Archive of Our Own

Susan tried, in vain, to shush Hannah when her best friend whopped in joy. Cedric Diggory had just been selected to be the Hogwarts Champion, and, sure, Susan was ecstatic, but her best friend was so loud that Susan could feel heat rush to her face despite the lack of eyes on her.

Cedric stood up from the bench under his housemates' deafening cheers. Hannah was so excited that she almost slapped Susan in the face because of her body's lack of coordination.

“Careful there,” she reprimanded her quietly.

Hannah probably didn't hear her since she was still yelling, and Susan rolled her eyes, pushing her arm away from her face.

The applause died down when Cedric crossed the room to enter the antechamber with the other Champions. From the corner of her eyes, she saw her aunt and guardian clap quietly among the other guests. The tournament hadn't been hosted in nearly two centuries. Of course, people would want to be there for the selection ceremony!

“Yes, yes, Congratulations, Mr Diggory. Now that all of our Champions have been selected, I enjoin you to -”

The Goblet of Fire itself quite abruptly cut off Headmaster Dumbledore. Whispers travelled across the Great Hall when the artefact erupted into red flames. That alone told Susan that something was wrong. The frown that appeared on her aunt's face was what convinced her, though.

A piece of parchment was ejected from the Goblet, and Susan watched, heart pumping in her chest, as the Headmaster caught it and stared.

“Harry Potter,” he said quietly, before repeating louder. “Harry Potter!”

Beside her, Hannah gripped her arm with both of her hands, while whispering her name insistently as mutters erupted in the room.

“What?” she asked, trying to stay quiet.

Hannah, of course, didn't reply, but Susan knew that, just like her, her friend was confused and anxious. A look around the room assured her that everyone else felt something along those lines. Rodolphus Lestrange, one of her aunt's close associates, was frowning heavily at the Headmaster (or perhaps at the Goblet of Fire, for all she knew), while conversing in hushed whispers with some other guests. Her aunt had straightened but hadn't stood up, yet, visibly waiting for something.

Susan, she had the feeling that something was about to happen. Something important, but what?

She got her answer, or part of it, when Dumbledore repeated the name of the Missing Boy-Who-Lived one last time, and the Goblet erupted in a geyser of blue flames.

Gasps and screams of surprise echoed in the Great Hall, from the students and guests alike, as the flames travelled all over the place, somehow burning no one despite the heat they could all feel. Some students ducked under the table to avoid the flames, and others stayed perfectly still, hoping to be spared.

Susan, for her part, couldn't look away from the front of the room, so she didn't miss the moment two figures were spat out of the Goblet of Fire. She almost jumped up in surprise, but a warning look from her aunt forced her to calm down. Panicked people tended to lose their minds and make stupid mistakes. Susan had been taught better.

When the fire vanished and the calm came back, Susan (and the rest of the Wixen) got her first look at the two newcomers. Two men (from what she could tell anyway) were standing back to back in a defensive posture. That's not what caught her attention, though. You can't expect people who had been taken from their homes and thrown who knows where to be relaxed, after all. No. What caught her attention were their clothes. It immediately reminded her of the superhero comics Justin had lent her the other day. She knew that superheroes existed for real, of course (she wasn't like Malfoy, who seemed completely unaware of everything non-magical related. At least she knew some stuff), but she had never seen any in real life. Then again, she didn't venture much in the Muggle World, and there weren't many European-based heroes. She knew they existed (again, thank you Justin), but she knew there were fewer than, say, in America.

The one she saw was also the taller one. He wore some kind of armour on his upper half, a metallic red helmet on his head and a leather jacket. He was jacked. She didn't need to see what the armor hide to know that. It was in the way he stood, in a way the leather jacket couldn't hide his muscular arms, and how he towered over his companion. He was armed. She didn't know much about non-magical weapons, but she knew the things hanging from his belt were dangerous. Her aunt might have mentioned them once or twice, but to her annoyance, Susan hadn't paid much attention at the time.

The second male was much smaller than the first, probably barely taller than Susan herself, who stood at a respectable 5'4. he wore a mainly red and black costume, adorned by a golden belt. The red tunic was armoured, from what she could tell, stylised with a crest and a... bird symbol? She wasn't quite sure, and her eyesight wasn't the best (she should have listened to Auntie and gone to the eye healer last Summer, but she procrastinated).

Both men seemed to follow a red & black colour theme, but unlike the first guy, this one wore a cape. Susan would have thought they were at a costume party when they had been taken, had it not been for the quick reactions, and they quickly covered each other's blind spots by going into a back-to-back position. Were they... Were they in front of real-life heroes? Or vigilante, at least. Susan glanced around, hoping to get more insight, and Justin's awestruck face told her everything she needed to know; they were no cosplayers. Or, if they were, then they were good enough to fool Justin, their local Superheroes specialist. The guy seriously knew practically every hero out there, not just in Europe, but worldwide.

Next to her, Hannah released a deep sigh, and Susan side-eyed her.

“You're good?”

“Yeah,” she said, dreamily. “Two hot guys just got launched here. I'm good. I'm so good.”

Susan's eyebrow twitched.

“Hannah -”

Her friend cut her off with a look.

“Look at that,” she hissed quietly. “And tell me this is not hot.”

She was looking at helmet-guy but pointing at cape-guy. The smaller male wasn't ripped like helmet-guy, but he had to spend lots of time at the gym, if you asked Susan. To have a body like that... That costume left very little to imagination. 

She shook her head. She was starting to sound like Marietta, and she wasn't sure it was a good thing. She liked the older Ravenclaw girl, but Susan would be the first to admit that the other girl spent a bit too much time ogling guys and not enough focusing on school matters. Granted, considering how good her grades were, it didn't seem to make much of a difference, but still...

“Who do you think is Harry Potter?” Ernie asked.

“Huh?”

“Well, one of them gotta be him, right? Otherwise, they wouldn't have been summoned here.”

Right. That's right. That's why those guys had been taken. One of them had to have been pulled, and the other latched on and was dragged along. She wouldn't be surprised.

The thing is, Harry Potter never came to Hogwarts. He was supposed to; he would have been in the same year as Susan's cousin, Sarah, had he gone there, but instead, that's when everyone found out that Headmaster Dumbledore had lost him. He hadn't just lost the Boy-Who-Lived, though. He had lost the whole family that was housing the boy. The DMLE managed to track down the family, but then, of course, it was revealed that they had abandoned the boy in an orphanage and finding him after that had been impossible. Susan knew the case had been long and frustrating. Her auntie spent a lot of sleepless nights working on it, but the case had grown cold, and they had to give up, eventually. There had been talks, she knew, to declare the boy 'presumed dead' but Gringotts interfered (something about the Ministry not seizing vaults they didn't have a claim to, especially not when an heir was alive). That, at least, proved that Harry Potter was alive, if unable to be located.

If what Ernie said was true, though, that meant that the Goblet of Fire had managed to do what anyone else had failed to do in the past few years: locate the Boy-Who-Lived and bring him home.

…

Was it home, though?

.

The standstill between teachers and newcomers (and everyone else) came to an abrupt stop when the smaller male groaned.

“Scotland.”

Miles, who was conveniently sitting at the Slytherin table, with his back to the Hufflepuff table, heard one of the Muggle-born gasp and utter a name with awe.

“Holy shit, that's Red Robin.”

Now, Miles, despite being a pureblood, considered himself rather knowledgeable in the world of real-life superheroes community, but he himself had no idea who those guys were, so he turned slightly on the bench to grab Finch-Fltchley's attention.

“Oh, he's not an Europe-based hero. But they're both well-known in Gotham. I've got some cousins living close. They told me all about Batman and the Robins.”

Now, that sounded vaguely familiar. Well, Batman did, at least. It was also hard not to know anything about Gotham. Even Miles had heard of that particular crime-filled city.

Still, he got the feeling that Finch-Fletchley was holding something back.

The Slytherin tilted his head to the side and opened his mouth to ask a question, when their attention was redirected to the two newcomers.

The taller man brought a hand over his face and took the helmet off. Miles didn't know what he was expecting, but he could say he didn't expect the domino mask obscuring part of his face.

“Damn it, Red. Really?”

“It's not my fault, Hood. I didn't ask to be dragged all the way to this place. Besides, you're the one who grabbed onto me.”

Red... Hood? Were they a Hero duo? That was a thing, right?

“What the hell is this place anyway?”

“... a school?”

Oh, so the guy wearing a cape knew. Or, at least, he came to that conclusion from observing the numerous children in a uniform (no matter how odd the uniform might seem to him) staring back. Since he had recognised that they were in Scotland at first glance, there was a high chance he knew more about Hogwarts than one might think (sure, he hadn't been with his relatives, but it was still believed that he had grown up in the Muggle World, having been left in an orphanage, after all...).

If he had to bet, Miles would say that this guy was Harry Potter. Never mind that the other guy seemed too old to be Harry Potter. At least, the guy with the cape looked to be in the good age range.

He tilted his head to the side when he realised that none of the teachers had even attempted to take control of the situation. Were they that shocked at the sudden arrival of the two men or what? Miles would have at least thought that ol' Dumbles would have tried to take over by now. From the corner of his eyes, he caught sight of Madam Bones standing up, and thought, okay. At least Madam Bones would be less likely to make a faux pas or anything that might trigger their... guests.

Dumbledore tended to get on people's nerves just as much as Crouch and Bagman did. At least, with sensible people. They seemed to get along just fine with morons. Miles might be a little bit biased, but that didn't mean that he was wrong.

“Gentlemen,” Madam Bones greeted them, coming to a stop a few feet away.

She had likely done so to avoid being interpreted as a threat and also not to surprise them. Mies had no doubt that they would react to any show of aggression.

Helmet-guy didn't even twitch or move to acknowledge her, but the smaller guy nodded in her direction.

“Ma'am,” he heard him say.

His voice was soft but deep. Not as deep as the taller man, but it sounded mature to his ears.

“Am I correct in my assumption that you people did something to drag us here?”

Polite, too, despite having literally been dragged away from home to who knows where, and suspecting them. Miles would have been up in arms, had it happened to him. He had an accent. Miles was pretty bad with accents, but considering what Finch-Fletchley had said earlier, he was going to say it was probably an American one.

“Red-” Helmet-guy started.

“That is... one way of saying it,” Madam Bones agreed.

Miles saw the smaller man raise a brow. He didn't need to see through his domino mask to know that he looked dubiously at her.

“We did not do anything, but the Goblet of Fire,” she said, with a gesture to the still-smoking artefact behind them, “did when it ejected a name.”

A slow blink. Miles couldn't see that, of course, but he imagined that the guy had blinked.

Madam Bones eyed their defensive posture before launching into a quick explanation about the Triwizard Tournament and the fourth name that had been drawn out of the goblet.

By the end of her explanation, 'Red' seemed deep in thought.

“Red?” Hood asked, nudging him slightly.

Red shook his head.

“I've heard of that tournament. I didn't think there would be a risk...”

He didn't finish, but Miles got the feeling he knew what he was not saying, and his suspicions about his identity grew. There was no way this guy wasn't Harry Potter.

Of course, it was at that point that Dumbledore decided to intervene, walking towards them and opening his arms in a welcoming gesture.

“Harry Potter?”

That... wasn't the right thing to say.

Red (they were both red, why was only one of them called that? Although, he guessed that made things less confusing) tensed, and Hood snarled, abandoning their back-to-back defensive position to stand directly between Red and the headmaster.

Madam Bones tried to intervene, to cut off the headmaster, but the old man paid her no mind.

“My b-”

“Stay right where you are, old man!” Hood growled.

The hair on his arms stood up, and Miles bit his lips, barely suppressing a shiver. It was fear, he told himself. Don't listen to Adrian. He did not have a thing for danger.

Around him, students and guests became agitated. He saw a few of Dumbledore's more vocal supporters bristle. His detractors, though, smirked with barely restrained glee at the thought of a stranger potentially putting him in his place.

“Hood,” Red started. “Red Hood.”

Never mind, they were both colour-named.

Thankfully, Dumbledore seemed to take the threat for what it was and stopped a few feet away; otherwise, Miles had the feeling his beard might have shrunken a few inches, considering the blade in the man's left hand and the gun in his right.

Red put his hand over his left ear and tilted his head to the side.

“O, can you hear us?... Oracle?”

A glance around told Miles that none of his friends knew what was happening, so it was a bit of a relief when Tracey Davis, one of the few Half-bloods in their House, leaned forward:

“He's got an earpiece. Must be trying to get in touch with whoever is on the other side of that earpiece.”

“But magic and stuff like that don't mix,” he said, frowning.

Davis smirked.

“Well, he doesn't seem to have gotten a response, judging by his grimace,” she said.

Of course, Dumbledore couldn't leave things well alone.

“Harry Potter?”

He was looking at the smaller man. Miles saw helmet-guy tilt his head towards the guy in question.

“Who is asking?” Cape guy (Probably Potter) asked in an even tone, instead of answering the wizard.

Dumbledore looked genuinely taken aback by the question.

Miles craned forward, curious.

“I'm afraid I do not understand the question.”

Really? It was a simple question; what was there to be perplexed about?

“What's to understand, old man?” Hood asked, aggression evident in his tone. “Who's fucking asking?”

Ah, so Red was the calm one.

“Hey,” he quietly called the Hufflepuff from earlier. “Is Hood a hero?”

He seemed a bit... aggressive, to be one, but Miles knew better than to judge based on appearance.

Finch-Fletchley winced and grimaced.

“Not really, but I've heard his protect his territory.”

He paused again, hesitating, before glancing around. Miles' friends, as well as a few Durmstrang students, were paying close attention to them, but the others were focused on the newcomers and Dumbledore.

The Hufflepuff sighed.

“I don't really know all that much about Red Hood, but my cousin, Millie, told me that he's a crime lord or something.”

A... Crime lord?

Miles blinked. He caught Terence's eyes, and they exchanged an incredulous look.

“And... The other Red?”

“Red Robin,” Finch-Fletchley added, “Yeah, no. He's a hero. Well, a vigilante, but he's considered a hero in the Capes community.”

Terence glanced at the front of the room.

“And he works with a crime lord?”

Justin shrugged.

“I don't know much, but from what I've heard, that Hood sometimes cooperates with the Bats.”

The Bats? Oh, right. Batman and his Robins.

“Out of all of them, my cousins told me that he's been sighted collaborating with Red Robin often lately.”

Upon seeing Miles' confused expression, Justin elaborated.

“You know, busting drug rings, human traffic and stuff like that. At least, that's what the blogs say.”

Blogs?

Nevermind that

Miles grimaced upon processing the rest of his sentence. Ah, right. Beside him, Justin's Hufflepuff friends had gone pale. A movement in the corner of his eyes made him look to his left. Diggory, the other Champions, as well as Karkaroff and Maxime, were back in the room, demanding an explanation from one of the organisers.

“Harry Potter is dead.”

'Shit! What did I miss?' he wondered upon hearing Cape-Guy say this.

Of course, that declaration provocked a a silence that was promptly shattered by incredulous mutters.

Miles understood, though, that that sentence was more metaphorical than real in the truest sense. The Goblet would have, after all, not summoned people for the sake of it if the Champion it was supposed to locate was dead.

His theory was confirmed when Cape-guy (not-Potter-anymore) stated that while he may have once answered to that name, although he had been too young to remember, that was no longer the case.

It certainly calmed the other Wixen down, at least.

At Red's side, Hood snickered:

“Yeah, that means that whatever little plot you wanted to achieve here, the little bird's not gonna be your pawn. You can find another puppet to shape to your liking, old man,” he said, brashly, “cause this one's not gonna be manipulated.”

Red Robin didn't say a word, but seemed to be agreeing with his companion. If anything, he did not scold him, Miles noted. He could see Granger – one of the somewhat vocal Dumbledore supporters- gear up, ready to defend her headmaster. Thankfully, she didn't get to talk. Unfortunately, that was because Dumbledore had opened up his big mouth to try to defend himself.

Miles tuned him out, as he usually did whenever the headmaster talked, because Miles didn't like him. See? Miles was mature. He didn't hide behind Daddy's lies, saying that Dumbledore was an evil wizard trying to tear down their world. No. Miles was nothing like Malfoy Jr. He could admit the truth as it was; he just didn't like Dumbledore.

“Actually, that guy might not be far off from the truth,” Silver Travers whispered with a raised eyebrow.

Huh?

“What?”

“I was wondering how Harry Potter's name could have ended up in the Goblet? It could have been a student trying to be funny, but I don't think so.”

“It might have been a Death Eater trying to avenge his master,” Peregrine Derrick suggested.

Travers tilted his head to the side.

“A Death Eater, at Hogwarts?” Terence mumbled, squinting his eyes at his former teammate.

The Beater shrugged.

“We have Snape.”

Snape's former involvement among Death Eaters was still heavily debated in the Slytherin common room, no one having ever managed to receive vocal confirmation from the Potion master himself or their relatives, for those who had Death Eaters among the family.

“Besides, you make it sound like it's hard,” Miles added. “Did you forget who we had as teachers in the past few years? Cause I remember.”

Between Quirrell, who was revealed to have found one of the late Dark Lord's journals and fallen into fanaticism before having a mental breakdown in the middle of the year, Lockhart, who, while a Dark Wizard, had been a danger to students and teachers alike, and Lupin? Well, Lupin hadn't been bad, per se, but finding out he was a werewolf had been a nasty surprise. Especially since they only found out thanks to Snape, AFTER the guy had forgotten to take his Potion. What kind of werewolf forgets to take Wolfsbane when they are teaching in a school full of children?! No one, that's who (although that might be because Lupin was probably the only Werewolf in Britain who had been allowed a teaching position in a magical school)!

“Yeah, okay...”

So, maybe infiltrating Hogwarts, whether publicly or secretly, wasn't as hard as they might have believed in the past.

Maybe it should say something about their school – the so-called finest School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the world- that it was so easy to break in and destroy years' worth of children's education.

“So, what? You think Dumbledore put Harry Potter's name in the Goblet?” Marcus asked, eyeing his best friend with incredulity.

Travers shrugged again.

“I'm just saying. If the Goblet managed to track down Potter – something no one managed to do- and bring him back, Dumbledore might gain back the prestige he had lost when everything came to light.”

Everything being that the family he had chosen for the Boy-Who-Lived despised Magic more than anything and had abandoned the baby in an orphanage instead of raising him like the family member he was supposed to be. That Dumbledore hadn't even noticed because he hadn't put in any protection or anything to monitor the boy, and in doing so, did not notice anything was amiss until it was far too late.

“Yeah, but to put his name in the GOBLET OF FIRE?” Terence hissed quietly. “That's a death trap,” he continued, quieter.

There was a reason the age limit had been raised. Too many deaths in the past. That was why the tournament itself had been banned in the first place.

Silver shrugged again, a bad habit he had gotten from observing Terence.

“I'm just saying. It's just a theory.”

“A good one,” Lucian Bole agreed begrudgingly.

“Not you too,” Terence whispered.

“Desperate men call for desperate measures,” Lucian pointed out.

“I'm not sure that's the saying, mate.”

Miles glanced at the front of the room and the stiff standoff between Dumbledore and the two males.

If Harry Potter had gone to Hogwarts as planned, he would have been in their year, with Miles and Terence. Miles had wondered, once or twice, what it would have been like. Would they have been friends? Surely not. Not with a Gryffindor like Pott... But then again, who knows what he would have been like. Would he have even been a Gryffindor? Would he be one if he were sorted into a House right now?

At the front of the room, 'Red Robin' and 'Red Hood' were still standing defensively in front of Dumbledore, with Madam Bones trying to calm things before the tension became too venomous to handle.

Dumbledore wasn't making things easy, but neither were Crouch and Bagman.

“I will not,” Red replied when the two Ministry employees congratulated Not-Potter-anymore for his title as a Champion and enjoined him to go with them to the antechamber.

“Excuse me?”

“You're not,” Hood growled, and Miles had to suppress a snicker.

“I understand that this is a difficult situation for you, sir,” Red Robin continued, as if he hadn't been interrupted by either man, “but just as you didn't ask for this, I didn't ask to be dragged from our patrol route, all the way to this place. I will not participate in your.... tournament.”

Miles had the feeling that he might have wanted to say 'death trap' instead of tournament. Terence certainly never hid the disdain he had for this competition.

Patrol route? Ron repeated in his mind, confused.

“What's going on?”

He didn't like feeling left out when most of his Muggle-raised housemates seemed to know something he didn't. Even Hermione, who was still muttering about the Headmaster, seemed to know more about all of this. No surprise there; Hermione always knows everything.

“They're from Gotham,” Dean said, as if that explained everything.

Maybe it did. Ron wouldn't know. He didn't know the first thing about the Muggle world, despite being friends with a few Muggle-borns and his father's fascination with the non-magical world.

“Gotham?” he repeated.

The name sounded familiar. He was unsure why. Did he hear it somewhere before? Was this a magical district?

Seeing his expression, Hermione shook her head.

“It's a city in the States, on the Muggle side of things.”

On the Muggle – There's no way Ron would have heard of it if it were on the Muggle side.

He opened his mouth to argue, but Seamus beat him to it when he saw him gearing up to say something.

“It's a pretty well-known place, even among magicals,” the other Gryffindor said. “It's a crime-ridden place, home to the Batman, as Hero, and the Joker, a villain. Among other vigilantes and rogues, of course.”

Vigilantes? Rogues? Ron was more and more confused by the seconds.

Seamus sighed.

“Well, good guys and bad guys, I guess, although it's more nuanced in some cases.”

“Don't start on that, Seamus. We might just lose him,” Dean teased.

It wasn't meant to be mean, but it still made Ron bristle. He wasn't stupid by any means, but he was easily confused when it came to Muggle stuff.

“Gotta say, though. They look pretty badass,” Fred said, leaning forward to join the conversation without being too loud.

“They're armed. This is so dangerous,” Hermione argued, only to be faced with twin deadpan looks from the Weasley twins.

“Yeah, and we're given wands at eleven years old...”

Hermione blushed. Ron could tell she didn't appréciate being shut down like this, but was also embarrassed by her careless statement. His friend hadn't been all there for a while now. Ever since she had been given a time-turner to get to her classes the year before, she had been... different. Even though she had given back the time-turner, she was still... off. She appeared far less tizzy and stressed than the year before, but that didn't mean that she was as carefree as she was back when they were eleven and could barely stand each other.

They weren't the best of friends by any means, but they had become friends towards the end of their first year and had gotten closer during their second year. They had both been fascinated by the story of the Boy-Who-Lived, and spent countless hours scouring books about the boy, whether it was the 'Adventures' books (that Ron had grown to know were nothing more than storytelling), or articles related to his disappearance. They even scoured through conspiracy books and articles, wondering what could have happened to the Boy-Who-Lived.

Neither had gotten anywhere close to the truth, though.

The guy who had to be Harry Potter (or had to have been Harry Potter, if you listened to his words, unlike some people) was at least two heads shorter than the twins but more muscled than them. The twins were less gangly than Ron, but they were still... What was that word Dean used to describe them? Ah, yes. They were still twinks, whatever that meant.

“Quick question,” Lee Jordan interjected. “Are we being held hostage right now?”

Ron saw Hermione open her mouth to tell him to stop asking foolish question but closed it without saying anything.

He frowned.

Hermione, on the other hand, wondered. If the situation were to go from 'bad' to worse, would the guy with the red helmet actually shoot? He did seem like the kind of person who would shoot first and not apologise later. While she was reasonably certain that with the amount of Wixen present and the presence of Professor Dumbledore, someone would manage to subdue the man, she knew how fast a bullet could travel. He would have time to seriously hurt, maybe even kill someone, before the first spell hit him. Because if there was one thing Hermione was certain of, it was that the man in the helmet was no amateur. The way he held the gun spoke of ease and habit.

Ron's head snapped forward when he heard McGonagall request Harry Potter and his companion's names, since, clearly, he didn't answer to Harry Potter anymore.

“You may call me Red. This is Hood.”

“Your real names,” Crouch insisted.

Hood snarled.

“Are you dumb? What do you think this is?” he asked harshly, gesturing to 'Red' and his outfits.

Ron had briefly wondered, but those looked way too much like the hero costume he had seen in the comics his dad had brought home from work when he was younger. That, and unlike some pureblood students – and they were few because even among Purebloods, most had at least heard of the Capes Community- it wasn't the first time he had heard a mention of heroes.

“No real names in the field,” Red added, as if he was confirming Hood's point of view.

He probably was.

Ron could almost hear one of the Ministry morons say something like “But you're here, not on the field”, even though they probably didn't even understand what Red meant by 'in the field'. He could already feel the judgment emanating from the two men in red.

Ron ducked his head so that no one would see him laugh. Ron usually wouldn't care about being seen making fun of ministry employees, but it was different when it could come back to bite his dad, who worked at the Ministry.

Crouch was still talking when Hood turned around to face Red.

“Can't you call Clone boy and ask him to come and get us?”

C – Clone boy?

“That's not his – Oh, whatever. He's off-world, on a mission.”

Hood cursed and opened his mouth to ask something else when Red arched a brow at him:

“Do you really want me to call them?” he questioned, pulling a sleek, dark object from nowhere.

“... Guess not.”

Red snorted, tapping on the object in his hand. Ron did not recognise it. He wondered. Had he taken Muggles Studies, would he have been able to put a name on it?

Probably not. He had heard enough rants from Hermione to know that Professor Charity Burbage was well-intentioned but really knew very little about the Muggle World.

“Shit, are we stuck he – hey, I thought magic and electronics didn't mix?”

Whispers erupted.

“Is that a cell phone? A working cell phone?” Dean asked, squinting at the object in Red's hand with incredulity.

He was not the only one. Muggle-raised students (as well as the few Muggle-raised guests) all around the Great Hall.

“I thought magic and electronics didn't mix well?” Hood asked, voicing Ron's own question. “You couldn't get in touch with O.”

Red smirked.

“Well, I can't contact them using Bat tech. This,” he said, holding his cell phone, “is mine. Do you really think I wouldn't work something out?”

Hood sighed.

“Yeah, I guess not.”

They didn't seem to realise that they might have just broken Hermione's mind with that short conversation (as well as any Muggle-raised kid who missed using electronics when they were in the magical world).

Hermione's mind was in turmoil. Did... Did Harry Potter (or whatever his name was now) do that? Or did he reach out to people capable of doing that? Making a cell phone work in a magical area, with a lot of magical concentration, like Hogwarts? How? She wanted to ask questions, but she couldn't. She had to contain herself. They didn't need a curious student hounding them out of nowhere, especially when the situation at hand was much more serious.

Hermione had to keep her questions to herself.

Thanks.

She hated it.

“He got a cell phone to work... at Hogwarts?” Stephen Cornfoot said slowly, from his seat.

The Ravenclaw table was oddly quiet; everyone was so focused on the two individuals dressed in red.

Hood's brows furrowed in thought.

“Why wouldn't you update B's... Wait... B doesn't know?”

He and his friends were shushed by an older student.

“No. And I'd prefer to keep it that way,” Red answered sharply.

What in Merlin's name were they talking about?

“How the hell did you manage to hide the fact that you're a wizard from him?”

Stephen's eyebrows shot up. Either 'Red' lived with a Muggle, or he surrounded himself with them. Whoever this 'B' was – he had his suspicions since he had heard his housemates talk about Batman and other heroes-, he clearly didn't know anything or probably not much, about the magical world, if he didn't know Red was a magic user.

“Well, I wasn't about to risk it, what with his 'No meta in Gotham' rule,” Red replied.

“But magic users are not metas,” Hood argued.

There was hesitance in his tone, as if he wasn't too sure of himself. Suddenly, Stephen wondered if this 'Hood' could be a Muggle. It would make sense, maybe. Did it make sense?

“Would that make a difference to B?”

Both men quieted down, and Stephen heard Justin Finch-Fletchley, from the Hufflepuff table (the Puff's table was between the Slytherin and the Ravenclaw tables), mumble an explanation about Metahumans and Batman's rule of 'No meta in Gotham'. How did a single man, who was not the mayor or anything like that, manage to enforce that rule? Sure, he was a vigilante, and that rule probably had some exceptions (every rule had its exceptions), but still...

Did Red live in an unstable home life? No, Stephen shook his head. It wasn't his business. Besides, who even knows if he lived with this Batman? They were probably just... coworkers. Was 'coworkers' the word for it? Vigilantes didn't get paid, did they?

He still had trouble accepting that there were kids his age – or barely older- that fought dangerous people on a daily basis, who went out every night to fight crime. As cool as it sounded when he was a kid, he had started to realise how dangerous it was when he had heard of a vigilante being killed on the field... and when it was revealed that the vigilante was an eighteen-year-old kid.

“What the hell are Metas?” he heard one of his Pureblood housemates question, but his attention was stolen when the guy with the red helmet, Hood, turned back to the teachers and organisers.

“Can't you just send us back? We got shit to do, and we're wasting time here.”

Red (Potter?Not Potter anymore?) crossed his muscular arms over his chest and nodded in agreement. Stephen tried not to feel too flustered. Sue him: he was a sexually confused growing teenager.

“I'm afraid we can't do that,” Dumbledore intervene, tone genuinely remorseful.

At least, he appeared to be sorry. Stephen didn't know if it was real or just for show (Curse Anthony's disdain for their headmaster; it influenced more than he liked to admit it).

“We cannot just send you back from this Gotum (“Gotham” Hood corrected dryly) you're speaking of.”

Madam Bones intervened before Hood (or anyone else) could lose his temper.

“They are correct. It's not the protocol -”

“You have a protocol for whenever you kidnap people from across the globe and yank them here?”

“Why don't you sit down for a few minutes, gentlemen?” she continued, as if she hadn't been interrupted.

Stephen was a bit admiring. He didn't think he would be able to sound so smooth in front of an individual as intimidating as Hood. Then again, Madam Bones had built a reputation for herself as a formidable woman and Head of the DMLE. She had no fear.

“An excellent idea, Madam Bones,” Dumbledore agreed, earning a quirked eyebrow from Amelia Bones. “Dinner is just about to start, so why don't you join us?”

Red and Hood exchanged a look and seemed to have a silent conversation consisting of unimpressed looks and raised eyebrows.

Woah.

“I'd love to be able to do that with someone,” Lisa Turpin (his friend and Housemate) whispered, blinking. “To have that level of intimacy and know someone enough to have an entirely silent conversation? That's something,” she said.

Stephen didn't pout, but it was a close thing. He thought Lisa and he knew each other well enough to do exactly that. Okay, so he might have messed up last time and dove to the right instead of the left, resulting in both of them colliding during a game of dodgeball, but still... They were best friends!

“I guess it couldn't hurt,” Red answered, seemingly unsure. “Probably.”

Probably? Did he think someone would try to poison them or something?

They watched as Dumbledore attempted to stir them towards the Gryffindor table (no surprise). The surprise came when the men expertly dodged his attempts and somehow managed to corral the old man into leading them to the Hufflepuff table instead.

Huh.

“Woah, I want to know how to do that. Looks useful,” Cho Chang said.

As a perfect candidate for next year's prefect, Stephen imagined that it would be a really useful skill to learn.

By the time Dumbledore realised he had led them to the 'wrong' table, it was far too late. Anthony could easily read the disappointment on his face, and it made him want to grin. So, he didn't like his headmaster, sue him.

Just a few seats away from the duo, he saw Justin's face, and almost lost it. He had all the trouble in the world holding back the cackles that wanted to escape when he saw his Hufflepuff friend vibrating in his seat, a look of shock and glee appearing on his face. Of course. How could he forget that Justin was a huge Hero/vigilante nerd?

It was only when Stephen saw Hood put the gun in his holster that he realised the guy had been holding it this entire time, and that, somehow, he had managed to relax despite this.

Stephen tried his best to contain his curiosity and not ogle the two men as if they were animals behind a zoo glass, but it was hard. He could tell his housemates were bursting with questions that would probably go unanswered.

Red greeted the Hufflepuffs with a soft “Good evening", which Stephen was certain made more than one student swoon, and then the two men sat down in front of one another.

“How do you know it's not poisoned?” he heard Hood ask when the guy put his helmet next to him and grabbed a plate.

Under it was a head full of dark hair, along with a streak of shockingly white hair. Did he dye it? It looked... cool. It looked cool.

What an odd question to ask, though. Then again, they lived in Gotham and were vigilantes, so maybe it wasn't that weird (judging by his friends' faces, though, they were as taken aback as he felt).

It was only then that Stephen noticed that the plates had appeared on the tables, and he absently gave a plate to a French student when they asked him for it.

“You don't,” Red replied. “Seems like an inefficient way since all the plates are shared, though. Well, I guess a would-be assassin could order a House-elf to dose a particular plate, but, as I said, the risk of accidentally poisoning a random student is too high.”

They were either oblivious or uncaring of the incredulous looks thrown their way by the students sitting close enough to overhear their conversation.

“That -”

“I can use a diagnostic spell if that would put your mind at ease.”

For some reason, Red sounded sarcastic.

At least, that answered the question whether or not the Boy-Who-Lived had been learning magic or not. It had, after all, been a very concerning matter when his name had been drawn out of the goblet. Nobody wanted to send a wizard ignorant of his own magic to his death (well, he didn't think sending a barely of age, unwilling, innocent teenager was much better, but what did he know?).

“Nah, don't bother. Wait... If you could use that stuff... Why did you never use it on those chocolates you've been receiving?”

Chocolates? Like, for Valentine's Day or something?

Red snorted as he picked at his food.

“I knew where they came from. I already knew there was a high chance of them being laced with something.”

Stephen didn't choke on his piece of pie, but it was a close thing. At the Hufflepuff table, Justin still looked starstruck. Stephen wondered if he was even registering the conversation between the two males or if it was completely flying over his head, too busy was he admiring Red Robin and Red Hood.

Hood chewed slowly.

“This is... really good, actually.”

“Don't look so surprised.”

“Shut up. Why would you even eat something you knew might be poisoned?”

“I said laced with something, not necessarily poisoned. Ra's wouldn't kill me like this. He would want to make it interesting.”

He was cut off by the sound of coughing, and when Stephen glanced at them, he saw Hood glaring at his... friend? Partner? Whatever.

“Ra's?”

Red stifened.

“Ra's fucking al Ghul has been sending you laced chocolates?” the older man hissed. “Is that what I'm getting from this conversation?”

'Who is Ra's?' Stephen wondered, although he didn't voice that question. He would not be the kind of person to butt in on a conversation like that. Nope. Not anymore. He was a changed man.

Red looked away from his companion to glance at either the Goblet of Fire or the teachers' table. Stephen wasn't too sure.

Then he looked back at his partner.

“Yes.”

It sounded like a question. It was also said with hesitation, as if he thought it might stir his ire.

"Ra's al Ghul?” Hood repeated slowly, incredulously.

Behind him, Stephen saw more than one Slytherin raising a brow. Obviously, the Ravens and Badgers weren't the only ones spying on the conversation.

Hood slowly put his fork down and used his knife to point at Red.

“Answer this, little bird. Is that creep courting you?”

Red didn't choke, but it looked like a close thing. The vigilante had his back turned to Stephen so he couldn't see (and even if he wasn't, his domino mask probably wouldn't have given much away), but he was certain that the teenager was glaring at the older masked man.

Stephen's friends and housemates, on the other hand, didn't have a much different reaction than Red's. Whether it was the word 'creep' or 'courting', they reacted to his questions with theatrical gasps and hushed whispers.

“No!” he hissed quietly. “Why would you even ask me that?”

“He's been sending you chocolates.”

“Laced chocolates,” Red felt the need to correct.

The Ravenclaw almost twitched.

“Yeah, because that's Ra's we're talking about. Why wouldn't he send you laced stuff? I don't even know why I was surprised.”

Stephen blinked and tried not to gape. This conversation was devolving into some levels of unrealistic shit. Then again, he was facing two Gothamites, so maybe he shouldn't be too surprised.

“He's not courting me,” Red replied with a hiss, even as he handed over a plate of mashed potatoes to Catelin Stuart when the Hufflepuff girl asked one of her housemates for the place. “Here you go,” he told her with a gentler tone than the one he used to reply to his companion.

“Ah, uh, thank you.”

Poor girl looked so flustered.

Red nodded and promptly returned to his heated conversation with his partner.

“He's not. He just sends his ninjas to break into my office or safehouses and leave stuff there.”

Ninjas? Like Naruto?

“That's... both concerning and unsurprising considering how fixated he is on you,” Hood mumbled. “Pretty sure he has a brain crush on you.”

Next to Stephen, Lisa bluescreened.

“Of course, he's a smart guy,” he heard her whisper. “Of course. He has to be athletic, aesthetically pleasant AND smart.”

Who even says 'aesthetically pleasant' instead of saying 'pretty' or 'good-looking', seriously?

“I'm calling bullshit if he's also magically powerful,” an older Ravenclaw boy joked, grinning.

“He probably is,” Marietta Edgecombe replied, sighing. “It's really unfair.”

“I think I'd rather suck at one or more of those things if that means I'm not stuck with a creep,” Anthony Goldstein said from his seat next to Stephen Cornfoot.

“Is no one concerned with what we're hearing?”

“I am, but I mean, it's not like we can do anything. I don't even think they would appreciate it if literal strangers involved themselves in their business.”

True. Stephen certainly wouldn't, but then again, Stephen didn't spend his nights running around in a costume and dodging creeps. Besides, Pott – nope. Red was 17; he technically didn't have to listen to anyone. He was an adult in the eyes of the law, at least in the magical world.

“It's not like that,” Red replied, fixing Hood with a (as far as Stephen could tell) blank look, “And I don't think now is the best time to have this conversation,” he continued, glancing around at the students not so subtly listening in.

“Yeah, no. When could we have this conversation without you attempting to worm your way out of it? Those kids have no idea who Ra's is. They don't give a shit, but I do.”

Yes, yes, they did. Stephen, at least, was unashamedly spying on this conversation because he was a curious little shit, and Hood was right; they had no idea who this “Ra's” was.

“Oh, so you do care.”

At that, Hood gave him a look (what sort of look, Stephen was, again, not sure because of the mask).

“You know I don't want you dead anymore, you little shit.”

Well, that wasn't concerning at all, Stephen mused, eyes wide as his housemates marked a pause to stare at the two men in befuddlement.

Unexpectedly (or maybe not so unexpectedly, they didn't know him after all), Red snorted and chuckled.

“I guess you don't.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

Hood, obviously, wasn't giving up without a fight, and Stephen had no trouble hearing the annoyed sigh that escaped Red.

“He's not courting me. This is typical Ra's behaviour, you know? Being as creepy and unsettling as possible?”

That was... deeply concerning.

“He never sent B chocolates.”

“Well, I guess he had to find new ways to entertain himself as he grows older or something.”

Hood appeared unamused. Stephen didn't look away as he bit into a mini pizza. He should have. It had pepper in it. Stephen hated pepper.

Grimacing, he put the mini pizza down and grabbed a glass to hopefully replace the taste. Drinking pumpkin juice after ingesting pepper probably wasn't the best choice overall, but it'll do for now.

“He's a centuries-old immortal bastard. How can he get any creepier as the years go by?”

A what now?

Stephen didn't choke on his drink, but it was a close thing. Beside him, Lisa stared, drilling holes in the back of Red's head. On the other side of the Hufflepuff table, with the snakes, he could see a couple of them gaping. Woah. They even managed to make the Slytherins lose their composure. Hats off!

“I don't know what in Merlin's is going on in Potter's life -” Marietta started.

“I don't think he answered by that name,” an older student muttered.

“But I'm starting to think that it might be more chaotic than what we have had going on at Hogwarts in the past few years.”

Stephen hummed contemplatively.

Sure, they didn't have to deal with a 'centuries-old immortal bastard', but they did have a few almost deadly encounters that they could have done without. Like that year Professor Quirrell was teaching. It turned out the guy had become a fanatic of the late Dark Lord Voldemort. Look, Stephen had been raised in the Muggle world; he didn't really get why everyone was so scared to pronounce the name. Sure, he had done terrible things, but to be scared to say his name? Wasn't that giving him more power? If at least they explained why he shouldn't say his name instead of scolding, he might make more effort to avoid saying it next time. The year after that, a student lost a cursed journal they had brought from Knockturn Alley, and it had ended up in the hands of a foolish and naive first-year student who almost killed two students because of it. The older student had been expelled. The first year in question escaped punishment because they didn't know what they were doing, and were a victim too, but Stephen privately thought they should have at least been forced to see a Mind Healer to talk about their experience. Kid lost almost half a year's worth of memories and had to live with the knowledge that they had endangered the lives of everyone in the castle because they didn't ask for help. That had to cause some damage to their mindset. Thankfully, apart from that, nothing much had happened. Well, Sirius Black escaped Azkaban, but then the ICW decided to intervene, and it was found out that the guy had been framed!

Stephen felt bad for Black when he read about it in the news. The first thing the poor guy wanted to do upon being set free was to see his godson, only to find out that the boy was a cold case. Black hadn't been seen in a while. The last thing they had gotten was that he had been certified sane (or as sane as one can be after spending so much time in Azkaban), and was travelling the United Kingdom in the hopes of finding his friends' missing son.

“Yeah,” Lisa agreed quietly, starting at the back of Red's head. “Me too.”

“Don't ask me,” the vigilante answered. “I wouldn't drink that, by the way. This is laced with something,” Red said, pointing his index finger at the glass Hood had just raised to take a sip.

The guy paused and put it down with a raised eyebrow. Who the hell would spike their drink? And when would they have gotten the opportunity to do it? The attention had been focused on them, so how?

“Something to make us sleepy and probably more agreeable to any suggestion. Not something that would be too noticeable.”

What? Was there... Should he be worried about the food here being drugged? He's never had to worry about this before, but now that Red had pointed out how easy to be for someone to do just that, Stephen wasn't sure he could ever not worry about that possibility again.

“They obviously don't know us. Fuckers. Who is it? I know that face. You have a culprit in mind.”

Red hummed in thought. Stephen tried not to appear too interested in his answer, but his housemates weren't even trying.

“I'm biased,” he replied, briefly glancing at the High table before looking back at his companion. “Here,” he said, handing over a different goblet that was filled with... something.

Hood nodded in thanks.

“You really think they'll let us go after dinner?”

“They won't have a choice. If they don't, I'll have to call the MACUSA and make a formal complaint for international kidnapping. It wouldn't be good press for Britain. They're still dealing with a mess from the past few years; they don't need any more bad press.”

Ah, so Red knew all about that, eh?

“I suppose Dumbledore might try to manipulate me into staying, but it wouldn't work.”

Oh-oh? The guy even knew Dumbledore well enough to know about his... less acknowledged personality traits.

“What about those things you mentioned the other day? To travel a long distance... A portkey?”

“Too much paperwork. We'll never make it back to Gotham before B, and the others found out.”

Hood mumbled that they probably already knew they were missing thanks to Oracle.

“What about that British Dude?”

“Constantine?”

“Who the hell is Constantine?” Cho whispered, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

“Language!” one of the prefects whispered back, grinning and stern all at once.

“How should we know?” Kevin asked, rolling his eyes.

Stephen leaned forward, frowning.

“The name sounds familiar,” he noted, looking contemplative.

Where had he heard that name?

Lisa leaned forward.

“Isn't he an occultist?”

They quieted it down when they saw Hood nod in confirmation.

“Yeah. Doesn't he owe you a favour?”

“Yes, I'm pretty sure he's known for exorcising demons or something,” another Muggle-raised Ravenclaw mumbled. “I mean, if we're talking about the same Constantine.”

“Demons?” a Pureblood almost shrieked, although they were thankfully stopped by Kevin Entwhistle.

If the duo knew they were whispering about them, they didn't let it show. Hood didn't even turn around to raise a judgmental brow at them.

“And doesn't he deal with spirits and curses?” Lisa added.

“I think so,” Anthony Goldstein whispered.

“Yes,” Red replied.

He somehow managed to appear unimpressed despite being masked and turning his back to the Ravenclaw.

“I'm not calling in that favour unless we're dealing with a demon infestation or something equally ridiculous pops up.”

Behind Hood, Stephen saw Montague choking on the piece of bread he was chewing on.

Hood sighed.

“It was worth a try,” he said slowly before frowning and piling food on Red's plate. “Eat, Babybird.”

Terence didn't squeal, but it was a close thing.

“Babybird. This is so cute!” he whispered to Miles.

Miles winced and tried to free his arms from his friend's hold, to no avail. Trust Terence to always grab onto people whenever he was excited or scared.

“Yes, yes, it is,” Graham Montague agreed, “but is no one concerned with everything we've heard so far?”

“I am,” Lily Moon answered.

She was a 4^th year in their House, and while she was not part of the Court and from a rather unimportant family, she was rather well-liked, as well as a good source of information. She was almost assured of having a place in the Court, if not the next year, then one after that.

“This is kind of insane,” Peregrine agreed with a look that said he was questioning reality.

Hood, as it turned out, was just as much a mother hen as Adrian Pucey was. They watched him bully the younger masked man into eating at least a third of what was on his plate.

“I'm personally more concerned with how unconcerned they are about their 'kidnapping'. I mean, sure, they're on the defensive, but they didn't appear shocked or scared, or anything?” Cassius Warrington piped in.

Tracey Davis, a half-blood, who had somehow managed to worm her way into the heart of the Court, leaned forward:

“They're part of the Cape community. I'm not saying that this happens a lot – I wouldn't know, but, well...”

Malfoy craned his neck. Malfoy wasn't part of the Court (hadn't proved himself yet), and unlike Davis, he was nearly as well-liked. What he had, on the other hand, was a powerful family name. He had the influence and wealth of his father. The Court couldn't afford to leave him to dry heave on the pavement (dixit Tracey); they had to give a little something.

They let him sit near the Court at meals. That was as far as they would go to avoid facing Lucius Malfoy's disinterested wrath.

“The what?”

Tracey sighed, looking aggravated.

“Merlin, Malfoy, I know the magical community of Britain is very separated from the Muggle one, but still. Some magical places all around the world are very involved with the Capes community.”

Huh? That was news to Miles. He had no idea how things were outside of Britain. He knew that the Capes of Britain occasionally dealt with the Muggle government, but he had no idea how things were done with the Ministry of Magic. He had no idea if they even interacted with them.

Wasn't that Constantine guy British, though? He sounded familiar. Did Miles hear of him in the magical side of things, or did he hear his name while venturing in the Muggle world?

He listened with one ear to the explanation given by Davis. He already knew most of that, but he enjoyed the expression of surprise on the faces of his Housemates. Most of them had, at the very least, heard of the Capes community, even if they didn't know much. Then there were those like Malfoy, who grew so sheltered when it came to the Muggles that they probably thought those people still travelled with horse carts.

“Muggles have... heroes?”

Miles snickered and promptly lost interest in his housemates' conversation. It didn't take long, though, before his and his friends' attention was attracted by a completely different conversation.

“-not telling me. If I had my way, I would have shot our way out of this.”

“With kids all around us?”

“I wouldn't have touched the brats.”

Right, Miles thought. Justin had said that Hood was a crime lord. Miles still had trouble wrapping his head around that. Could heroes and vigilantes work with criminals?

'The world is not black and white, sweetheart,' his godmother used to tell him when he was younger.

She was right, of course. She usually was.

Also, did he call them 'brats'? Even with the voice modulator, Miles was almost certain that the guy was only a couple of years older than him.

Red raised a brow, and Hood huffed.

“Come on, you're not still on that? I apologised. Besides, you didn't die.”

Miles was certain that if Hood and Red had been seated next to each other and not separated by a table filled with food, Red would have punched Hood in the shoulder. As it was, he only glared.

“I'm sorry, what?” Terence whispered, his head whipping to stare at the back of Hood's head.

“You've had worse since,” the crime lord continued.

What?

“And I've been doing my best not to be too injured lately. I guess Wonder Girl's lectures about safety finally paid off.”

Hood put his fork down to probably glare at his partner.

“I'm sorry? Baby birds who lost their spleen shouldn't be talking to me about safety.”

…

Miles didn't comprehend what he had just heard for a couple of seconds, until Red spoke up:

“You keep saying it as if I misplaced it, when it was surgically removed, and you know it!”

Ah, he had heard correctly, he thought, even as Terence went rigid beside him.

“And were you or were you not too unconscious to voice consent for that removal?”

I'm sorry? He didn't squeak, but it was a close thing. His eyes caught Adrian's incredulous expression, and he had to bite his lips to contain the nervous laughter that wanted to escape.

Red raised his head, and Miles suddenly had the distinct feeling that he was glaring at his companion.

“Okay, you can't hold that against me; I was bleeeding out. Also, they didn't anaesthetise me, so technically, I was only unconscious for most of it.”

Miles' brain screeched to a halt.

“... You do realise that you make it sound even worse?”

“...”

For a second, Miles thought that the caped hero might admit defeat, but no. That would have been too easy. He got the distinct feeling that the two had decidedly brotherly dynamics.

“Exactly, and since then, I have been doing my best to stay safe.”

“You were stabbed last night.”

He was?

Miles felt Terence jolt against him even as the other Slytherin craned his head to get a better look at the duo.

Red hissed like an angry cat being lifted by an annoying human. It would have been funny, had Miles not been concerned. Miles didn't like being concerned. Merlin, he didn't even know those guys. There should be no reason for him to be concerned over this, but, well... Maybe he was just a concerned citizen.

“How d'you even know about that? We weren't patrolling together.”

“... Do you really think you made it back to your safehouse by yourself?”

Red froze, and Hood snorted.

“Genius,” he said mockingly, before dodging the piece of bread thrown by the younger man. “I stumbled upon you lying on a rooftop near my territory. I carried you back to your Nest after treating your stab wound. Dumbass.”

“... You can't call me a genius and dumbass in a single sentence.”

“Watch me. Now, eat up,” he said, offering his fork.

Red pouted, but grabbed the offending utensil, grumbling.

Graham snorted.

“Definitely brothers.”

“Oh, I don't know about that,” a girl in their year whispered, grinning, the boy next to her snickering in agreement.

Hood hummed, grabbing a portion of banitsa that he put in a small plate.

“You realise that they're stalling, right?” he asked before stabbing his dessert and putting a piece of it in his mouth.

Stalling? Stalling for what?

Red only snorted.

“Of course. That's why the kids are still here. They're counting on us not showing hostile force with children present in the room.”

Miles froze and exchanged a somewhat panicked look with his housemates. He hadn't thought about that. Would the responsible adults really take such a gamble? On the students' lives?

… Yeah, probably. Miles would be the first to admit that he didn't have much confidence in the adults in the castle. Most of them anyway.

Of course, there would be some kind of power play at the moment while they were all eating, seemingly unaware of the tension. Even Miles had relaxed.

“That's why they are keeping the kids here. They know the second the students are out and they'll try something, it'll be over.”

Miles wanted to protest being called a 'kid' by someone his age, but looking at Red, the guy felt decidedly more mature, whereas he still felt like a kid.

He was also reeling from his statement. He had wondered. Usually, when something unexpected, possibly dangerous, happened, the headmaster insisted on sending the students back to their common room, even if they hadn't eaten. He would just have the House elves deliver them food in their respective common rooms. Sure, it wouldn't have been great for the delegations, but, well, safety was important, right?

“We're stalling too, though,” Red continued.

“Hm? And here I thought you were only staying for the food... Then I remembered the only thing you consume daily is caffeine and nothing else.”

“Very funny, but no. We're just waiting until my contact texts me,” Red mumbled, pulling out his cell phone to shake it in his companion's direction before putting it down next to his plate.

Hood tilted his head to the side.

“And?”

“They're dropping a vehicle for me. They can't see the place, so they'll leave it close enough for us to get it.”

“Not the Redbird?”

Miles got the distinct feeling that the look Red was sending his companion was less than impressed.

“It wasn't summoned with us, unfortunately.”

“Hey, I'm just asking.”

Red snorted.

“Nah. This one is... Well, let's just say that I had it parked somewhere in the country. Just in case.”

Miles couldn't see it, but he felt Hood quirk an eyebrow, perplexed. Something about Red's answer had caught his attention, but if it did, he didn't ask anything related to his statement.

“I still can't believe that Harry Potter is part of the Capes Community,” he heard a Hufflepuff whisper, further away down the table.

Red, he knew, had heard the whisper, judging by the tilt of his head, but he did not comment on it. Considering he didn't answer to that name anymore, Miles didn't know whether he should be surprised or not.

A sound, small but repetitive, caught Miles' attention just as he was about to take a bite of his pumpkin pie, and he groaned, even as he turned away from his dessert to glance back at the Hufflepuff table. Red had grabbed his... phone? Yeah, his phone. He had grabbed his phone (was that like a portable floo or something? Miles hadn't quite understood Terence's explanation) and brought it to his ear.

“Hm? Yes... Yes, just... Yeah... Really? That's good. Thanks. Yes, your debt is repaid, thank you.”

With those parting words, he put his phone in one of his trousers' pockets and raised a brow at Hood.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. Let's go.”

Both costumed individuals stood up, then, with Red thanking their table companions for the shared dinner, before making their way to the front of the room. Apparently, they were on the departure.

Miles tried his best not to ogle the departing pair, but it was hard. To no one's surprise, he was a bisexual disaster of epic proportions.

“Earth to Miles!”

Miles blushed furiously and cursed his pale-skin tone that made his embarrassment evident.

“What? Don't tell me you're not looking too!”

It was hard to believe that he and Red were the same age. Miles was certainly taller than Red, but the muscles straining against his costume talked of rigorous training that even Quidditch practices couldn't compete with. The less said about his companion, the better, Miles thought, swallowing.

He had been doing so well, all dinner long!

Of course, one might say that he had been too busy trying to survive the worrying revelations he had overheard, but meh.

Amelia Bones met them halfway between the students' tables and the teacher's tables.

“On the departure, gentlemen?”

“Yes, Ma'am. We can't afford to waste more time if we want to make it back to Gotham. Our associates are probably getting worried,” Red replied politely.

“I see. I shall accompany you to the border then, if you don't -”

“Are you already leaving? You can't!”

Next to Miles, Adrian snorted when Bagman approached, Crouch and Dumbledore on his heels.

“This is a recipe for disaster. I thought they had understood that there was no getting Harry Potter's participation in that bloody tournament.”

Sure, the organisers didn't have the advantage of being seated close enough to follow the conversation between the two men, but everything had been said before; Red (who had, at some point, been known as Harry Potter) refused point-blank to participate in the Tournament. Since he obviously didn't collapse despite his vocal withdrawal, he obviously wasn't tethered to the Goblet of Fire. Not anymore, at least. Not with that formal withdrawal.

Adrian had thought all of that, the invitation to stay for dinner, was just Dumbledore's way of offering reparations and non-verbal apologies for having gotten the two newcomers displaced.

Adrian should have known better. Maybe Dumbledore truly had something to do with Harry Potter's name being drawn from the goblet. Or maybe he just didn't want to waste the opportunity it gave him.

The look Red gave the old man, although they couldn't see it, was firm.

“We're not staying.”

Admittedly, when Rodolphus Lestrange, DMLE employee (and former suspected Death Eater, but that's unimportant), had accepted Amelia's invitation to accompany her to the Drawing Ceremony, he had thought nothing of it. Knowing Amelia, though, he should have known better. She probably had a gut feeling and knew that something was bound to happen. Rodolphus knew his old friend well enough; she wasn't the kind of person to show up to 'important events' like the opening ceremony of the Triwizard Tournament. It was already bad enough, if you asked her, that they were requested to show up to the occasional Ministerial Galas, don't go asking for more.

So, yes, he should have known there was more to it. Did he expect someone to put the missing Boy-Who-Lived's name in the Goblet of Fire? No. He probably should have, but he didn't. It goes without saying that nothing that happened tonight had been part of his evening's plans. He can't say that he hated. Sure, he didn't like that someone had been dragged into this, but he can't deny that he, like everyone else, had been eaten by curiosity and had wondered what had happened to the Potter heir.

Finding out that the boy everyone in the magical world called their 'Saviour' had gone and become a vigilante, a hero, was... more surprising than it should have been. Yet, something told Rodolphus that the teenager (for he was still a teen even if he was an adult in the eyes of their Law) was, perhaps, more dangerous and morally ambiguous than he let on. After all, he willingly associated himself with a crime lord, as he'd been told by Evan, who had become very knowledgeable in the Muggle World ever since he faked his death and went to live there for over a decade. The guy still disdained some Muggle stuff, but he had mellowed much more than Rodolphus would have ever thought him capable of.

Watching the tournament organisers trying to coerce 'Red' into playing their game was certainly entertaining, especially when Red and his companion appeared so deeply unimpressed with them.

Such an amusing spectacle. Embarrassing for the Ministry, that's for sure, but very entertaining all the same. Next to him, he could feel Amelia shake her head in exasperation and knew she wanted to shake Bagman and Crouch and probably boink their heads together. If his brother was present (and he was, although he was seated further away), Rodolphus knew he would be loudly – and very unprofessionally- encouraging Amelia to do just that. The embarrassment. Rodolphus could already feel his cheek heating up at the thought, and, not for the first time, cursed his pale skin tone.

“It's quite late,” he could hear Dumbledore say, and he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

Rabastan was a bad influence. Father would hate how informal they behaved nowadays. Actually... Father didn't care much nowadays. Long gone were the days when he worshipped the hem of his Master's robes.

He would still reprimand them.

Dumbledore was apparently trying to convince them to stay the night. Did he think the boy would change his mind after a good night of rest? And couldn't he tell that some of the younger students were starting to tire?

Red sighed.

“Sir, I do not know what you're trying to do, although I have some ideas, but this is not gonna work. Hood and I are expected back, and we should be on our way by now.”

As he said that, he turned around slightly, and Rodolphus saw his fingers twitch as he looked towards the open doors of the Great Hall. It should have been an insignificant movement, perhaps a twitch or something equally simple, but Rodolphus found himself staring at those gloved hands.

Something told him... Had he missed something?

“But, shouldn't you stay here?” Crouch insisted. “We don't know how your name came out-”

“I'll send one of my contacts to figure it out,” Red cut in. 

He sounded almost disinterested. That, for sure, would suffice to put a twist in Dumbledore's panties.

“She's been rather bored lately. I'm sure she'll welcome the distraction."

Hood spoke up before Dumbledore or Crouch could put their foot in their mouth.

“She... Are you talking about your mercenary buddy?”

More than one person choked upon hearing the word 'mercenary', and it didn't help that Red only shrugged.

“Yeah. Believe it or not, but she's a Hogwarts alumna. She'll be perfect for the job.”

A sound, familiar in that he had heard it before, in the past thirty minutes, echoed, and Rodolphus saw Red pull a black something from somewhere.

A frown appeared on his face above his domino mask before he sighed.

Hood interrupted his argument with Crouch to look at him.

“What's up?”

“Arkham breakout,” Red informed him (as well as everyone else), as if that explained everything. “All hands on deck.”

It probably did, because Hood groaned (“Great...”) and Rodolphus saw a good portion of students exchange looks and hushed whispers.

Come to think of it, didn't that name sound familiar?

“It's a well-known asylum in the Muggle World,” Amelia whispered to him.

“I thought it was a prison,” a guest mumbled.

Well, well, well, Rodolphus mused, lips twitching. Harry Potter may not have been riding dragons at 3 and slaying vampires at 6, as he did in the Harry Potter's Adventures books, but it seemed like his life remained nonetheless full of... chaos and adventures.

“I mean. They keep some of the worst criminally insane prisoners,” one of their fellow guests mumbled.

His name escaped Rodolphus, but he knew the man was a Muggle-born with contacts in high places (hence how he had managed to be invited to the ceremony).

Ah, that's why he heard about it; Rabastan had commented about a Muggle place being compared to Azkaban by some Magicals.

“Are you sure you have to go so soon? It would be our pleasure to host you -”

And where did Crouch want to host them so late? Hogsmeade? Hogwarts? Granted, they would probably find something, and, knowing the Ministry, they would try to make a grand thing out of it.

Thankfully, neither Red nor his companion seemed interested.

“No, thank you, sir. We must really get going.”

He was barely done speaking when a sound was heard, and something came zooming past the door and inside the Great Hall. It was a bike. Not a flying bike, just a bike. Ah, yes. A motorcycle. Red and black.

Had he... Was that what he had done before? Did he summon that vehicle wandlessly? Rodolphus knew it was common in some parts of the world to use wandless magic, but as far as he knew, Americans tended to go for wands too. Did he really summon that thing without a wand? It seemed that Rodolphus, just like everyone else, had underestimated the boy's knowledge of magic. Sure, he hadn't been surprised to find himself at Hogwarts, had even recognised the place almost immediately, but... There was a difference between having knowledge of the magical world and being able to use wandless magic.

Hood paused his argument with the organisers (Rodolphus noted that he seemed happy to antagonise them, and he had to admit that it was very entertaining to watch) to look at the vehicle newly parked a few feet away from them, in the middle of the alley, between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables.

“Okay, how come I didn't know you could do that?” Red Hood asked (motioning the summoned bike).

“'s one of my contingency plans. Here. You're driving,” Red replied, handing over the keys to his companion.

“Wait... Is that another gift from Ra's?” Hood asked as he slowly, nonchalantly made his way to the bike, all but abandoning his verbal smackdown of the Ministry employees.

Ra's? Rodolphus hadn't been seated close enough to hear their conversation, and even if he had, he'd like to think that he would be mature enough not to eavesdrop (that's a lie), but he had heard whispers from the kids sitting nearby. They had whispered that name in confusion. Rodolphus didn't know what it was about, but he had the feeling that he might not be ready to know. Call it a gut feeling.

“... Do you want to get back to Gotham tonight, yes or no?”

The young vigilante was turning his back to the Hogwarts headmaster, facing Hood.

“Oh my God!” they heard Hood mumble even as he walked past Rodolphus to get on the motorcycle.

He had put his red helmet back on his head. They couldn't see his face anymore, but Rodolphus got the feeling that if he hadn't been wearing his helmet, he might have dropped his face in his hands.

Apparently, he hadn't expected the answer to be a positive one.

“I would have expected it to be green like that annoying bastard,” he heard Hood mumble.

“I had it repainted.”

Hood grabbed the motorbike helmet hanging from the handle and offered it to Red when the teen stopped in front of him.

“Does the Demon brat know his evil grandfather is courting you?”

Whispers erupted in the Great Hall upon hearing this ("GRANDFATHER?!" Higgs hissed, clutching Pucey's arm, the other boy having failed to free himself in time), but Red paid them no mind, too busy snapping at his companion:

“For the love of - He's not courting me, shut up!”

Red slipped the helmet on, but Rodolphus could feel the cool glare planted on his face.

“He is. First chocolates, now a bike. What's next? Lingerie?” the bigger man asked, uncaring of the sound of spluttering that came from... well, all around him.

“...”

More concerning, Rodolphus mused, lips twitching, was the studious lack of answer from his companion.

“... Red?”

“Look, I don't know what you want me to say!”

“Deny it!”

“... So you want me to lie?”

Rodolphus got the distinct impression that Hood wanted to scream from frustration, a feeling he was more than acquainted with, seeing as he had to deal with his baby brother's chaotic life on a daily basis.

“Why is this the first I hear about it? Why didn't you say anything to B? Or... anyone else?” Hood questioned as he took his seat behind the wheel.

In the corner of his eyes, he saw Dumbledore open his mouth, but the old man never got a chance to speak as Red shrugged, half casual, half on the defensive.

“I didn't see the need to do that.”

“Didn't see the – Red.”

Red climbed behind Hood on the motorcycle and took his time to adjust his position before looking back at him, Amelia, and the others.

“I'd say it was a pleasure, but I don't particularly appreciate being yanked from one place to a whole other continent.”

Point for him. Rodolphus didn't think he would like that very much either. The whole situation would have been filled with way more screams on his part if it had been the case.

“You should expect contact from one of mine in the next week or so. I'm sure they'll find out how my former name was drawn out.”

He nodded, concluding his statement with a soft 'Good evening'.

Then, he wrapped his arms around Hood's middle and rested his helmeted-face against his companion's back.

The engine hummed, first softly, then louder. Instinctively, Rodolphus took a step back. Some of his associates were looking at the vehicle with cautiousness, others, in bafflement.

Red waved at them in a universal goodbye gesture before a louder grumble echoed in the Great Hall, and Hood launched the motorcycle forward. The bike was propelled forward, eliciting yelps from the Wixen. The duo sailed away, full speed ahead, until the growl of the engine was but an echo in the distance.

Left staring, students, guests and teachers could only watch the now empty entrance of the Great Hall.

“Well,” Rodolphus said after a moment. “What an entertaining evening.”

He turned to Amelia, grinning.

“I take back what I said. You were absolutely correct.”

This evening had proved to be anything but boring.

He glanced at Dumbledore and Crouch, noted the expressions on their faces. His lips thinned as he tried to regain composure.

Not boring at all.

As Dumbledore finally regained his bearings and enjoined the students to regain their common rooms, Susan wondered if all the chaotic revelations had been Red Robin's gremlin plan to stop Hood from making it obvious that he was a Muggle in the eyes of the British Ministry. If Hood was too busy bemoaning Red's lack of survival instincts, he didn't have time to ask questions that would make it obvious he wasn't part of their world. She wouldn't say anything. Whatever was going on... Well, her aunt must have noticed, and between you and her, she had the feeling that whatever that was, must be between the MACUSA and the Capes Community of America.

Maybe, Susan thought, it was for the best that Harry Potter didn't study at Hogwarts, if only because it meant that the school would probably be left standing by the time she graduated. She couldn't imagine him meeting the Weasley twins, or Merlin forbid, shaking hands with Higgs and Bletchley.

Unfortunately, that also meant less chaos.

Oh, well.

She wondered if Justin would help her get a subscription to the Gotham Gazette.

[Gotham City – Crime Alley]

Hours later, two exhausted vigilantes climbed into an empty apartment and dragged their feet deeper into the dark corridor. Jason forced him to take a shower before he could faceplant on the bed.

He left the bathroom with his hair dripping on the cold tiles. He could have applied a charm to dry it, but didn't see the need. It probably wasn't a great idea – his immune system had taken a dive ever since he woke up spleenless, but he would regret it later. Hopefully, once he is better rested. He didn't think that going back to his birthland would make him want to sleep for the next week, but he sure felt like it now.

Groaning, he proceeded to do exactly what Jason had stopped him from doing before; he faceplanted on the bed, wearing the fluffy pjs his brother had gotten him as a joke a few months ago. Listen, Tim had nothing against Hello Kitty, alright? And, if anything, it was comfortable to wear. His reputation might not survive if anyone saw him in this, but... it was really comfy.

Tim lost his breath when Jason gracelessly flopped down on top of him. 216 pounds landing on you would do that to anyone.

Gasping, he cursed and complained about his annoying brother, but didn't try to dislodge him, not that he would have succeeded anyway. The weight was a grounding, welcoming presence after the night they had. Despite appearances, he hadn't been nearly as calm as he had let on after finding out they were at Hogwarts.

Tim Drake was not Harry Potter. Not anymore. He had no desire, nor intentions, to parade as their Boy Saviour.

“Just so you know,” he heard Jason mumble against his hair. “I have questions about... everything that happened earlier, Replacement.”

Nowadays, there was affection in Jason's tone whenever he called him that. Still, he rarely ever did so now. He had other names for him, nicer nicknames, even though Tim didn't mind the 'Replacement' when it came from his Robin.

Tim nodded, too exhausted to offer a verbal answer.

“But that'll wait,” Jason finished, dragging the covers over them both, eliciting a pleased sound from the younger man.

“Are you going to move? You're suffocating me.”

“Nah. Perish.”

“Nice.”

That earned him a tired laugh from Jason. Knowing that the older man would grill him with questions the next morning, Tim let out a breath and tried not to overthink things.

He really wanted to sleep like the dead.

"You know, keeping this quiet is probably gonna come bite us in the ass later?" 

"Sleep."

Yeah. Okay.

On the morning of the 2^nd of November, Justin Finch-Fletchley received a package from his American cousins. The care package contained the usual snacks, which contained the nasty stuff Justin couldn't help but crave. It also contained an edition of the Gotham Gazette (dated from yesterday). Considering he wasn't expecting a care package so soon, he could only imagine it had to do with what happened on the 31^st (as expected, the surprising Champion Selection as well as the shocking reappearance of the Boy-Who-Lived had made the headlines, and not only in the UK).

He was right. On the third page, right after the exclusive article over the latest Arkham breakout, was an article about the Red Hood and Red Robin disappearing mid-patrol in a rush of blue and red flames, only to come back, hours later, to help with the mass breakout.

Justin folded back the newspaper with a grin. Everything may not have gone according to some people's plans, but Justin was quite satisfied with how things turned out. He got to meet one of his favourite heroes! He was also getting closer to uncovering the truth, even if he would never tell a soul. He was certain that Red Hood and Red Robin were brothers. There was something in the way they interacted that screamed 'sibling relationship'.

At the very least, this whole situation showed everyone that Justin had been right all along; Gothamites were truly bred differently.