calm down," Umbridge cooed, reaching up and patting his cheek. Harry grimaced as he watched Tim lean into the touch. "This must have been the work of Peeves the Poltergeist. If I could, I'd have that menace banished from this school for good. Where did you last see him?"

"W-well, I didn't see him, he was invisible a lot," Tim admitted with a little sniffle. "But he grabbed my hair while I was heading down the staircase in Ravenclaw Tower, and that's when I ran to get you. I—I'm scared of him…"

"You don't have to be afraid, child. That poltergeist is no match for me." For added effect, she brandished her wand in the air fiercely. Tim's eyes widened, and he nodded, a small smile forming on his face. "Rest assured, I will make sure he never lays a finger on you again."

"T-thank you, Professor. You're so brave." That almost made Harry start gagging again.

"I'm only doing my job, child," she told him. "Now, off to dinner. I'll fix this."

Tim swallowed nervously and looked around. "I—but—what if he—?" The boy sniffled again and wiped his eyes with the palm of his hand. "I just—he scares me—I don't feel—I don't want to go—"

"Are you scared to go down to the Dining Hall alone?" Umbridge asked sweetly. Tim's face got redder, and he nodded, turning away from Umbridge in shame.

She patted him on the shoulder. "Would you like someone to go with you?"

Tim nodded, and he peered around the top of Umbridge's head, looking at Harry hopefully. Harry had no clue how to respond to this, so he just gave Tim a little wave. Umbridge seemed to notice that Tim was looking past her, and she spun around on one heel, giving Harry a truly nasty grimace. For a moment, she just sneered at him, and Harry stared back at Tim, wondering if this was some other Timothy Drake-Wayne than the one he knew. His behavior was absolutely baffling.

Umbridge opened her mouth to speak, but she was interrupted by a loud sniffle. She paused, turned back to look at Tim and then back at Harry. She looked like she was at war with herself.

Finally, she turned back to Tim. "Would you feel better if Harry here were to go with you to the Dining Hall?" The words seemed to be unwillingly wrenched from her lips, and, indeed, she looked rather revolted after she spoke them.

That was the last thing Harry expected to come from Umbridge's mouth, and he tried not to let his shock show. He could barely keep a straight face as he watched Tim's eyes light up as if he was surprised that she had read his mind like that (how could she not, Tim had looked so obviously desperate when he was looking at Harry), and he nodded hurriedly.

Umbridge sighed and, without turning around, gestured for Harry to come over. Harry, nervous and confused and relieved, grabbed his bookbag and headed over to the door. With a saccharine smile, she opened the door for him and motioned for him to go over to Tim. Still in a daze of sorts, Harry nodded and did as told.

"Well then," Umbridge said cheerfully, stepping outside into the hallway and locking the door behind her. "I'm going to head up Ravenclaw Tower and give that Peeves a lesson he won't forget!" She nodded firmly at Tim, glared coldly at Harry, and then turned to leave.

"T-thank you so much, Professor!" Tim called to her as she approached the staircases. "You really are amazing." Harry watched in disbelief as Umbridge disappeared into the maze of moving staircases. The moment Umbridge was out of sight, Tim hit Harry on the back, and he stumbled forward a little.

"Well, we should get going before she changes her mind," Tim said cheerfully, all traces of tears gone from his face. Harry gaped at Tim and numbly followed the boy as he hopped onto a staircase. Gone was the flustered boy from minutes ago who was stuttering and stumbling through sentences. Here was the Tim that Harry knew, standing tall and confidently, leaning casually against one of the railings.

"I… What just happened?" Harry managed to say, not sure where to start.

Tim laughed, grinning at Harry. "I got you out of detention, that's what."

All of that…was to get Harry out of detention? How did Tim pull that off? Why was Umbridge treating him like a son? How did he manage to act so shaken up? Was the whole Peeves thing made up? And, most importantly, why? Why would Tim do that for Harry?

Tim winked at Harry. "How was my act?"

"Brilliant," Harry breathed, shaking his head in disbelief. "I could hardly believe my eyes."

"I've gotten lots of practice," said Tim as the two of them hopped onto the next staircase. "My grandfather used to be an actor."

"So…the story about Peeves…?"

Tim laughed again, and Harry felt lighter and happier than he had all week. "Totally made up. From what I've gathered, the guy's an agent of chaos, so I thought that he'd probably take credit for all of that stuff I told her. And if he didn't, who'd believe him anyways?"

"But what's Umbridge going to do when she can't find Peeves?"

"He can turn invisible, the dude has an ironclad alibi."

Harry had to hand it to him—the plan was a work of genius. Tim made it sound like he had every step planned out. This evening, Harry had walked into Umbridge's office dreading the next couple hours of violent interrogation she was certain to conduct, and here he was, less than ten minutes later, on his way to dinner. All through the mystifying chicanery of one Tim Drake-Wayne.

"How did you…?" How had he pulled this whole thing off? There were so many ways in which this could have gone south. How did Tim know that Umbridge would go after Peeves? How did he know that Umbridge would let Harry be his escort?

Either Tim didn't hear this question or chose to ignore it, for he didn't reply. The two walked into the Dining Hall and Tim followed Harry to the Gryffindor table. Maybe it was because Tim was a transfer student, and was thus unaware of the culture of Hogwarts, but he never hesitated to sit at the Gryffindor table if he wanted to talk to Hermione or invite her to the Ravenclaw table. The only other student Harry knew to be so bold was Luna, and she was…well…Luna.

Neither Ron nor Hermione noticed the two of them approach. Tim smirked at Harry and tapped Hermione on the shoulder. "Room for two more?"

"Of course, Tim," Hermione acquiesced, scooting over without looking up. Ron, however, glanced up from his food and pointed at Harry with his fork.

"Hawee? I haut oo wah ih duhenhuh?" he said through a mouthful of meat pie.

Hermione whipped her head around and gasped loudly. "Harry? How—? Aren't you supposed to be in detention?"

"Dahs wah I seh!"

Tim let Harry take a seat next to Hermione while Tim himself jogged around to the other side of the table and plopped down in between Ron and Lavender Brown, whose face flushed a deep red.

"I've got Tim to thank for that," Harry admitted, dolloping liberal amounts of mashed potatoes onto his plate eagerly. "He somehow managed to bail me out."

"Umbridge just let you waltz right out of her office, did she?" Ron said once he had swallowed the unholy amount of food he had stuffed into his mouth.

"Umbridge," Tim started as he poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice, "had to leave to go hunt Peeves in Ravenclaw Tower." At Hermione and Ron's baffled faces, Tim took the time to explain to them the events that went down in Umbridge's office.

"But why on Earth would that old hag walk out in the middle of a detention?" Hermione asked after he'd finished.

Tim shrugged. "I really leaned into the whole 'you're the only one I trust to get the job done' appeal."

Ron snorted. "And why would she believe that?"

"Oh, I've really started sucking up to her," Tim told them, smirking at the trio's repulsed faces. "Yeah, I'm fairly certain I've convinced her that she's my idol." Ron mimicked vomiting, eliciting laughter from the other three students. "It wasn't that hard, given her obvious megalomania. I just told her what she wanted to hear."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Which was…?"

"Oh, you know, 'I'm a dumb teenager,' 'children are stupid, and adults know everything,' 'I will blindly submit to authority,' those sorts of things."

"What would you have done if she ignored you and continued on with the detention? Or if she didn't let Harry go down to dinner with you?" Hermione asked, her brows furrowed together as if Tim was an anomaly that she couldn't comprehend fully.

Tim shrugged again and swallowed his mouthful of asparagus. "I dunno. I'm good at making stuff up on the spot. I might have caused some trouble outside her classroom, or maybe I'd make up something about students getting into a fight. Maybe I'd tell her that I need Harry to help me with something."

Ron slapped Tim on the back and laughed. "That's bloody mad, mate. You know he only has one more day of detentions, right?"

"And I'll get him out of it tomorrow, too," Tim told him.

"But why?" Hermione said softly, still staring at Tim. It was beginning to make him wonder if he had slipped up somehow.

"Because he's my friend. Also, Umbridge sucks."

This didn't seem to be the right answer for her. "But…it's just detention. He's just doing lines." Oh, right. She didn't know that he knew about the torture-quills.

Tim sighed and leaned forward. "Yeah, you didn't sound convincing the first time you said that either. It sounded like Harry was getting hurt. So I thought I'd drop in." He then switched his attention over to Harry. "Imagine my surprise when I find you not doing lines." Hermione and Ron both turned to Harry, looking rather determined to wrench some explanations out of him. Thankfully, it seemed he had curbed Hermione's suspicions for now.

"You weren't doing lines?" she echoed. "What was Umbridge doing to you?"

He watched Harry open his mouth and then close it, gripping his fork with white knuckles. "Tim's wrong. I was doing lines, same as always."

"Then why's your hand not all bloody?" Ron pointed out. At this, Harry dropped his fork and hurriedly hid his hand under the table.

"I—"

"Why would his hand be bloody?" Tim cut in, glad to finally have an excuse to know about Harry's detentions.

"Because," Hermione hissed, reaching under the table and yanking Harry's right hand out into the open, "Umbridge makes him write lines with his own blood." She shoved his hand in Tim's direction so that he could clearly see the scars spelling out 'I must not tell lies.'

Tim made sure to look properly horrified at this revelation. "That's—that's torture! Is that legal in Britain? It definitely isn't legal in America."

"She's the High Inquisitor, I'm pretty sure she can do whatever," Harry grumbled.

"So, why weren't you writing lines?" Ron asked. "Did she come up with something else?"

"I—I—" Oddly enough, Harry looked like he was trying very hard to say something without choking. But all that came out was a stuttered, "T-th-th—"

Ron looked on, very concerned. "You need a moment, mate?"

"It—th—the—I—I—"

Tim frowned. What was with the sudden stutter? "What's wrong, Harry?"

"I—no—it—" Hermione patted Harry's shoulder supportively. Suddenly, her eyes widened.

"She cursed you!" she interrupted. "You can't speak about what's been going on in detention anymore." Well, that would explain things. It made sense for Umbridge to want to silence the boy after Tim's break-in—how would anyone other than Harry have known about her quills? Harry nodded furiously, pointing at Hermione as if to emphasize the point she had made.

"So, we don't know what Umbridge is doing to Harry, just that he's not doing lines anymore," Ron summed up. Harry nodded, though he didn't look too happy about it.

Tim's mind immediately jumped to waterboarding, but, a) it sounded like Harry had been trying to expel water from his lungs, which was the one situation waterboarding was meant to prevent, and, b) Harry hadn't been laying on an inclined board, though Tim supposed that Umbridge could have levitated Harry's body and dropped him before letting Tin in. He supposed 'magical drowning' would have to suffice as a working theory for now.

"So," Ron continued, "what's the plan for getting Harry out of detention tomorrow, Tim? I don't think she'll believe you if you say that the Bloody Baron has been haunting you."

Ah, yes. What was Tim's plan for getting Harry out of detention tomorrow? It was still in the works, but Tim would come up with something. He always did. Not that he'd tell them that. No need to stress anyone out just yet.

"Oh, I've got something in mind," he answered mysteriously.

"Well, Alfie?" Tim flung himself onto his bed, his cat jumping up to curl up under his armpit. "Got any bright ideas?" Alfred yawned loudly, flicking his tail over Tim's face.

"Fair enough," he conceded. "All I can think of is breaking into her office and messing up the place. But it's not like she can't do detention after that. And it's not like I can come knocking again and make up some other excuse, that'd be way too suspicious."

He shook his head. "No, then I'd lose her trust, and that's something I'm planning on exploiting in the future. All I can think of is causing some sort of ruckus in her office right before or during Harry's detention, but she's probably upped security since my last break-in. Either that, or I sneak into her bedroom tonight and steal her wand. But I don't even know where her living quarters are, so that's off the table." Tim had hoped that maybe talking it out with Alfred would work as some sort of cat debugging for his plans, but he was still coming up blank.

"And I can't just back out now, I promised him I'd get him out." It was a stupid promise that, even as he'd made it, Tim doubted whether or not he could keep. But if Tim couldn't help Harry, how could he even call himself a superhero? What kind of Robin would knowingly let a child suffer? Not this one, that's for certain.

Tim stumbled through Friday, only half of his attention on his classes. He was racking his brain for any semblance of a plan, any way to stop Umbridge from torturing Harry without getting either Harry or himself expelled. But for all of Tim's cunning and canny, he couldn't think of any logical plans. So, he moved on to the next best thing: illogical plans. Those really were his specialty if he was being honest with himself.

Right now, Tim was favoring the 'break into Umbridge's office during detention and cause a commotion' idea. He could bash the window in with his staff and toss in a couple smoke pellets. Then, while Umbridge was clearing the air, he could slip in and…well…he was still trying to figure out what to do after that.

"You don't actually have a plan yet, do you?"

Tim looked up at Hermione in surprise. He probably looked pretty pensive, pushing his peas around on his plate while he tried to come up with the rest of his plan.

"What gave it away?" he chuckled mirthlessly, dropping his head back down into his lunch. I have a free period after lunch, maybe I can get into her office then…

Hermione sighed, shaking her head. "It's okay, Tim. Harry's already grateful enough for your help yesterday. You've done so much for him already."

"Not nearly enough," he muttered to himself. "Ugh, I'm so stupid!"

"Tim, stop it," Hermione chided. "You can't help everyone."

Bruce can, he thought. Dick can, hell, even Damian's better at helping people. Why can't I?

Five o'clock found Tim pacing back and forth in the west wing of the second floor, just doors down from Umbridge's office, listening to his comm-link.

"Please take a seat, Mr. Potter."

Tim bit his lip. Think, think! What are you supposed to do?

"Now, we had to wrap things up rather quickly last night," Umbridge continued, "so I suppose we'll have to make up for that tonight. It's only fair." Harry snorted loud enough for the transceiver to pick up.

If I barge in wearing my gear, either she'll recognize me right away or she'll start a full-scale investigation into me, and I'll botch the entire mission.

"Tonight's question will be…why did you feel the need to lie about a dementor attack this summer?"

Harry was attacked by dementors over the summer? How was Tim only now hearing about this?

"I didn't lie," Harry growled back.

Is there some way to get her to leave her office like yesterday? Or some way to pull Harry out?

"Tut, tut. Incorrect."

Tim shut his eyes and stopped dead in his tracks. There it was again, the wet coughing, the incoherent cries for help.

What do I do? His legs moved on their own, approaching Umbridge's office swiftly, even though he had no clue what he was going to do when he got there. What do I—?

"Mr. Drake-Wayne, might I inquire as to what you are doing up here instead of eating dinner alongside the rest of your peers?"

"Wh—I—" Tim came to a stop before he could run into the teacher in front of him. Lifting his head (curse his height, or lack thereof), he came face-to-face with none other than the ever-captious Professor Snape, leering over Tim with a singular raised eyebrow.

"I—" Tim tried to come up with an excuse, but he was more than a little distracted by the sounds of a young boy struggling to breathe that were being transmitted to him. "Har—a student is in danger." He avoided Harry's name, remembering how Hermione had detailed Snape's singular hatred towards him before.

Crap, why did I say that? The point is for less people to be involved in this.

Snape tilted his head, his face (almost) unreadable. He was interested, Tim could tell. "Would you care to be more specific, Mr. Drake-Wayne?"

"Professor Umbridge is torturing a student for their detention."

Tim felt a weight lifted off of his chest when he heard Harry breathing again, or rather, choking in breaths but not gurgling like a shower drain anymore.

For some reason, Snape did not seem as shocked by this revelation as Tim had expected. In fact, he seemed wholly unconcerned for the fate of this anonymous student.

"The nature of a detention is up to the teacher who has issued it," Snape said flatly. "It is not my place to interfere in her judgement."

He knows it's Harry, Tim realized with a frown. God, Hermione wasn't kidding about him, was she.

"The correct answer is that you have become mentally unstable, the tragic fate of one who has been in the public spotlight for far too long," Umbridge told Harry.

Tim felt a deep anger against the staff of this school well up inside of him. "So, the Cruciatus Curse is 'Unforgivable' under international wizarding law, but normal torture is chill?" he retorted dryly, narrowing his eyes. No way was he going to let Snape walk out of this one.

"Anything less than the Cruciatus Curse cannot be considered torture."

Tim stared, aghast, at the wizard in front of him. How he was ever allowed to become a teacher, Tim didn't know. "So, what's bodily mutilation considered here? 'Cuz in America, that's torture." Tim should know. His body had been plenty mutilated over the years.

"Non-lethal physical force, as well as injury without long-lasting effects, serve as a deterrent against future misbehavior," Snape said slowly, as though he was choosing each word carefully. Tim really wanted to punch something—mostly that slimy nose pointed down at him.

"What the hell!? What's wrong with you people!?" He threw his hands into the air (instead of at Snape, that would have to wait for now…) "Harry's been forced to carve into his own skin for over a week, and you have the audacity to insinuate that it's not going to have long-term effects?"

Tim, stop getting emotional. It's just a mission. These are just people. People with their own lives that are none of your business. You need to stay on good terms with the teachers here, you can't just go around spouting—

"Mr. Drake-Wayne, you are deathly close to finding yourself in a detention of your own, so I suggest you shut your obnoxiously loud mouth and go to dinner," hissed Snape, standing a little taller, his hands folded behind his back in the perfect picture of a calm, collected man who was struggling to stay that way.

Umbridge's sickly voice trilled over the comms, "I'll ask you again: why did you feel the need to lie about a dementor attack this summer, Mr. Potter?"

This is pointless, Tim seethed. I need to take this to the top.

"Yes, sir," he managed to say after he unclenched his jaw, and he raced off in the opposite direction before he could change his mind and punch Snape's greasy face.

In reality, Tim had just remembered that the entrance to Dumbledore's office was only a corridor away from him right now and was off to give Dumbledore a piece of his mind.

"I didn't lie!" Harry coughed, sounding a little exasperated. "Honestly, what other reason would I have for casting a Pat—!" More wet retching noises ensued.

The stone gargoyle loomed over Tim, keeping its post guarding the staircase to the headmaster's office. Lucky for Tim, who had just realized that he did not know how to get past said gargoyle, Dumbledore seemed to be returning to his office right as Tim was, so Tim sped up a little to block his path.

"Incorrect, Mr. Potter."

"Haaaauuugh—gack—caaahh—auuugh—!"

"Mr. Drake-Wayne, what a pleasant sur—"

Tim didn't have time for this. "Umbridge is torturing Harry, Snape is doing shit about it, and I am this close to marching into her office and punching her in the stomach!" With each new piece of information he delivered, Tim stepped closer to Dumbledore, jabbing a finger accusingly into the man's chest.

Dumbledore had the nerve to not look intimidated, merely tilting his head inquisitively. "These are quite the accusations, Mr—"

"Go to her office right now," Tim growled, whipping his arm around and pointing down the Gargoyle Corridor towards Umbridge's office, "and see for yourself. Unless, of course, the injury of your students is unimportant to you, in which case I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands, and I assure you, it won't be pretty." Tim was getting a sadistic sort of pleasure playing the white suburban mom and reprimanding Dumbledore like this. Of course, Tim was also predicting another week's worth of detentions for himself, but that wasn't important right now.

To Tim's surprise, Dumbledore nodded and began to walk towards her office at a rather swift pace—Tim's short legs had to work double-time to keep up. To Tim's additional surprise, Snape was exactly where he had left him, standing a couple feet away from Umbridge's door. Upon catching sight of Dumbledore's rapid approach, Snape neatly sidestepped away from the door, allowing Dumbledore to slide in and rap on it thrice with his old, lumpy knuckles. Meanwhile, Tim was very tempted to flip off Snape, but he somehow managed to squash down that urge and pay attention to the proceedings before him.

It was then that Tim realized that Umbridge, seeing him alongside Dumbledore, would probably connect the dots and realize that Tim had double-crossed her, and, just before she could come to the door, he slipped behind a stone pillar several feet away from her office without bothering to tell Dumbledore or Snape. They could work this one out on their own.

Tim quickly recognized the echo problem that happened when he both heard Umbridge say, "Yes?" over his transceiver and a muffled, "Yes?" come from her office door. Fortunately, this was WayneTech-tech that Tim was working with, not some run-of-the-mill communications system, so the lag between the two was on the order of a couple milliseconds off, barely noticeable to the untrained ear.

The door creaked open. "Good evening, Dolores," Dumbledore said softly, his voice steadier than Snape had been with Tim earlier. No, this was approaching Bruce-levels of steady. Tim was more than a little impressed.

"E-evening, Headmaster," Umbridge replied, quickly getting over her surprise at his sudden appearance. "Is something the matter?"

Oof, already jumping to the 'is something wrong' faux-question, this woman is not the brightest, is she? Are you trying to make him suspicious?

"No, no, not at all. I merely wanted to check in on you, see how things were doing. We haven't had a chance to talk since you started teaching here." Tim poked his head around the pillar to see Dumbledore let himself into her office like he owned the place, which wasn't too far off. Snape, too, it seemed, had disappeared from the scene like Tim had.

Harry really couldn't hear much over the sound of his own hacking and heaving, but he could have sworn that he had heard Professor Dumbledore speaking. Maybe it was just his oxygen-deprived brain coming up with reasons as to why Umbridge had untied him and gone to open the door again. It couldn't have been Tim again…could it? Harry bent double, trying to steady his breathing so he could hear what exactly was going on.

"Well, as you can see, I'm a little busy having a nice chat with Mr. Potter right now," Umbridge explained, sounding like she very much wanted to get back to conjuring gallons of water directly into Harry's lungs. Harry would have laughed at her terrible lie if he could only draw in enough air to do so.

"So it seems," and that was definitely Dumbledore's voice; Harry, despite not being able to sit up straight, managed to twist around enough to see that, indeed, Dumbledore was standing in the Defense Against the Dark Arts office, chatting pleasantly with Umbridge like they had bumped into each other on their way to breakfast.

"And is Mr. Potter quite all right? He seems to be having some difficulty breathing." Dumbledore had not removed his gaze from Umbridge, which sent a surge of anger through Harry. Dumbledore seemed to be avoiding Harry at all costs, except when he wasn't, which was apparently right now, and yet the man still had the audacity to act like Harry wasn't there. However, Harry couldn't deny the comfort that it brought him to have Dumbledore here defending him. At least, that's what Harry assumed he was doing here.

"Hm?" Umbridge looked over at Harry with wide eyes like she had just noticed that he was there. His life seemed to be full of adults who were unwilling to acknowledge his existence. "Oh, dear me. Must have choked on a biscuit." She gestured to the table in front of Harry, which he now noticed hosted a tea set for two and an assortment of confectionaries and pastries, which most certainly were not there five minutes ago.

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied, and Harry was unable to tell if the man actually believed her or not. Harry, personally, thought that Dumbledore wasn't nearly dumb enough to fall for Umbridge's tricks, but the alternative conclusion—that she had been in the middle of trying to drown Harry—seemed too outlandish an inference for someone to make, even if that someone was Dumbledore.

"And would this be his detention?" Dumbledore asked. "Having tea with you over the dinner hour?" He waved a hand towards Harry, who suddenly found that he could breathe again without impairment.

Umbridge hesitated for only a moment before emitting one of her high-pitched giggles. "Certainly not, Headmaster. Since I had to schedule this over Mr. Potter's dinner hour, I thought some snacks would help carry him over until we were finished."

"Ah, I see. Mind if I join you?" It wasn't really a question, not when Dumbledore had already conjured himself an armchair and sat down to Harry's left.

"I—well—o-of course not…"

Three hours. Dumbledore stayed in there for three hours, keeping a steady conversation with Umbridge about absolutely nothing. Tim leaned on the pillar outside, garnering the occasional confused side-glance from passers-by, listening in vague fascination as Dumbledore talked about the weather, his thoughts on legislations concerning flying carpets, the best drinks at the Three Broomsticks, recent alchemic discoveries, and everything in between. His control of the conversation was masterful, like Bruce at galas trying to coax people into donating their money without that ever explicitly being said. Dumbledore was using a lot of the techniques that Tim employed when directing a conversation, especially with how he made suggestions and then managed to make it seem like Umbridge had been the one to come up with said suggestions.

About an hour in, he managed to steer the conversation into academics, at which point Dumbledore asked Harry to leave so that they could discuss more 'sensitive' subjects. Tim suddenly realized that this was the entire point of starting this conversation and that Dumbledore had managed to get Harry out of detention so smoothly that it did not even seem that Umbridge noticed. Once Tim heard the sound of the door closing, he removed himself from his hiding place and casually made his way over to Harry, who looked shell-shocked.

"One hell of a headmaster you've got here," Tim remarked, and Harry, who had been staring off blankly into the distance, whipped his head around and nearly jumped when he realized that Tim had been standing beside him for almost a whole minute.

"T-Tim? What are you…?" Harry's brows furrowed beneath his round glasses. "Did…did you do this?" Tim shrugged and grabbed Harry's wrist, pulling the boy over to the stairs, since it was clear that he would have been content to stand right outside of Umbridge's office and stare at the portrait of the dancing dryads for the rest of the evening.

"Well, I intercepted Dumbledore and told him that Umbridge was probably torturing you, if that's what you mean."

"I—" Harry pulled his wrist out of Tim's grasp, stopping the two in the middle of one of the staircases. "Thank you. Really. You didn't have to do that." Tim felt his face flush a little. It wasn't that amazing, any other Wayne would have done the same (and probably quicker, he reminded himself).

"Don't mention it," he told Harry. "It's the least I could do. You seem to have enough on your plate already, what with everybody around here thinking you're a lunatic."

"You don't?" Harry sounded so cautiously optimistic, it made Tim want to give him a hug and tell him that everything was going to be okay.

Tim shook his head and found that he actually meant what he was going to say. "You don't seem like the kind of person who would tell such an outlandish lie just for the attention." True, Tim still didn't have enough proof to either confirm or deny Harry's claims, but he had spent enough time around him recently that the image the Daily Prophet had of Harry Potter really didn't line up with the boy in front of him right now. And Tim thought himself to be a pretty good judge of character. And plus, the intense gratitude plastered all over Harry's face right now was worth it.

Yeesh, it's hard to devise a detention that seems in-character for Umbridge, but I think summoning water directly into a student's lungs is fairly on-brand for her.
Also, in regards to Tim telling Harry that he'd get him out of detention again despite not having a real plan, I think everyone can relate to making promises that you're not quite sure how you'll keep and then scrambling at the last minute to fulfill said promise.

CW: descriptions of drowning, choking, and general difficulty breathing