Chapter Twenty-Two: The Batman of Hogwarts Begins

The heist had gone smoothly—almost too smoothly. Hermione Kyle had been in the game long enough to know when things were too easy, when the pieces fell into place with no resistance. It should've unsettled her, but the excitement of the mission had overridden any doubts. This was the moment she had been waiting for: her first solo job working for Nico Maroni.

The diamond-encrusted cat statue sat before her, perched on its pedestal in the dimly lit office of one of Maroni's clients. It was beautiful, intricate in its design, its eyes gleaming with tiny emeralds, its tail wrapped gracefully around its body. A piece of art, truly. Worth a small fortune, but to Hermione, it was something more. It was a symbol of her entry into the world of high stakes—of power and luxury. Something to prove that she was more than just the girl who had once sat in a quiet corner at Hogwarts.

She had been given strict orders by Nico Maroni: steal the statue and deliver it to his private vault. Simple enough, and a job she had executed with precision, slipping past security and bypassing the intricate charm wards that guarded the building. No one had noticed her presence. No one but the silent, watching eyes of the statues in the hallway, who had stood lifeless as she had passed by.

Now, standing before the cat statue in the plush, opulent office of a man who would never miss it, Hermione felt an impulse stir deep within her. It wasn't greed. It wasn't even a desire for wealth. No, it was something far more subtle.

She had been with Oswald awhile now, playing the game, keeping her head down, pretending to be loyal to him. The offer from Nico was quite enticing, though loyalty wasn't a commodity she was willing to part with lightly. There was always a price, and lately, she wasn't sure if the price of loyalty was worth it.

The statue, though… she didn't need to give it away. She could keep it for herself.

The thought lingered in her mind like a tempting whisper, sweet and alluring. She walked closer to it, her fingers brushing the cold marble surface of the pedestal, her breath steadying. She could feel the weight of the decision pressing against her chest.

Why not?

The question echoed in her thoughts, louder than the dull hum of the surrounding office. She had given so much already—her freedom, her autonomy, even a part of herself that she wasn't sure she could ever reclaim. A diamond-encrusted cat wasn't much in the grand scheme of things. It wasn't wealth she was after, but something far more personal.

And so, without another thought, she gently slid the statue off its pedestal. It fit perfectly in the palm of her hand—elegant, precious, and strangely comforting. She paused for a moment, staring down at the delicate craftsmanship before slipping it into the bag she carried.

She hadn't planned on keeping it at first. She had come here with every intention of following through with her orders—delivering the statue to Nico. But something about the way it had called to her, something about the need to possess something for herself in a world where everything seemed borrowed, forced her to make a choice. A choice that went against everything she had learned.

And yet, she couldn't bring herself to feel guilty.

There's no harm in keeping it, she thought, almost soothing herself. I've earned it. I deserve something for all the things I've had to endure. Something beautiful, something that's mine alone.

She turned away, her fingers brushing against the smooth surface of the statue hidden in her bag. The thrill of keeping it for herself—a small, secret rebellion against the world that had controlled her for so long—was intoxicating. She had made a decision that was hers and hers alone, something that no one could take from her.

And that felt… good.

Later that night, as Hermione lay on her bed, the diamond-encrusted cat statue sat on her dresser, glowing faintly under the moonlight. It was a strange comfort, its delicate beauty almost mocking her guilt. She hadn't expected it to feel like this—the thrill, the satisfaction, the overwhelming sense that she had finally taken something for herself.

But beneath that surface of pride, something darker stirred.

She had promised herself when she entered this life that she wouldn't let herself be controlled. She wouldn't let the Penguin or the Maronis or anyone else define her. But in doing so, she had begun to lose sight of who she really was. The lies, the manipulation—had she become like them? Had she started to play the game too well?

The statue gleamed in the darkness, its eyes staring back at her like the silent witnesses to her choices. And in that moment, Hermione realized that she was no longer sure who she was playing for anymore. She had stopped pretending to be loyal to Nico. But she couldn't bring herself to fully cut ties with him, not yet. And Dudley… Dudley, with his clumsy affection and desperate need for her approval, had been a pawn all along.

But now, with the cat statue in her possession, she had a piece of herself that no one could take.

For once, she wasn't a tool for anyone's schemes. She wasn't the dutiful ally or the helpless pawn. She was something more. Something… untouchable.

And yet, deep down, as she stared at the statue's glimmering eyes, Hermione knew she had just crossed another line—one that she wasn't sure she could return from.

The moonlight filtered weakly through the cracked windows of Hermione's room, casting faint shadows on the walls. The air was still, the silence weighing heavily on Dudley Cobblepot as he stood just outside the door. The chill of the evening seemed to match his thoughts—dark and foreboding.

Dudley Cobblepot had taken his shortcoming and become young man of certainty. His world had revolved around control—control over people, control over situations, control over his empire. But as he stood in the hallway outside Hermione's apartment, a strange unease gnawed at his gut, twisting like a knot he couldn't undo.

He had known, on some level, that he couldn't trust her completely. Hermione had always been slippery—too self-contained, too independent. And yet, he had hoped, almost desperately, that she would be different. He had offered her a place in his world, hoping she'd stay, hoping she'd let him in.

But now, the truth had caught up with him.

The cat statue. That damned, diamond-encrusted cat statue. She had promised it to him—to him—as part of the job. He had gone out of his way, trusting her, putting faith in her despite all his instincts telling him to keep her at arm's length. But it had all been for nothing. She had stolen it, kept it for herself, just like she had kept everything else from him.

And the worst part? She hadn't even bothered to lie to him about it.

Dudley's hand tightened into a fist. He wasn't angry anymore. He was beyond anger. He was… disappointed. He had given her a chance, given her everything, and she had thrown it all back in his face. She had used him, played him for a fool. But there was something else too—a deep, gnawing feeling that he had underestimated her from the start. That he had allowed himself to think that she might actually care.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open. The faint scent of lavender met his nose, an oddly soothing contrast to the tension in his chest. Hermione sat by the window, her back to him. When she turned around, her eyes met his with that same, calm indifference. She didn't seem surprised. In fact, it was almost as if she had been waiting for this moment to come.

When the door creaked open, Hermione stood before him, her eyes cold, unreadable. She didn't look surprised to see him—she had expected this confrontation, just as he had expected her betrayal.

Her lips twisted into a small, self-contained smile. "Dudley," she said, her voice smooth but tinged with something that might have been regret. "I wasn't expecting you."

He didn't waste time with pleasantries. "You've been playing both of us you lousy minx," he said, his voice tight, simmering with a mixture of disbelief and rage.

Hermione's eyes flickered—just for a moment—before she regained her composure. She didn't look at him with guilt or fear; she simply raised an eyebrow, as if she were waiting for him to get to the point.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied, but her voice was too calm, too controlled, to be convincing. "I'm not your enemy, Dudley."

Her dismissiveness stung, and for a moment, it made him question everything he thought he knew about her. Was she really this cold? Was she truly incapable of caring for anyone other than herself? Or had he somehow misread her all along?

He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "You are. You've been working for Maroni this whole time, haven't you?" His voice cracked with disbelief. "You think I'm stupid? You think I wouldn't figure it out?"

Hermione took a small step back but didn't break eye contact. There was a glint of something—calm, like she had already anticipated this moment. She didn't seem ashamed. She didn't seem scared. She was… unshaken.

"I never promised you anything," she said, her voice suddenly sharp. "You were the one who assumed things. I never owed you anything."

Dudley's eyes widened in disbelief. He took another step forward, feeling the weight of her words settle over him like a cold shroud. "You didn't promise me anything? You lied to me. You took from me. You were supposed to give that statue to me, Hermione. That was the deal."

But she didn't flinch. Her expression didn't waver. "You never asked for anything specific," she replied, her voice soft now, almost matter-of-fact. "You assumed that because I worked for you, I owed you my loyalty. But I don't, Dudley. I never did."

The words cut deeper than any of the threats he had endured in his life. She hadn't just tricked him. She had betrayed him on a level that made his stomach churn.

"You—you're the one who's been playing me this whole time," Dudley said, his voice low, simmering with fury. "What do you think you're doing, Hermione? You've been stringing me along. And you've been working for Maroni, haven't you?"

Her eyes flickered again—just the slightest shift, a tiny moment of vulnerability—but then she steadied herself. She wasn't afraid. She wasn't apologizing.

"I'm not loyal to anyone," she said, her voice still soft but with a hardness that chilled him. "Least of all to you."

He stepped back, feeling the weight of her words settle over him like a thousand-pound stone. "And yet, you're here. You're working for me, playing my game." He took another step forward, voice dropping. "What's the deal, Hermione? What are you really after? I…thought we had something going here."

Her lips twisted into a small, almost bitter smile. "First, I wouldn't touch you to scratch you, second, I never asked for your trust. You gave it to me willingly, and now you're angry when I don't give it back."

She paused, eyes narrowing. "I don't need your approval, Dudley. I don't need anyone's approval. Not Maroni's, not yours, not anyone's."

Dudley's chest tightened. This wasn't just about the statue. This was about something deeper. Something he didn't understand. "Then what do you want, Hermione? What is it you want from me?"

For a moment, she didn't answer, her gaze flickering over his face. The silence stretched out, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was a space where she could choose how to respond—where she could let him understand just how little she needed him.

And then, finally, she spoke. "I'm keeping the statue because I like it. Simple as that." She shrugged, as though the matter was settled, as though it didn't even matter. "I'll take whatever I can get, and I won't apologize for it."

Dudley felt the floor beneath him tilt, the world suddenly feeling uncertain, shifting. She didn't need his approval, she didn't need anyone's approval. She had taken the statue because she could, because she wanted it. Not for power, not for money—just because it was hers to take.

"Fine," he said, his voice thick with something between anger and disbelief. "But you'll never get away with this. You think you can double-cross both me and Maroni? You'll regret it."

She smiled again—small, enigmatic, detached—and turned away. "You'll be fine, Dudley. You always are."

He clenched his fists, but he didn't say anything else. There was nothing more to say. With one final glance at her, he turned and walked out, the door closing softly behind him.

Meanwhile, at Hogwarts...

Harry's heart was a constant thrum in his chest. His thoughts kept circling back to Hermione, the same questions haunting him. Where was she? What was going on? Why hadn't she reached out? He felt as though something was pulling him under, a weight too heavy to ignore, too consuming to escape.

Ginny watched him closely from across the room, her gaze steady. She knew him better than anyone—knew when he was pacing like this, caught in the turmoil of his thoughts. He'd done this countless times before, but there was something different this time. Something about the way he was holding himself. Something about the way he refused to rest.

She had heard Harry's fears, his worries, but she hadn't heard him voice them so plainly before.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself, Harry," Ginny said softly, her voice a quiet anchor in the storm of his thoughts. "You're letting the fear eat away at you."

Harry stopped pacing and turned to her, his face etched with exhaustion. "I can't shake the feeling that something's terribly wrong," he admitted, his voice hoarse, the weight of his uncertainty palpable. "I've got to do something. I can't just sit here while she's… while she's out there somewhere, alone."

Ginny stood up slowly, crossing the room to where he stood. She took his hands in hers, her touch grounding him, offering him a moment of connection in the midst of his turmoil. "Harry, you're not alone in this," she said, her voice steady, firm. "We'll find her. Together. But you've got to trust us, trust that we'll get there. You can't carry this weight alone."

Harry met her gaze, the fierce loyalty and warmth in her eyes reminding him of all the reasons he fought. For her. For the people he loved.

"I won't stop until I find her," Harry whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "But I don't know where to go next. I don't even know what I'm up against."

Ginny gave him a small, reassuring smile. "We'll figure it out, Harry. We always do."

He nodded, a tight feeling in his chest loosening just a fraction, but the anxiety still churned within him.

Ginny hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. "Harry, I'm coming with you. I'm not letting you do this alone."

The words hit him like a shock to his system. He turned to her, a mix of love and concern flooding him. "No, Ginny. You can't. It's too dangerous. I can't risk losing you too."

Ginny's expression softened, and for a moment, it seemed like she might give in. But then her lips trembled slightly, and she steadied herself. "I'm not staying behind," she said firmly. "You don't get to do this alone."

Harry took a deep breath, his heart heavy with the weight of his promise. "I'll come back for you, Ginny," he whispered. "Both of you. I swear it."

Harry nodded grimly, the resolve in his chest hardening like steel. Ginny could see the tension in his body, the way his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. He knew he had what he needed to face whatever lay ahead, but even with these powerful tools at his disposal, he was uncertain of what the journey would cost him.

"Alright," Harry said, his voice low, almost to himself. He walked toward the small, hidden alcove in the corner of the room, where he'd kept the two items hidden beneath layers of protective charms. His fingers brushed against the ancient, smooth stone of the shelf, and a hidden compartment clicked open in response to his touch.

The air in the room seemed to grow heavier as he pulled out the Magical Belt of Chiroptera.

The belt was wrapped in layers of dark leather, its edges embroidered with silver runes that flickered faintly in the low light. It was said to be a relic of an ancient order of shadow warriors—its magic intertwined with the nocturnal powers of bats. With a single smooth motion, Harry lifted it from the compartment and unfurled it. As he did, the belt seemed to come alive, the buckles of its design shifting and reshaping, forming a perfect fit around his waist without him needing to adjust it. The silver runes flared brightly for a moment, then faded back to their subtle glow. He could already feel the difference—an odd, exhilarating lightness in his limbs, as though he was moving with the very air itself.

Next, his hand reached for the Shadow Cloak, which lay folded like a dark, whispering shadow on the shelf next to the belt. When Harry unfurled it, the room seemed to darken around him. The fabric was made of a material so deep, it almost seemed to absorb the light. It felt weightless in his hands, as if it was nothing more than a part of the air. As he draped it over his shoulders, the cloak shimmered, folding into him like a second skin, vanishing almost entirely against the background of the dimly lit room.

The cloak's magic was immediate—he could feel it in the way the air around him shifted. Every inch of his body seemed to meld with the shadows, his movements becoming as fluid as ink spilling across a page. He would be invisible to all but the most trained eyes, a wisp in the dark, slipping through the world unseen.

Harry took a deep breath, standing tall as the magic of both items settled over him. He could feel the pulsing energy within him, the power of Chiroptera and the cloak's concealment blending with his own resolve. Harry then used his magic to transform his glasses into an intricate black mask with bat-like features which went around his eyes.

He turned back to Ginny, meeting her gaze with a fierce determination.

"I'm ready," he said, his voice steady and clear now. "I'm going to find her."

Ginny, despite the lingering worry in her eyes, couldn't help but feel a spark of awe as Harry stood before her, transformed by the magic of the items. The man she loved had always been courageous, but this—this was something more. This was Harry at his most powerful, his most desperate, and his most determined. He really had become the Batman of Hogwarts.

With a final glance at the items, Harry felt the weight of their power settle in. It was time to go. To move through the shadows. To find Hermione—wherever she was—and bring her home.

To be continued…