Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“A patronus is a guardian who acts as a shield against Dementors,” Professor Glasshouse said while walking back and forth around the classroom, hand fiddling with his wand. 

Mr. Glasshouse was a warm man, tall, with kind chocolate eyes and an unbreakable spirit, quite contrary to his surname. He was Dick’s favorite professor. 

“It is a positive force, a projection of the very things they feed upon; hope, happiness, and the desire to survive.”

Dick’s body hummed with excitement. Defense Against the Dark Arts had always been his favorite class, ever since his first year. Being raised as a muggle for the majority of his childhood, Dick had almost infinite curiosity towards all the wild and powerful magical beings he had been blind to just years prior.    

One time he even heard the Gordon girl mutter to her friend; “Well obviously it’s his favorite. He’s in Gryffindor.”  

“Will ibviously it’s his fivirite,” Dick mimicked, getting a laugh out of Wally. 

“Now, would anyone here like to share what form does a patronus take?” Professor Glasshouse asked at the same time that five to six hands were raised amongst the pile of students standing in the classroom. But of course, Braggarty-Barbara’s hand had to be the one chosen.   

“A patronus’ shape is unique to each witch or wizard who casts it,” the Ravenclaw girl said with her honeyed voice. “There have even been some cases in which a patronus can change its form, although it is very rare.”

“Well said Miss Gordon, well said.”

Dick rolled his eyes. He could practically feel Barbara’s chest swelling at the comment.

“Now here’s a trickier question for the lot of you who don’t do your homework,” Professor Glasshouse smiled. “How many types of patronuses are there?”

Fewer hands were raised this time, Barbara’s amongst them. So without thinking, Dick raised his own-

“Mister Grayson.” Professor Glasshouse chose.

And immediately regretted it.

“Uhmm…” 

Crap. He didn’t actually think he’d get noticed.

Professor Glasshouse was looking at him expectantly, as was Wally on his left and a certain red-headed girl who was now scowling at him, annoyed.  

Dick was sure he had read something about patronuses last week while bored at his History of Magic lessons. Professor Blood wasn’t really a lively kind of man after all. “There are two kinds, right? One that’s more material- and one that’s just like… smoke?” he winced.

“Corporeal and non-corporeal patronuses. Very good.” Professor Glasshouse nodded.

Dick hit Wally’s fist bump down low.

“Today we’re going to focus on trying to cast our patronuses. Now, this is some advanced magic I'm going to be teaching you, but I am confident that most of you will be able to cast non-corporeal patronuses by the end of the week.”

An excited murmur started up in the back of the class. Dick and Wally looked excitedly at each other. This was finally starting to sound like the magic the both of them dreamed about.

“Let’s practice the spell shall we? Without wands, first. Expecto Patronum!”

“Expecto Patronum.” The voices of about forty students sounded out. 

“Good, good. But you have to say it with meaning, with force,” Glasshouse explained. “Expecto Patronum!”

“Expecto Patronum!”

“There we go. Much better. Now, what makes this spell so advanced and hard to conjure, is that wand movements and incantations are not enough to even manage a silver of a patronus, no. You must harness a memory, a very happy memory, a very joyful and powerful memory to get the dementors feeding on it rather than you.

“So I want everyone to take a minute, close your eyes if you need, to think of one- to think of a time when you were the happiest you’ve ever been.”

Dick thought for a couple of seconds, but the image came to him almost immediately.

The day when he received his Hogwarts Acceptance letter. Dick remembered sitting at the table, eating breakfast in the rare moments that Bruce accompanied him when Alfred appeared from inside the kitchen, holding in his gloved hands an envelope. 

Dick had skimmed his fingers through the texture of the old paper, the red wax seal, the address; Mr. R. Grayson. Wayne Manor, Bristol Township, Gotham. He remembered the way his confusion morphed into wonder as Bruce collected himself from the surprise and explained everything, as a whole new world opened up its gates for Dick to see.

For a chance to connect with the world his mother left behind. 

Dick focused on its happiness, on the excitement and curiosity, and circled his wand in the air. 

“Expecto Patronum!”

The rest of the students followed along. Professor Glasshouse walked by each group, correcting wand movements and giving out tips and suggestions to those students who struggled. Dick saw at the corner of his eye a Slytherin boy who managed to summon a glowing wisp for only a few seconds, and Dick couldn’t help but wonder what kind of creature his patronus would be. 

Would it be a cool magical beast like a griffin or a unicorn? Or maybe a normal animal like a lion or a dolphin? Dick didn’t really mind it being the latter, but now he was curious as to what was Bruce’s patronus, because he'd had to have one, right? Maybe he could write him an owl later today and ask him for-  

“That’s it Miss Barbara! Amazing!”

Dick turned at the sound of Mr. Glasshouse’s delighted voice. There was a small group of Ravenclaws gathered around a particularly ecstatic Barbara Gordon, a silver fox dancing and floating around its caster.

A few students cheered. Professor Glasshouse nodded his head in appreciation.

“Blooming brilliant. Thirty points to Ravenclaw.”

“What!? They were giving out house points?” Wally whisper shouted next to him, putting in significantly more effort into his spell casting than before. “Expecto PATRONUM!”

“Wally! You shouting isn’t going to make the spell work any faster.”

Wally winced. “Sorry.” 

Dick sighed and watched as five to six students clamored around Barbara asking how’d she’d managed to do it and to show them her patronus again. Her cheeks were almost as red as her hair from smiling. Dick huffed.

The rest of the class, Dick and Wally spent it attempting to successfully cast their patronuses. Nobody else in the class except Barbara had managed to cast a fully corporeal patronus, but Dick did see a couple of students who managed to make a little wisp of silver stem out of their wands.

At the end, Dick was left disappointed as they walked toward their potions lessons. It wasn’t so much the fact that he hadn’t managed to cast one, it was the fact that he knew Babs was now going to hold it over his head for who knows how long. Last time he got an “A” on his astronomy paper for confusing Cassiopeia for Cepheus and she didn’t let him live it down for a month. He was not looking forward to the rest of the week.

“Cheer up D! I’m sure Barbara just got lucky on that first try. You’ll get it by the end of the week I'm sure.” Wally said, hopping up the last step before the staircase started moving again.

“You think so?” Dick asked dejectedly.

“Of course! I mean, if it were History of Magic then you’d be doomed. But it’s D.A.D.A so it’s all good.”

Dick hoped his friend was right. After all, him becoming an Auror depended on it.

“Professor Glasshouse?”

“Yes, Mister Grayson?”

Professor Glasshouse was standing over at his desk, gathering up papers and quills, his back to Dick. Classes had already ended and it was almost time for dinner, but it had already been four days after they had first learned the patronus charm and all he had managed was a little slither of light out of his wand.

He was getting impatient. Other kids were already more advanced than him, and Dick didn’t want to be left behind. Plus, Barbara murmuring things to her friends everytime he passed by them in the halls was starting to get annoying.

“I was wondering if you could give me some advice for my patronus charm?” Dick asked, wringing his fingers together under his robes. “I still haven’t managed to fully cast one...”

Mr. Glasshouse closed his briefcase with a loud click, turning around to look at Dick with a patient look. “Casting a fully fledged corporeal patronus takes years of practice Richard. Even managing a wisp of one is plenty advanced. You should be proud of yourself.”

“But Barbara managed to cast hers .” Dick muttered under his breath and Professor Glasshouse gave a heartfelt chuckle, as if Dick was the funniest thing since the circus. 

“I see. So this is about beating Miss Gordon, is it not?”

Dick didn’t nod, but he guessed the heat on his cheeks was enough of a confirmation.

“I’ll tell you what,” Professor Glasshouse hummed. “I think the reason why your patronus isn’t able to take shape is because your memory is not sufficiently powerful.”

“Powerful?”

“Well of course. Did you not listen when I told everyone that a memory needs to be both joyous and powerful enough in order to cast the spell correctly?”

Dick blinked. “I- well…”

Professor Glasshouse shook his head fondly. “Try it again next class. And pay more attention to your lessons.” 

As Mr. Glasshouse made his way towards the door he paused once he was next to Dick, placing a strong hand on his shoulder, in a manner of assurance.

“You have great talent Richard. You’re just missing the technique.”

After dinner in the Great Hall and finishing up a report on the different uses of fanged geraniums for his Herbology class, Dick fell unceremoniously onto his bed, trying and failing to think of a singular powerful enough memory to practice with.

He had a bunch of happy memories for sure; there was his fifth birthday, the time when he got to ride on Elionere’s back for a show, his sixth birthday, the day he and his parents got to go around the city in New Jersey eating at an ice cream shop near the kiosk and then going to the movies, his seventh birthday, his eight birthday,

His parents…

Dick rubbed at his eyes as they threatened to mist over. He missed his mom and dad something fierce, and couldn’t deny that almost every memory he had of them was laced with melancholy and grief.

Of course he was grateful for Alfred and Bruce. After years of living with them, Dick came to love them like family; all of the times Bruce left his work early just to spend the day in with him, the delicious meals and pastries Alfred cooked for them, the shirts he’d sewn back together because Dick was too sentimental to just throw them out. When Bruce caught the guy who had killed his parents…

Still, it wasn’t quite the same.

Wally snored on the bed next to his, startling Dick. The boy already dead asleep at… midnight?!

Dick shuffled and pulled the covers up to his neck, closing the blinds of his bed-frame so that he wouldn’t see the clock on the wall anymore. 

It took him tossing and turning in his bed for what felt like hours for Dick to finally console some sleep. But even then, his mind didn’t deign to give him any reprieve. 

In his dreams, Dick was back at the circus. He was standing atop one of the yellow colored podiums, waving at the crowd so tiny below him as they looked up at Dick in wonder and excitement, his mother’s warm hand on the small of his back, her face so full of life and love telling him it was time to start the show.

Dick grabbed the trapeze with both hands and flew. He soared above the people, and unlike some parts of the show, his smile was no act. 

Gravity almost seemed nonexistent, his limbs weighed nothing even as Dick let go of the bar to do a flip in the air, confiding in the security that once he started to fall, his dad’s strong hands would be there to catch him.

But nothing ever did. Dick continued to remain in the air, trapped in his own momentum. And then he started to fall. Fall and fall, and

Fall,

Fall,

Fall,

Fall,

Fall,

Fall,

Fall,

Fall,

Fall,

F a l l ,

Dick woke up with a start, choking on the sinking feeling in his chest. 

He had been there. It had been there.  

He threw the covers off of him and opened the cabinet on his nightstand- forgetting all about the clock- taking out his wand. 

That was his happiest memory. His most joyful and powerful memory. Flying. Something he had always done. Something he had always lived, it became as natural as breathing. And once he had been robbed of it, it had become his want.

Steeling himself against the night, he breathed, “Expecto Patronum.”

A river of silver flew down from his wand, just like days before. 

Dick tried again, longing for the wind in his face, the calluses of rope, the security of hands-

“Expecto Patronum!”

A big burst of light blinded Dick through the darkness of the room. He yelped and scrambled, trying not to fall off his bed, forgetting for a moment that the rest of his roommates were still sleeping.

His wand clattered on the hard wooden ground. Dick looked up through squinted eyes in time to see the flying form of a little bird, a little robin flapping its wings one, two, three times before vanishing in a shower of silver. His patronus gone as quickly as he had summoned it.

He stood in silence for a moment, unblinking at the space where previously there had been light, a small grin forming on his face.

“...Dick what the fuck?”

The Lethifold was getting away, its long billowing cloak serving as a trace for the others to hunt it down.

How had four Lethifolds gotten into Hogwarts was another problem all on its own. Dick could hear the sounds of Professor Zatara yelling out orders, curious students peaking their heads out from their common room doors in confusion- but he wasn’t listening. 

His eyes were on the trail. On the danger. On the shadow. 

Dick needed to drive them out. He needed to keep the students safe, his siblings. That’s what he had been trained to do as an Auror. 

It only took him a second to conjure his happiest memory in his mind…

“Vanilla, mocha or pistachio? I think there might still be some neapolitan from Dick’s birthday…”

“Strawberry.” Cass said from the counter, a spoon already in her hand as she was waiting for her ice cream. 

“I’ll see if I can find that neapolitan then.” Jason muttered from the freezer.

It was midnight in Gotham, all the lights in the manor had been turned off hours ago, but apparently Dick and his siblings had had the same idea to get a midnight snack just before bed. It had honestly been kind of hilarious to find his over six foot tall brother hunching over the freezer along with his other two- noticeably smaller- younger brothers on his sides, waiting to see what he could find.

“Which one do you want, demon brat?”

Damian, who for some reason decided to sit on the top of the fridge, wrinkled his nose at the nickname, but otherwise he did not threaten Jason with mutilation. He was getting better in Dick’s opinion. “Pistachio, obviously.”

“I’ll have the mocha one.” Tim said from beside Dick, sitting in one of the island chairs swinging his feet back and forth. 

“T’t. Predictable.”

“The only one predictable here is you for always getting the same things as Bruce.” Tim sneered.

“Oh my god, can you two stop fighting for like ten seconds?”

“He started it!”

Cass tapped her spoon lightly on the counter, making everyone turn around to look at her.

‘Going to wake up B and Alfred.’ She signed, pointing towards the kitchen doors.

Dick chuckled and agreed. “You heard the lady. Keep it down.”

Apparently “keep it down” for Damian and Tim meant: continue arguing, but now only through hushed murmurs and silent death stares.

He wouldn’t be the first to admit that the sight alone made him roll his eyes, but one didn’t win the war just by winning the battle, and nobody knew that better than Tim and Damian.

“Why aren’t you helping me out here?” Jason asked him, grabbing five mugs from the cupboard and taking out the ice cream scooper Alfred kept separate. “Usually it’s you who manages the arguments while I stay back and contribute absolutely nothing at all.”

And truly Dick hadn’t meant to standby and watch everything unfold, it was just that for a few seconds he had felt so… normal. But a good normal. A comforting normal, the normal you feel when sleeping in your bed in your own room after a long trip. The way your parent’s home cooked meals always tasted the same familiar way.

The way you knew it was precious just because it wasn’t forever. 

‘I think you contribute some things.’ Cassandra signed.

Jason looked at her with a smirk. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

‘Trouble.’

“Ha ha.” Jason faked laughed, although the shine in his eyes hinted towards honest amusement. 

He turned towards Dick, about to ask him what flavor of ice cream he wanted when he stopped and stared right at him, a single brow raised in question. 

“What’s with your face?”

“Hmm?”

“Why? What does Grayson have?” Damian’s voice called from high up, his and Tim’s argument forgotten.

Dick just shrugged when he felt his siblings eyes on him. Even though it was dark, the pale blue and green of their eyes gave away their attention.

“Nothings’ wrong with me,” he said, and unlike some parts of his life, his smile was no act. “I’m just happy we're all here together.”

Dick was sure his sister knew what he meant, although she never really did express it with words. Jason, Tim and Dami just blinked. The manor was strangely quiet for a few moments. 

“What a sap. Anyways- Jason did you find the mocha one?”

His heart warmed at the thought of his siblings back at the manor. Safe and content and normal. 

But right now they weren’t in the protection of their hundred year old walls. They were here in the castle, somewhere, close to the threat in the only place Bruce and Dick thought they would never be in danger.

He wouldn’t let it come to them.  

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

From Dick’s wand burst forth a silver stream of light that blinded every person in the vicinity. The wings of a beautiful nightwing stretched out into the night, covering the torches with its pale glow, its tail soon following.

The nightwing beat his wings and dove straight for the dark creature, impaling the Lethifold straight through its back. The cloak released a deafening screech before it shriveled and turned to dust, vanishing from the living world.

Chapter Text

Jason always used the same one…

“Let us see what is on the telly tonight.” Alfred said as he placed a silver tray with warm soup on the coffee table in front of Jason, picking up the control remote and changing the channels.

“I’m not a baby! You’re all making such a big deal out of it. I can still go to school!”

“So that you can be in the hospital wing the entirety of the first week back from vacation? I do not think so.” The butler said, but then more softly, “Besides, you’ll be much more comfortable in the manor, master Jason. Comfort is one of the main factors for a speedy recovery.”

They had already had this conversation several times, but still, Jason huffed. Or at least tried to. His nose was too red and stuffy to do so. 

It had been the last few days of winter vacation and Jason had been unable to sit still with the excitement to go back to school. The Narrows wasn’t a kind place for kids living there after all. 

Between working odd jobs a child probably shouldn’t have and going around as a pickpocketer to pay for food for him and his mother, then for his mother’s medicine, then to bracing it out on the streets alone, Jason never thought he’d get to go back to school, let alone graduate.

But then Bruce Wayne had taken him in. Billionaire playboy Prince of Gotham Bruce Wayne.

Those first few weeks Jason had been walking on eggshells around the ginormous manor, barely sleeping anything at night, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  

How could Mr. Wayne just grab the first kid he saw trying to steal his tires, take him to his luxurious house, give him food, a warm shower and clean clothes, and then do nothing to him?

Nobody in the ally would even know Jason was gone. He had nobody to miss him. 

But still, Mr. Wayne was kind. Kind in a way that both exasperated young Jason and made his heart not beat as fast. Bruce was barely in the manor at all, but when Jason did see him passing through rooms in the manor, Mr. Wayne only asked him how he was doing and if he needed anything at all. 

Jason usually responded with a blunt ‘fine’ and dared not ask for anything more than he was already given. Besides, as long as he had food and a warm place to sleep during the cold Gotham nights, he didn’t really need anything else.

Plus, Jason knew better than Mr. Wayne thought he did. 

Or at least… he thought he knew better. And yet as time went by and he kept living in the manor unabashedly without blood or repercussions, his body couldn’t take more of the restlessness, his mind too tired from waking up at the slightest sounds in fear that one would be his doorknob turning in the middle of the night.

At the end of that first week, Jason had gotten down to his knees in front of Bruce in the master bedroom, practically begging him to take what he wanted from the young boy. He couldn’t stand to live with the uncertainty anymore. The knowledge that everything came at a price.

Bruce never took anything from Jason. On the contrary, after that night, Alfred and him seemed to start giving to Jason. More clothes, more sweatshirts, (which Jason secretly preferred), more video games, more toys, (?), more books, more cooking recipes, more information about the world.  

Because Bruce Wayne wasn’t just billionaire playboy Prince of Gotham Bruce Wayne, he was also Wizard Bruce Wayne. That threw Jason for quite an existential crisis.

They gave Jason a big brother… one that was caring and excitable and strong and brave and funny and all these things Jason didn’t think he’d deserved aimed towards him.

So of course he’d been ecstatic to find that he was one of them too, a wizard. He’d always wanted to finish school, and now he’d be able to, in the most prestigious magical school in England, where all Bruce, Dick and Alfred had studied...

A cold from running around in the city under the rain was well deserved, he supposed. In his defense neither Dick or him had brought umbrellas, and only Jason was rendered “too feverish” to go back to school on the third. 

Stupid immune system, Jason thought as he blew his nose. You live in a cozy home for over a year and suddenly you can't take a little rain?

Jason didn’t think that he was frowning, but apparently that's what his dad saw.

“Taking a week off isn’t a crime Jason.” A deep grave voice sounded behind him that made him jump in his seat, a second later Bruce’s big body appeared inside the living room, blocking his view to the telly. Not that he had been paying it much attention. “I already wrote to the headmaster, and he agreed to letting you stay home a week more until you feel better.”

Jason froze as he stared up at Bruce. His under-the-weather-ed brain wrecking itself trying to form a simple sentence.   

“What are you still doing here?! I thought-” Jason broke off with a cough. “I thought you left to take Dick to Kings Cross.”

“Commissioner Gordon agreed to take Dick along with his daughter to the station this year. Maybe he’ll finally figure out that they are dating…” Bruce said, almost as an after-thought.

“But… It's his last year.”

Bruce raised a brow at him in question. “Dick is already old enough to take care of himself. Besides, he hasn’t been into goodbye kisses and hugs for a long time now buddy.” 

Before Jason could argue with- “since when?- two muscular arms came to wrap around his own, impeding him from breaking out of their hold as he felt the couch cushions shift and a rough cheek lay on his hair lovingly.

“But you still are.”

“Ugh, Bruce, get off.” Jason said in between squished cheeks, his arms too heavy to properly try and get out.

“I must second that you do not crush master Jason, master Bruce,” Alfred said. “He still hasn’t finished his chicken broth.”

Bruce let him go then, but only momentarily as he still remained next to him on the couch, an arm strewn over the headrest.

“Better listen to Alfred then,” he said playfully, passing Jason the silver tray.

Jason sniffed and grabbed the spoon, the warm feeling of the still steaming bowl already bringing a portion of his appetite back. And despite his disappointment of not being able to go back to Hogwarts that day, he found a small smile traitorously forming on his face. 

“So, what are we watching?”

Jason recalled that memory with fondness as he lifted his face from the ground, spitting out the metallic taste from his mouth and staring up at the dark figure approaching him.

He lifted his wand with trembling fingers, his whole body ached, there were cuts and gashes still bleeding on his arms and legs, but they all felt numb compared to the void growing in his gut.

“Expecto… Patronum.”

The faintest stream of light was casted out of Jason’s wand, shifting and accumulating through the air until a pair of wings materialized, beating and flying through the night.

Jason could almost hear it’s caw as a majestic phoenix transformed in front of him. Flying and speeding towards the dark cloak.

But the dark figure never retreated. Jason’s phoenix merely passed through the cloak, never banishing it from this world.

“Oh little birdie, I’m not a Dementor,” The cursed voice of a madman laughed. Pale hands came up and pushed the dark hood back, and an even paler face appeared out of the shadows. Jason froze. 

“But you will wish I was...”

Chapter Text

Tim Drake knew from a very young age the weight he carried on his shoulders. 

He was the sole heir of the Drake family name, the bearer of the legacy it carried. All the good and the bad. The past and the present. 

Tim was to keep the perfect image of their name; composed, clever, polite, assertive… 

And yet all of his lessons flew out the window when he approached him.

“Hey, you’re that Timothy kid, right?”

Tim stopped in his tracks and turned to look at the tall dark haired boy that had spoken to him. He didn’t need to look at him though to know who he was, Tim could recognize that voice anywhere.

“Umm, yes. Yes I am.”

The boy in front of him grinned, that teeth-showing smile Tim pictured bad boys always had. It wasn’t scary though, not on him. “Cool. I’m Jason, remember me? We were sitting together at a table at Bruce’s party last spring.”

How could Tim ever forget? He had always watched the Wayne family from a distance, at the galas, at the Ministry, at special events and dinners. That night had been themost fun Tim had had… possibly in years.

It was weird though. Tim recalled only ever seeing Jason hanging around with a red headed Ravenclaw boy. But right now he was alone, and he did not know what that meant. 

Still, he smiled shyly and fiddled with the straps of his bookbag, heavy from all the books he was returning to the library. “Oh, yes. Mr. Wayne's spring ball, I remember. We were sitting with your brother, weren’t we?”

Jason huffed out a laugh. “If you mean the unfunny tall dickhead, then yes.”

Not really knowing how to respond to that, Tim just breathed out a laugh. 

He guessed it was normal for siblings to bad-mouth each other. Jason had only chuckled when Richard, (‘Dick’ as the older insisted Tim call him), had called Jason a little brat.

“Um, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

Jason’s amusement slowly faded, his smile dropped into a grimace and he didn’t seem able to look Tim in the eyes anymore. 

“Well… we heard the news about your parents still being out of town, and Bruce and Alfie wanted to invite you to spend the holiday vacations with us in the manor. We won't be doing anything big or fancy. Maybe some trips to the city, but that's it. Of course, that is, if you want to come.”

‘Why?’ was what Tim wanted to ask, but he stopped himself before a sound left his throat. It was far from the first holiday he’d spent alone, and now that he went to Hogwarts he didn’t even have to go back to the cold and empty manor anymore. Mom and dad were just too busy to come home for even just a week to spend Christmas with him.

Tim understood though. They were very busy and important people, not just Tim depended on them. 

But they’d always send him a gift from wherever they stayed; a teeth from a chimera for his collection, a stone from the sun temple, a signed broom from Mahoutokoro’s top Quidditch player… but his favorite had been a small silver rectangular box- a muggle camera- called a Canon IXUS. Tim took a bunch of pictures with it, of the city, of interesting places in the school, of people… 

He had one of those pictures hidden at the bottom of the chest where he kept all his clothes. In it showed two young boys in the backyard of their house, running and playing.  

“Dick will also be there,” Jason said, almost as a side comment. “He said he would come to Gotham during vacation so we can hang out together again, just like at the ball. But obviously way more entertaining.”

Tim remained quiet and thought about it for a few moments. He didn’t want to intrude on Mr. Wayne’s family any more than he already had- what with photographing them with a muggle camera without them noticing- and he really didn’t mind spending the holidays at the castle…

Then again, Jason said Mr. Wayne invited him to their home, so that must mean that he didn’t seem to think Tim was intruding too much. Jason definitely didn’t look too against the idea of coming with them.

It had been so fun that night nine months ago. Tim didn’t have many friends, and when he was laughing and being included in the conversations and even joking around the table with Richard and Jason… Tim felt like that was what a friendship was like. 

“I… would like that.”

Jason’s blue eyes sparkled at that. His “bad-boy” smile returning. 

“Great. I’ll owl B that you said yes,” he said, walking backwards towards his own classroom, bumping shoulders with a few students passing by. “I’ll meet you in the Great Hall on Friday, okay? That way we can go on the train together.”

“Okay…” Tim murmured, watching Jason salute him and then disappear through the wooden doors.

If Tim thought the spring ball was fun, then the winter vacation with the Waynes was a dream.

Jason had met him in the Great Hall after breakfast at nine, and they spent the remainder of their time talking amicably before the carriages were set to arrive to take them to the station. 

Even once they got on the train, they never stopped chattering. Jason’s friend, who now Tim knew as Roy, was also in the carriage, and seeing both boys laugh and joke around didn’t even make him feel left out or as if he were intruding. Tim laughed at Roy’s jokes and he even told Tim some anecdotes of how he and Jason had gotten away with troublesome stunts. 

When they arrived at the station Alfred, Mr Wayne’s butler, was waiting for them and warmly greeted Tim and Jason. He offered to take his bags, but Tim refused, stating that they were not too heavy. 

The three of them arrived at the manor a few hours later, and just as Tim entered through the front doors Mr. Wayne was already there waiting for his son. 

“Bruce!”

“Jaylad, welcome back,” Mr. Wayne said, ruffling up Jason’s hair lovingly as the younger boy grinned. “How was the ride home?”

“It was fine. Definitely more entertaining with Tim here.”

Mr. Wayne's gaze turned to Tim. He shuffled his feet nervously, cheeks flushing.

“I’m really glad you decided to join us Timothy.”

Tim inclined his head a little. “Thank you for your invitation Mr. Wayne. It was very kind of you.”

“Please, call me Bruce, son.”

A warmth in his chest. Replacing the cold his parent’s absence had left behind. 

“Then… you can call me Tim.”

Dick didn’t arrive until the week after Tim and Jason, but it was fine. Time seemed to pass so much quicker with someone who enjoyed spending that time with you. 

The three of them made plenty of visits to the city during those winter weeks; they showed Tim places called “arcades” where you could play a variety of very interesting muggle video games, they explored the mall, Dick bought them an absurd amount of candy- which Alfred disapproved of eating before dinner- and they even showed Tim how to play Quidditch in their backyard. 

“How can you have a Nimbus 1700 signed by a top Quidditch player and still not know how to play?!”

Tim had only shrugged. 

When the morning of the 25th came around, Tim didn’t expect to get anything besides the gifts his parents had already probably sent to the school. But still, he had to get something for the Wayne’s for their hospitality, thankfully his dad had given him an allowance before leaving. 

Tim got Alfred a brand new sewing kit after he heard the butler murmur one day after breakfast that he had misplaced the other one and had not found it yet. He got Jason a hardcover version of a book called “Little Women” that Dick hinted towards getting him after he asked him, and he got Dick a Lego set… he didn’t know what they did exactly but Jason said Dick was still a child and would enjoy it.

Mr. Bruce’s present was really hard for Tim to pick out, but at the end, Dick and Jason said they should cooperate to gift him a really nice and expensive watch. The expression on Mr. Bruce’s face when he opened it confirmed that was the right choice, as the watch contained a small custom engraved piece that had Mr. Bruce tearing up a little. 

But what really made the night unforgettable was the small wrapped box that Alfred gave him when they were all sitting down under the brightly decorated tree.

“Hm? What is this?” Tim asked, taking the box handed to him questioningly. 

“It’s your gift!” Dick exclaimed beside him. “You didn’t think we’d let you buy us stuff without giving you anything in return, right?”

“I…”

“Come on Tim! Open it up. Alfred didn’t let me see what it was when he was wrapping it.”

“I couldn’t risk you spoiling the surprise, master Jason.” Alfred smirked.

Curiosity winning out inside him, Tim carefully undid the bow at the top of the box, and quickly made his way through the red and golden wrapping paper. 

It was a familiar looking black cube, a little bit bigger and thicker than he remembered it, and with a lens at the front.

“It's a Polaroid camera,” Mr. Bruce said after Tim stopped breathing. “We noticed you are quite the photographer. This camera should let you take a picture and the image will print itself out, right at the bottom.”

Tim’s cheeks heated up, he couldn’t hold in his excitement. “Wow, this is… thank you so much Mr. Bruce.”

Mr. Bruce’s eyes crinkled, something warm in his smile. “You’re welcome son.”

Tim sniffed and traced his fingers lightly over his now most prized possession. Unconsciously, he leaned towards where Mr. Bruce was sitting- not enough to touch- but the distance didn't seem to matter to him, as a strong and muscled arm seemed to wrap around his shoulders.

His tears didn’t stay hidden much longer after that. 

“Great! Let's all take a picture with Timbird’s new camera! Make sure my Lego train appears in the shot though.”

“Way to ruin a moment, dickhead.”

“Master Jason, please. It’s Christmas.”

“Hahaha, right back at you Little Wing.”

Years later, that polaroid would remain under Tim’s pillow or safely tucked away on his nightstand; of a little red nosed Timothy, and a family that would soon become his.

“Damian!”

Tim raced and pushed people aside, trying to get to where his little brother was thrown down on the ground, a Dementor gliding closer and closer to him at the same time.

Everyone was running amok, distress and fear spread through every corner of the school and Tim didn’t doubt the professors were trying their best to calm everyone down and to protect the students at the same time- but their best wasn’t enough if Tim’s family was going to get hurt. 

Damian was paralyzed, staring up wide-eyed as the dark cloak’s frozen breath grazed his cheeks-

Tim’s wand shot out of his pocket. His scream cut through the air as a spell formed on his lips.   

“Expecto Patronum!”

There was an explosion of light in the middle of the night before a glowing scaled silver tail materialized and wrapped around both boys protectively. The massive drake opened up its big maw, catching the Dementor unprepared and biting it in half, leaving only dark smoke behind.

Tim dropped to his knees beside Damian, helping him sit up on the ground and looking him over for any signs of a hex or blood. The boy was pale, but besides that and how fast his heart was beating, he seemed unharmed. 

“Are you alright? What the hell was that?! Why didn’t you run?!”

“Todd,” Damian gasped, trying to catch his breath. “I saw him head to the forbidden forest. He’s alone!”

Tim blinked and swore under his breath.

He hadn’t seen Jason even before the first scream ran out through the Quidditch pitch, but because of the commotion it was possible that he had been lured into the forest by a Dementor, or something. 

Or someone.

That thought had Tim’s skin prickling with anxiety, heart twisting within the confinements of his chest.

“Listen to me Damian,” Tim said gravely, steadying his shaking hands on the smaller boy’s face. “Go look for Bruce, or Dick or Cass or whoever and stay there. It is not safe here anymore, the castle has been breached. I’ll go looking for Jason, tell Bruce where I am.”

“You do not seriously believe I will let you leave on your own, right?!” Damian cried. There was an explosion in the distance behind them, but neither of them paid it any mind. “If you are, then you are even more of a moron than I thought-”

“Damian!”

“Father and Richard would never forgive themselves if I let you-”

“DAMIAN!”

“Timothy!”

The broken voice of his brother startled Tim into focus. He’d never heard a sound like that coming off of him before. 

In this moment Damian looked eleven more than ever; small, trembling, afraid. When he was eleven, Tim had people that knew when he felt small and trembling and afraid, even when he tried to hide it. Bruce, Dick, Jason, Alfred…

It was his turn now, Tim realized, to be that person. To be the older brother others had been to him.

“I’ll be okay brat, I promise,” he said, letting his hands drop to hold Damian’s shoulders firmly. To make sure he understood. “But I can’t focus on protecting myself and Jason if I don’t make sure you’re safe first.”

Those witching green eyes bore into Tim as if he was asking them to plunge a knife to his chest and carve out his heart. Damian didn’t want to leave him behind, and Tim would’ve argued it stemmed from some weird sense of distrust he had of Tim not succeeding, but now he believes his reasons to be the opposite.   

“Just… find Todd and come back.”

Before Tim could say anything, Damian stood up on shaky legs and made his way towards the castle. He remained in the same spot, watching the figure of his brother grow ever smaller before he took a deep breath and made for the forbidden forest. Jason needed him after all.

Chapter Text

Cassandra was born. But Cassandra didn’t remember.

David raised her.

David told Cassandra she was a weapon. She was The One Who is All. She was no person.

David Cain told Cassandra this not with his words, but with his mind. 

Cassandra could read minds. 

Cassandra could read minds and bodies. 

Cassandra was magic.  

Cassandra did not want to be.

Not if it meant smelling of iron. Not if it meant fingertips coated in red. Not if it meant hurting, and killing, and reading not speaking, and cursing, and bleeding, and hurting, and hurting and hurting and hurtingandhurt-

Cassandra left.

She fled as far as she could. From the beautiful summits of Siria to the snowy peaks of Bulgaria. A kind old lady offered her a home in Sarajevo; trafficked girl- like my daughter. Help- heal, her mind thought. Safety- honesty, her body spoke.

Cassandra almost shed tears at the lady’s painful memories. She couldn’t leave her like this, hurting and alone.

So Cassandra let the kind old lady feed and bathe her. She let her run her hands through her short hair, envisioning a much younger, much more innocent girl.  

But Cassandra was not her loving little girl. Cassandra was cursed. Cassandra was a witch. A bad witch.

She would not tell this to the kind old lady though. Not while a dark pit was forming in her chest at the sight of her tears.

It was nice while it lasted. Cassandra would always remember her hands, soft yet speckled from longevity, as they taught her how to pick the ripest tomatoes and the greenest leaves, how to pass a needle through the thread and mend the oldest of clothes.

It felt like being taught peace. But a weapon going against its nature is bound to bring nothing but chaos. 

After two months of living with the kind old lady in her small valley home, Cassandra knew her time was cutting short every time she took more time to go down the stairs, when her hair started to fall and her limbs whimpered in ache. One night, Cassandra finally caved and offered her one last dream of her missing daughter, one of a sweet reunion, before fleeing again. 

No magic meant no blood. No hurt. No weapon. No David.

The pit in her heart swallowed it whole.

In Liechtenstein people were mean to her. Cassandra looked too foreign. Cassandra was too different. Still, she didn’t miss the dry air and warm features of Nanda Parbat.

A strange man with white hair and an eyepatch that screamed powerful- dangerous- watchful, helped her pass the border and into Germany.

Cassandra knew the man had connections to the League and that he was grieving. But she also knew he knew about her. His body spoke. Much more than his mouth and trained hands. Much more than the way they hid their knives in the same places and how they held every object like a weapon. 

Cassandra gave the dangerous man a slight bow outside of a chapel in Munich before parting ways. The man watched her go with a concerned glint in his eye.  

She passed Luxemburg and Belgium unnoticed, but once she arrived in London the pit began to take its toll on her.

After a year of traveling and almost eight months of retaining every and all ounce of magic she had in her, Cassandra started to overflow.

It was small at first. A wind that blew too hard on a forest. A shadow lingering for longer than it should have. A crack in the concrete where before there had been nothing at all. 

Then it became bigger. Full blown holes in solid brick buildings. Winds that would pluck every leaf from every tree even if it was spring. A figure, a cloak, a monster wreaking havoc in the city everytime Cassandra passed hunger.

Cassandra didn’t know what it was, but she knew it was her fault. 

Cassandra was afraid. 

Cassandra was scared.

Cassandra was hurt. 

Cassandra didn’t want magic.

Cassandra was hiding high on a rooftop one night– not remembering how she went from drinking from a river outside of Dufftown in the morn to gasping for air atop a building in Gotham, the sky already dark– when a man with black hair and the bluest of eyes she had ever seen appeared from behind a pillar where before there had been no one at all.

Cassandra jumped the second she spotted him. The man approached with careful steps through the puddles in the concrete, she winced and inched away as he came to kneel before her, uncaring for the mud and water that now coated his pristine clothing.

Cassandra couldn’t see his face well through the mist in her eyes, but his mind only repeated one word over and over: protect.

There used to be a kind old lady living in Sarajevo who dreamed about her long lost daughter and a man with an eyepatch that took her hand and hid her from danger. Cassandra could see it in the bluest of eyes. 

“-things alright. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Cassandra didn’t know what the man was saying, but his voice was gentle, soft, even if it was gruff.

“What’s your name sweetheart?”

Cassandra knew only two names; Cassandra and David. 

Her fingers trembled as she signed, a skill the kind old lady in Sarajevo taught her when they ran out of paper and pens. 

c-a-s-s-a-n-d-r-a.

The bluesets of eyes looked down at her hands and up again at her face. Cassandra understood he wasn't going to harm her. Images of an acrobatic teenager, a scrawny dirty kid and a lonely little boy filtered through her mind. Cassandra could feel the love and adoration in each one. 

David had never felt that for her.

“Cassandra.” The man said as if permanently recording it in his mind. “Cassandra, are you hiding from someone?”

Cassandra didn’t answer. 

“Are you hurt?”

Cassandra didn’t answer.

“Do you have someplace safe you can go?”

Cassandra didn’t answer. 

The man with dark hair and the bluest of eyes sighed, picking his knees up from the floor and slowly extending a hand towards her. An invitation. A chance. 

“I know an obscurus when I see one. I understand you have no reason to trust me, but if you give me a chance, I’ll make sure nobody hurts you ever again.”

Safety- Honesty- Promise- Protect -Protect- Protect.

Cassandra didn’t answer.

Cassandra didn’t understand the man speaking to her.

Cassandra knew he meant well. 

“You have to picture your happiest memory. The one that brings you most joy and happiness and all that bullock,” Professor Constantine said, taking a puff of his cigarette. “Once you have that picture in your mind, you will say the incantation; Expecto Patronum. Everyone repeat after me; Expecto Patronum!”

“Expecto Patronum.” A chorus of voices responded.

“Eh, good enough,” Professor Constantine shrugged. “Now fill up the space everyone. You’re gonna want some room to do this one.”

As the rest of the students milled around the classroom, Cassandra stuck close to her brother and his friend, seeing him furrow his brows in concentration and crack his fingers in a way that spoke: focus- anticipation- set.  

“You already got yours Cass?” Jason asked, turning to look at her.

Cassandra nodded.

“If my patronus is something lame like a toad I’m going to kill myself.” Roy said as he lifted his wand.

Cassandra chuckled and did the same. She concentrated on the memory she had chosen, trying to remember the feeling of a strong warm hand taking her own, the cold of the Gotham night breeze, the azure in the bluest of eyes…

“Expecto Patronum.” 

From the end of her wand a trail of silver mist poured out and the figure of a black swan extended its wings. It glided in circles around Cassandra, full of life and joy, until she willed the new being to fall in a shower of light.  

“Excellent Cassandra. As usual,” Professor Constantine said, almost boredly as the other students gawked. “Uhm, thirty points to Hufflepuff.”

“Way to show-off Cass,” Jason said with a smile.

Cassandra smiled back.

Cassandra was magic. 

And she was learning that that was alright.

Chapter Text

Damian had never seen his grandfather’s patronus. At the time, he had not thought it strange that Ra’s al Ghul had never cast the very thing that could kill their shadows, so Damian had never bothered to learn, and nobody had ever bothered to teach him. 

Now he was facing the consequences of not asking sooner. Of not being prepared. 

Get up. Grandfather’s voice spoke coldly. The sword in his hand dripping with Damian’s blood. Ra’s had never needed magic to win a fight. You are not allowed to fall. You are not allowed to be weak. 

When the first scream rang out throughout the Quidditch pitch and what seemed like a dozen Dementors materialized from the shadows, Damian immediately turned toward the panicking students and urged them to go somewhere safer, his eyes trying to find any one of his siblings that had been on the court just moments prior.

How could this have happened? Did grandfather have something to do with this? Was he finally coming for Damian like he promised?

No, that couldn’t be. Father had promised him that he would never go back as long as he didn’t want to. And in this moment all Damian wanted was to go home, back to the manor on the outskirts of the wizarding world– sit on the kitchen counter smelling Pennyworth’s fresh batch of muffins coming out of the oven. 

You are not allowed to fall. You are not allowed to be weak. 

He was broken out of his thoughts when he heard the distinct sound of heavy wood cracking from a hard fall, followed by the pained yelp of a student. A Slytherin girl struggling under one of the broken house banners that had her pinned to the ground. Damian didn’t think before he turned back around towards the chaos, barely aware of the dark mass making its way towards them, silent in its pursuit. 

“Evanesco!”

A blue light burst from the tip of Damian’s wand, enveloping the heavy banner and vanishing it from being. The Slytherin girl struggled to get up, bruised, dazed and panicked. Damian made his way towards her, ignoring the voice in his ears screaming Get up! Weak! You are not allowed– 

“Are you alright?” 

The girl nodded shakily. A sudden blood curdling scream in the distance making her flinch and Damian wince.

“You need to get inside the castle now. Don’t stop for anything else.”

She didn’t waste a second to see if Damian was behind her and bolted out of the Quidditch pitch. He was about to follow her– having seen Richard inside the castle before the last task in the tournament was to take place– when suddenly a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Damian whipped his head around to see the distinct broad-shouldered silhouette of his older brother heading deeper into the darkness he recognized as the forbidden forest. 

Damian opened his mouth to call out to Todd. His feet moved in order to get to him. But as he took his first step a bitter cold burst from the back of his neck down to the rest of his body. Sharp chills wrecked his limbs and fingers until Damian could not hold himself up anymore, legs giving out under him as if he had no bones in them.

He hit the ground hard, curling into himself as he felt the heat leaving his body. Behind him the dark smoking cloak of a Dementor was barely visible through the night, but the fire from various explosions in the distance lit up the place just enough for Damian to be able to witness his death.

Damian didn’t know how to ward off Dementors. He didn’t know how to fight against them!  

‘Don’t expect your mother to avenge you, Damian. If you die, it's because you were not enough.’

The air was sucked out from his lungs. Damian gasped in nothing and trembled, fingers digging into the ground to try and ground himself to the land of the living. There was a freezing touch on his cheek that traveled all the way down to his mouth.

Get up. Get. Up!

The darkness would swallow him whole if he didn’t move– his brothers would find a cold motionless body because Damian was not strong enough to– 

“Expecto Patronum!” 

Light blinded Damian as a body raced to stand in front of him. Blinking hard and shaking, he struggled helplessly to get enough air and stop coughing. There was a distressed voice calling out to him as a pair of hands helped him sit up on the ground, checking him over and moving rapidly.

“–alright? What the hell was that?! Why didn’t you run?!”

Drake knelt beside him, his blue eyes frantic as if he were scared of Damian. If he'd had more time to think and more oxygen in his lungs, he probably would have noticed he was scared for him.

“Todd,” Damian gasped, voice raw as if he had been screaming. Maybe he had. “I saw him head to the forbidden forest. He’s alone!”

Drake blinked and swore under his breath. 

“Listen to me Damian,” he said gravely, holding Damian’s face between his shaking hands. “Go look for Bruce, or Dick or Cass or whoever and stay there. It is not safe here anymore, the castle has been breached . I’ll go looking for Jason, tell Bruce where I am.”

“You do not seriously believe I will let you leave on your own, right?!” Damian yelled. An explosion rang out behind them, but the screams almost blended into the background as he focused solely on Drake. “If you are, then you are even more of a moron than I thought–”

“Damian!”

“Father and Richard would never forgive themselves if I let you–”

“DAMIAN!”

“Timothy!” 

His broken cry startled his brother. Hands freezing on his face. Damian had never sounded so desperate before. Maybe once, but that was before he had ever come to live with his Father. Way before learning that if he needed saving, he would have to do it himself.

But Timothy didn’t curse him. Didn’t slap him across the face and force him to get up on his unstable legs. He sighed and looked at him as if he were small and terrified. As if he were just a kid.

“I’ll be okay brat, I promise,” Timothy said calmly, letting his hands drop to hold Damian’s shoulders firmly. “But I can’t focus on protecting myself and Jason if I don’t make sure you’re safe first.”

Those deep blue eyes stared at Damian as if they had never broken a promise before. As if the hands on his shoulders weren’t trembling from a mix of fear and adrenaline caused by the uncertainty of the situation. If Grandfather was behind this– if he wasn’t– would those eyes hold the same certainty? 

“Just… find Todd and come back.” He croaked.

Before his brother could say anything, Damian stood up on shaky legs and made his way towards the castle. Not turning back once. Not hesitating.

‘ If you don’t fight for yourself, nobody will fight for you, Damian.’

But Timothy had just fought for him… hadn't he?

Damian had never seen his grandfather’s patronus when he was young. All those years ago he had not thought it strange that Ra’s al Ghul had never cast the very thing that could kill their shadows, so Damian had never bothered to learn, and nobody had ever bothered to teach him. 

Now, Damian stands alone on the steps that once led to his Grandfather’s throne room, sword devoid of blood and wand alight with power. An arrogant man only thinks about what he could do to breach his base and prepares thusly. But Damian is not his Grandfather. He might have wanted to be, in the past when he was young and easily molded, but he has grown.

The overwhelming darkness in the halls that seems to swallow all the walls and lavish decorations is not created by a lack of light, but an abundance of shadows under Ra’s al Ghul’s command. And yet Damian does not cower even though he lacks the power to control these beings, because he has what the Demon’s Head never could cast…

A guiding light that leads him to his enemy. The feathered serpent that guards him bats its wings and dissolves the shadows that dare to touch it. 

Damian needs not an army of mindless beings to protect him. He is aiming high; for the throne in the end of the room in which the fake king sits.