The break-out from Azkaban was in the morning news Tuesday. Tim was glad he had chosen to sit with the Ravenclaws today; he wasn't sure he could bear being around the Gryffindor trio when they got ahold of this news, knowing what he did, knowing how he'd failed them, however indirectly. That didn't stop Purdie from spitting out his cranberry juice all over Tim's copy of the Daily Prophet when he caught sight of the headline. Something must have happened over break to change Purdie's mind about Voldemort's return, because Tim could hear him mumbling about how "there's a fucking wizarding war coming up, and all they can say is 'be cautious?'"

Tim, however, was focused solely on the picture of a woman whose face was shrouded by a mane of unkempt black curls. She stuck out her tongue and winked at Tim as he read the description below: Bellatrix Lestrange, convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom.

The wizarding world was small, and 'Longbottom' wasn't the most common of names. That could only mean that relatives of Neville were permanently hospitalized ('permanent incapacitation,' not 'murder'). And it wasn't just a paralyzed leg or something—no, Tim had a sick suspicion that the 'torture' and 'incapacitation' parts were connected. God, Tim hoped those weren't Neville's parents. He hoped this wasn't the reason Neville lived with his grandmother. He hoped that this wasn't the reason that there weren't any pictures of Neville alongside his parents in the Longbottom house. He really did.

But 'permanent incapacitation?' That was the type of way people described people who were suffering a fate worse than death. That was how the social worker had described Duke's parents; not 'poisoned into insanity,' not 'trapped in their own broken minds,' but 'permanently incapacitated.'

He made sure to resend Constantine a letter he'd sent him after Tim had lost contact with the man. It started normally enough with the usual back-and-forth banter, but then he encoded a message asking the man about any forms of immortality of which he might be aware. The occultist knew a lot about dark magic, so he was Tim's best bet at figuring out how to stop Voldemort. Because this had to stop before more innocent people were 'permanently incapacitated.'

He wasn't the only one disturbed by the morning news. Umbridge was jumpy all throughout class, and, about halfway through, she flat-out left the classroom and didn't come back. Needless to say, the Ravenclaws spent the rest of the hour discussing the issues they had with how their book referred to sentient non-human species and how it was a part of a bigger problem with speciesism in Britain and the rest of the world. It was one of the more productive Defense Against the Dark Arts classes.

The reason for Umbridge's sudden disappearance became clear the following day when a new Educational Decree had been posted explicitly forbidding teachers from talking with their students about non-class-related topics in an obvious attempt to stop teachers from theorizing alongside students or affirming their suspicions about the credibility of the Daily Prophet.

Tim made sure to bring his concerns to Umbridge that evening, as he was only looking out for her best interests like any rule-abiding student would.

"Professor," he asked her, having caught her on her way out of the Great Hall, "I'm a little worried about the new Educational Decree."

Umbridge, who had clearly been having a horrible day, schooled her expression and gave Tim a sweet smile. "What for, Timothy?"

"Well, ma'am, how is it going to be enforced?" he asked innocently, resisting the urge to bat his eyes at her. "You're just one incredibly gifted witch against a whole school of potential rule-breakers." God, he hated the words coming out of his mouth, but he could tell he had Umbridge completely fooled by his performance. She reached up, brushing her stubby little fingers against his cheek, and it took everything in his power not to jerk away and punch her in the nose.

"It's true," she sighed, shaking her head. "I suppose my hope was that there were still good people in this school who would do the right thing and let me know when they saw the rules being broken." People like you, she silently implied.

Tim nodded firmly. "There are, ma'am. If I hear anything, I'll report it to you right away." With a sly grin, he added, "It helps that they think I'm just like the rest of them, a lawless hooligan with no respect for authority. They'll never suspect a thing."

This was a blatant lie. Everyone in the D.A., as well as most, if not all, of the Ravenclaws in Tim's grade, was more than aware of how much Tim sucked up to Umbridge. Ron had spread the story of how Tim had tricked her into letting Harry out of detention, which had afforded Tim a certain amount of respect in some of the students' minds. It took a special kind of person to put up with such nonsense without outing themselves as a rebel. Umbridge, however, was not aware of this and would never be aware of it if Tim had anything to say about it.

Her face broke into a crocodile-like grin, and she patted Tim's cheek. "I see bright things in your future, Timothy."

"Thank you, ma'am. That means a lot to me."

"Be on the lookout for whistleblowers," Tim told his fellow students at the first D.A. session of the year. "That's how Umbridge plans on enforcing her new decrees."

"How do you know that?" Angelina Johnson said.

"I asked her," he replied, eliciting a spontaneous round of applause from Fred and George Weasley.

"You've really got her under your thumb, Timmy," Fred grinned, shaking Tim's hand like he was a celebrity (which, to be fair, he was, depending on what circles one was in).

"Can't fathom how you keep a straight face around her, though," George added.

"Yeah, it takes everything I've got not to scream every time I see her mug," said Fred.

Tim shrugged. "When you grow up going to parties full of rich assholes, you get good at pretending you don't hate people."

It was only a review lesson today, just like their last meeting in December, but the vigor with which students were practicing their spells spoke volumes about how much that Daily Prophet article had shaken everyone. Tim should have been excited with their newfound vigor, but it only served to remind him of the war in which they were all about to partake, a war none of them had signed up for.

Tim, however, had signed up for this war, so he started putting his all into everything he did. Homework had really started piling up now, something that Tim didn't have to worry about but still did. It was like his pride was somehow on the line. Tim was physically incapable of stopping himself from putting his all into every single assignment and every single class. And not only was he receiving homework, but he also had to dish out homework. Sure, he was basically a glorified teacher's aide to Harry, but he still had to put in the work if these kids were gonna survive the next year or so.

But that wasn't even everything. In addition, he'd promised himself to master Apparition before his mission was over. On the first Saturday in February, Tim found himself walking down to the Great Hall alongside Cho and Marietta, the only sixth-year Ravenclaws who also happened to be members of the D.A. Tim mostly chatted with Cho, as she was the more social one between the two of them, not to mention the only one who seemed genuinely interested in putting the work in at their D.A. meetings. Marietta had this nasty habit of not doing anything anyone told her without Cho having to plead for her to do so. She picked and chose which spells she thought were important enough to learn, and she flat-out refused to take part in Tim's self-defense lessons, despite his insistence that they would be beneficial in the future. Truthfully, Tim was fairly certain that Cho was the only reason Marietta was still in the D.A.

But Cho was a nice girl. She had been dating Cedric Diggory, the boy who was killed when Voldemort was reborn, and it was abundantly clear to Tim that that loss was still very much affecting her. He'd talked with her a couple times at D.A. meetings or in the common room during free periods, and she was always making little self-deprecating jokes about her performance in school or on the Quidditch team. Either that, or she was talking about Harry. She talked about him a lot. But it was clear Cedric's death was affecting her love life and how she related to Harry. So, Tim was very surprised and happy for Cho when she told him on their way down to their first Apparition lesson that Harry had asked her on a date this Valentine's Day.

"He's really sweet," she sighed as they entered the Great Hall, which had been completely cleared out so that it now resembled the Wayne Manor ballroom. They all spread out, keeping a good five feet clear in front of them, just as their instructor, a tall, spindly man named Quinley Alcibar, had told them. He was teaching the lesson but was also supervised by the four Heads of House along with the High Inquisitor herself.

What, does she think he's going to teach us how to Apparate into the Minister for Magic's office? Actually, Tim wouldn't put that past her. She had only gotten more paranoid these past couple of weeks, scribbling down drafts for new Educational Decrees during class when she thought no one was looking (and Tim was always looking). Every morning, he checked the bulletin board in the common room to see if she'd ended up passing anything.

"Destination, Determination, and Deliberation," Alcibar recited from memory. "The three D's of Apparition." He summoned wooden hoops in front of everyone, such that Tim would only need to take a step to be standing inside. There was really no reason why anyone would Apparate somewhere so close other than in practice.

"Step one: Fix your mind firmly upon the desired destination." Alcibar quoted blandly, as though reading from a teleprompter. "Today, that is the hoop in front of you." A couple seconds later, after the students all looked around at each other, he added, "You should probably start doing that."

Easy enough. Tim could see the destination with his own two eyes. He suspected the challenge later on would be Apparating to places not immediately in view.

"Step two: focus your determination to occupy the visualized space," Alcibar continued. "You want to be there. You want to Apparate there. Tell that to your entire body."

This also came quite naturally to Tim, having been trained in meditation by Bruce, the kind of meditation that was supposed to help when you thought you were in too much pain to keep on going. A morbid situation, but one Tim faced more often than any normal person should. The idea of focusing every part of your body on one thing was one Tim was well accustomed to, so he took a moment to tell himself that he wanted to Apparate there—no, that he would Apparate there. It was the willpower that mattered. Green Lantern 101.

"Step three," said Alcibar, "—and," he interrupted himself, "it is crucial that you wait for my signal on this one—breathe in, lean forward, and command every part of your body to move to your destination, moving with deliberation. On three…"

"One…"

Breathe in.

"Two…"

Lean forward.

"Three—"

Tim lost his balance and stumbled into the hoop. He didn't understand what had just happened, only that he had been focusing on Apparating and telling himself to do it, but it was clear that his body did not want to move. Tim sighed, only feeling marginally better when he realized that no one else had managed to accomplish it on their first try. He supposed that was why this was a twelve-week course.

"All right," Alcibar sighed, clapping his hands together to call everyone's attention back to him, for there was scattered laughter around the room as everyone recognized their collective failure. "Let's try that again. One…two…three!"

Nope. His body did not want to Apparate. A Slytherin's apparently had, though not enough, for he only managed to teleport the upper half of his body into the hoop, which dropped to the ground as the boy let out a shrill shriek. Tim could see bone. And blood. It was not pretty, but, unfortunately, not the most disturbing thing Tim had ever seen before—not even close.

"Splinching," Alcibar called over the gasps and screams of the students in the Hall, "is the result of insufficient determination." The Heads of House rushed to the boy's rescue, though Tim wondered if the way they completely surrounded him was actually in order to shield the rather graphic nature of the boy's bisection.

Tim glanced around the room to see how everyone was taking this. Not well, it seemed, judging by the way Katie Bell threw up and another Slytherin ran out of the hall without turning around.

"It is a completely natural reaction for a beginner Apparating," the man continued, though Tim wondered, watching how the Slytherin clung to McGonagall's robes like he was afraid of falling through the floor, if the lifelong trauma was worth it.

If Tim had his way, he would have taught himself Apparition by literally throwing himself off of the Astronomy Tower and forcing himself in the heat of the moment to Apparate to safety. Stress was usually how Tim unlocked his best abilities, after all. Unfortunately, there were rules to follow, meaning only the Great Hall was disenchanted every week for practice, and only for an hour. So, Tim had to suffer alongside the other students, seeing no visible progress in his attempts but having to place his trust in a course that had successfully guided so many students to Apparate. It didn't stop the frustration Tim felt every time he stumbled forward, feeling like he'd brought shame to his entire family by not being able to Apparate. Because Tim picked up on so many skills with a relative ease, he had a nasty habit of losing all self-esteem the moment something didn't come to him easily.

Trust the process, he repeated to himself, hoping that he'd one day believe it. Trust the process.

Tim was relieved when Valentine's Day finally arrived because Harry had been really suffering since the semester started. Tim assumed it was a combination of being deprived of Quidditch and taking such complex Occlumency lessons, but whenever Tim asked about the latter, Harry would always say that things were going fine or would try to change the subject, which Tim knew was just covering up the fact that he was struggling. Not to mention the increased homework load which, while Tim and Hermione were fast learners and got their work done fairly quickly, was torture for Ron and Harry, even though Hermione had given them enchanted homework planners for Christmas in the hopes of helping them.

But Harry looked nervous and excited and peaceful all at the same time that morning, which made Tim happy. Tim would have headed down to Hogsmeade with him, but he was not terribly excited to walk around alone amidst so many couples, knowing that his own beautiful, amazing girlfriend was an ocean away. He almost didn't go at all until he was approached after breakfast that morning in the common room while students were grabbing their jackets and purses, chatting excitedly to one another.

"Are you going to Hogsmeade?" someone asked him, which he thought was sort of a dumb question, seeing as he was currently curled up in a blanket on one of the couches translating a passage for Ancient Runes.

"No," he answered without looking up from his work.

"Why not?"

"Just not feeling it." He flipped through his notes, looking for the ones he'd taken earlier that week.

"Hm. Well, that's a shame. I was hoping you'd be my date today."

"Huh?" Tim jerked his head up and realized that he'd been talking to Luna this whole time, which he hadn't quite registered in his mind before now. "A date?"

Luna nodded, tilting her head so that her little radish earrings jangled around. "I asked some of my classmates, but they all declined, so I thought I'd look elsewhere."

Tim smiled apologetically, hating that he was adding himself to their ranks. "That's really sweet of you, Luna, but I actually have a girlfriend back in America."

"That's nice," she commented, not seeming the slightest bit discouraged by this news. "Are you sure you don't want to come?"

Tim gave her a confused look. "Yeah, uh, I'm not looking for a romantic partner right now. Because of my girlfriend," he tacked on at the end, as if this hadn't been clear the first time around. Her eyes widened just a tad, and they were so large and pale that he wondered if she was in any way related to the old man who made Tim's wand.

"Oh," she said simply. "I wasn't asking you on a romantic date."

"It's Valentine's Day," Tim reminded her.

She nodded. "And I love you dearly as a friend. So I was hoping we could go on a platonic date." She said all of this like she'd expected Tim to have inferred this when she'd asked him before. "But it's okay if you don't want to. I won't be mad. It wouldn't be the first time someone said no to me." All matter-of-fact, like she wasn't trying to make him feel bad.

It surprised Tim, since he had never thought of Luna as a friend, just an acquaintance. Sure, he had talked to her in passing, but they'd never spent any time with each other. The fact that she was already calling him a friend was a little sad and a little sweet. He wondered if her classmates had known about the platonic nature of this date when she'd asked them. And then he wondered if that really would have changed things.

Tim had always thought that Luna was more of a solitary creature who didn't have many friends, but if he, Tim Drake-Wayne, was a friend in her eyes, she must have had a lot more friends who were equally unaware of her love for them. She sought out friendship, even when she didn't receive it in return.

Tim decided that Luna was a very nice girl who did not deserve to be alone today. He got up from the couch, setting his notes down behind him, and started folding his blanket.

"In that case," he said, "I would be honored to go on a date with you today, Miss Lovegood."

Luna was still barefoot by the time they were going to leave, so Tim decided to go barefoot as well, just to spice things up. Growing up, the Drake household had been a 'shoes off, socks on' household, while the Penthouse and the Manor did not regulate their occupants' footwear. He ran his house in Gotham's Diamond District similarly, only asking that his guests wipe their shoes before entering. But he liked the feeling of ground beneath his bare feet. That was how he trained, that was how he ran around Wayne Manor, and that was how he was going out today.

"Did they take your shoes, too?" she asked when they met up again to head out.

Too? "No…nobody took my shoes. Did—did someone take yours?"

She nodded. "Some of the other kids like to take them and put them in odd places. They think it's funny."

"Doesn't sound funny to me," Tim remarked, giving her a concerned look as they passed by Filch and started down the road to Hogsmeade.

"Hm." She shrugged. "It doesn't bother me. They always turn up anyways." She looked down at the ground. "Plus, I've always loved the feeling of dirt beneath my toes."

"Well, if I find a pair of shoes somewhere, I'll let you know," Tim told her, feeling outraged on her behalf at the unconventional bullying happening to her. "I like your earrings," he remarked, changing the subject.

"Do you?" she said, sounding surprised. "I made them myself. My father actually grows Dirigible Plums in our garden."

"Oh, does he?" said Tim, though he truly had no clue what Dirigible Plums were nor their significance.

"Even the semblance of them is said to open one's mind to life's possibilities," she explained.

"That's pretty cool," he remarked.

"Most people think they're odd, like me."

Tim rolled his eyes. "Being normal is overrated. People are probably just scared of your confidence."

Luna looked up at him, her smile forming a dimple on her cheek. "That's a very kind thing for you to say, Tim."

"I didn't say it because it was kind," he told her frankly. "I said it because it's true." He curled his toes, taking a moment to enjoy the feeling of the dirt squishing in between them.

Despite Luna's claims that Valentine's Day did not have to be about romantic love, that was the overwhelming vibe coming from Hogsmeade that day, and despite Cordelia's claims that the place was stuck in winter all year round, the weather today was picturesque. Whether or not that was the result of some careful spellwork by the shop owners specifically for the holiday was still up for debate. Regardless, it allowed Tim and Luna to walk around without freezing off their toes, which was a relief. Tim hadn't really thought about the logistics of going barefoot today—it really was more of an impulse decision.

Couples were walking down the cobblestone road holding hands and staring longingly into each other's eyes. People were exiting Honeydukes with paper hearts stuffed with chocolates. Cherry blossom petals blew around, the source of which Tim could not identify.

"So, where to?" he asked Luna as they walked past the Three Broomsticks.

Luna shrugged. "I'd say Gladrags, but their stock hasn't changed since I was last there. Perhaps Madam Puddifoot's?"

"What's that?" he asked her.

"Oh, it's a lovely little tea shop off a side road. Though I'm certain it'll be crowded today, what with all the couples going out together."

Tim hadn't ever stepped foot in the place, but that made sense. "If you like, we could just have a picnic on the slope there," he suggested, pointing at the grassy hills that led to the Shrieking Shack.

"All right," she said simply. "I think Rosa Lee Teabag is open, then."

The shop she spoke of was a small, quaint teashop three doors down from Honeydukes, run by Rosilia Leeander, a woman with such distinct freckles and ginger hair that Tim might have mistaken her for a Weasley had she not been less than five feet tall. He planned on just buying some tea, a tea set, and some sweet snacks, and then he and Luna could set up camp on the hillside and have their own little tea party. And if Luna noticed how much money Tim spent on buying all of this just for a single picnic, she didn't say anything to him about it. Not that Tim would have cared. This girl deserved a nice picnic, and he had the money to make that a reality. What else was a multi-billionaire's son supposed to do with his wealth?

Luna settled on a nice Ceylon and a variety of tarts and frosted finger-food which she helped Tim carry over to the slope. They received more than a few stares, whether it be for the fact that they were both barefoot or that Luna Lovegood was one of them or that they were headed towards the Shrieking Shack.

They eventually settled down on a nice patch of grass overlooking the High Street, chosen for its large, flat rock that could be used as a makeshift table for their chinaware. They split the work between the two of them, Luna arranging their snacks on a large plate while Tim got to work making the tea. The teapot was self-heating and knew exactly when its contents were hot enough, so long as the user whispered what kind of tea they were brewing into the top and closed it immediately, as though trapping the words inside.

Tim poured each of their cups with the steady, experienced hands of someone whose butler had spent every Sunday afternoon with them, sipping tea and playing chess.

"I believe a toast is in order," said Tim after Luna had finished stirring the cream into her cup, and he lifted up his teacup.

Luna looked surprised, but she nonetheless mirrored him and lifted up her own teacup.

"To friendship," he announced, leaning over and clinking together their cups.

"To friendship," she repeated after him. "May it keep the Wrackspurts away."

"Indeed," he nodded, instead of asking her what Wrackspurts were, and took a sip of his tea.

All in all, it was a really nice outing. Luna was so genuinely excited to share all of her conspiracy theories and beliefs that Tim didn't even care to argue with her, only asking her the occasional clarification question here and there. She'd even allowed Tim to rant about Steph and how amazing she was and how he totally didn't deserve her, and every couple of minutes, she would tell him some insanely simple one-liner like, "I don't think someone as smart as her would date you if she didn't think you were amazing," that caused him to rethink his entire outlook on the situation.

It was around noon when all of the great things that had happened that morning were spoiled. Before Tim could arrange lunch, Luna let him know that Hermione had invited her to the Three Broomsticks for lunch and that Luna hoped he would join them. But the two of them were so engrossed in their conversation that it was only a couple words into her next thought that Luna realized what time it was.

"So, naturally, my dad and I began to look—" She broke off suddenly and looked down at the daisy crown she had been weaving. "Ah. We should probably get going. I wouldn't want to worry Hermione."

"You go on ahead," Tim told her, waving towards the pub lazily. "I'll clean this up."

"Okay." Luna stood up, leaned over, and placed the daisy crown on Tim's head. "I'll make sure to buy you a butterbeer," she promised him, brushing the stray petals off of the skirt of her dress, a large, quilted thing that was oddly reminiscent of a kaleidoscope.

Tim grinned as he watched her descend the slope, her pale hair dancing in the wind. He was already preparing to pay her for his butterbeer and whatever else she ordered anyways. She disappeared from view, giving Tim a moment to himself to collect his thoughts and give himself a break before entering back into the social fray.

There was a whistling behind his ear different from the breeze currently floating by. Instinct kicked in, and Tim rolled forward, reaching behind his jacket and grabbing his staff, extending it to its full length. He had to stick his feet out in front of him to stop himself from rolling all the way down the hill, jumping up and spinning around to face his attacker. He caught a glimpse of black fabric before he'd already slammed their knees with his staff and stepped aside to avoid being fallen on.

One down… He looked around and spotted the assassins closing in on him. There had to be at least twenty of them.

"You've gotta be shitting me," he muttered, unable to stop Ra's al Ghul's assassins from completely surrounding him. Boy, did that man know how to ruin a guy's day.

As no one was actively attacking him, Tim stayed in place, crouched in a fighting stance with his staff at the ready. All of the assassins had their weapons drawn, but no one broke free from their little circle.

"The Head of the Demon wishes to speak to you," one of the assassins announced, his voice familiar.

"We're not doing this again, Pirouz," Tim growled back in Arabic. "I'm not coming with you guys. Also, can we do this somewhere else? You're kind of making a scene." Well, nobody seemed to have noticed yet, at least, nobody in Tim's periphery, but it was only a matter of time before people started congregating, sooner if Tim actually engaged in combat with the assassins.

"But Detective," came a sly voice from behind the ranks, and the assassins parted in unison so that the Head of the Demon himself could step through. "I came all this way."

For a moment, Tim was too shocked to speak. What is so important that Ra's al Ghul himself left Nanda Parbat to talk to me?

"Nice of you to drop by," Tim ended up saying. "How uncharacteristically overt of you."

"Be a dear and come with me this time, Timothy."

"If you come with us, we will not have to take counter measures, Master Timothy," Pirouz told him helpfully, readying his daggers.

"Unlike last time," Tim shot back, "if I disappear, people are going to notice, and I don't think even you can kidnap a dozen students and not raise some alarms."

"This is a matter of utmost importance to the Order of the Phoenix," Ra's pressed, and Tim was unsurprised to hear that the man was aware of the Order's existence. "If you take me to Albus Dumbledore, this can be settled."

Tim gripped his staff tighter. His brain was working a mile a minute trying to come up with a viable solution to everything happening right now.

This is obviously incredibly important, important enough that Ra's is willing to risk the anonymity of the League of Assassins. I really should take him to Dumbledore.

But if I leave now, it'll become obvious by the end of the day that I'm missing, sooner if Luna tells Hermione about me disappearing. Then, they'll start searching for me in Hogsmeade. Will I even be back by the time they're done searching?

Ra's al Ghul sighed, his hand resting on the hilt of his rapier. "Please don't make this difficult, Timothy."

Tim sighed. "Can you give me, like, five minutes?" he asked in English. "I promise I'll come with afterwards."

Ra's huffed, shaking his head but replying in English all the same. "I know you well enough to know not to honor your so-called 'promises.' Either you take me to Dumbledore, or I take you to Dumbledore."

"Gah!" Tim let out an exasperated cry, running his free hand through his hair and realizing with no small amount of grief that Luna's flower crown must have fallen off when he'd somersaulted. "Why do you have to always be like this, Ra's?"

"If you continue to resist, we will force your compliance,"

"Wait!" Tim sighed and retracted his staff. "I'll—dammit—I'll take you to Dumbledore, okay? Just—just follow me and don't be seen."

"That's what we do best." Ra's smirked, lifting up a hand, and his minions disappeared, presumably into the woods.

"Lead the way, Detective."

Tim started up the hill, but, before he started heading back down the other side, he glanced back at the tea set, still sitting on the rock.

I'm a terrible person, Tim reminded himself. "Sorry, Luna," he whispered. "I'll try and make it up to you."

Just between you and me, this is one of my favorite chapters I've written. I like letting my characters be happy, and I think Tim and Luna are very supportive of each other in a very wholesome way.
Also, y'all thought Tim would be a prodigy at Apparition? Nah, he's gotta struggle with the rest of his classmates, that shit ain't easy.