Title: Dust the scales

Rating: T

Pairings: None

Summary: Crossover Harry Potter and DC comics. Harry, Ron and Hermione know they'll need help to defeat Voldemort, but none of them expected to find it in a pair of muggles from Gotham.

A/N: This story takes place directly after 6th year for Harry Potter. It'll be my version of the Horcrux hunt, so ignore anything from book 7. The Batman characters are not from any particular time-line, so don't expect anything for the current continuity to be incorporated. I've tried to balance both fandoms so neither gets overshadowed by the other. Finally, a huge thank-you to Char and April for Beta-ing this chapter for me. I soooo appriciate it!

Chapter 1 – Polite Introduction

Harry Potter was brooding.

Or at least, that's what he was trying to do. Lying on his back in the smallest bedroom at number four Pivot Drive, he kept trying to focus on all the things that he had to be upset about – the Loss of Dumbledore, the defection of the Order Spy, Snape, the death of Sirius a year ago – there were plenty of choices of things to brood over, but every time he'd start to really get into the right frame of mind…

"Harry, how come the numbers are red when el-ek-tris-sity is white?"

He was starting to wonder if Ron and Hermione were doing it on purpose.

"Oh, honesty Ron! Electricity isn't white, it's clear, like water. If you put water in an orange cup and look down at it, it'll seem orange, but it isn't really."

He sighed and flung an arm over his eyes. Ron, with his mother's blessing, had decided to stay at the Dursley's with Harry for the two weeks at the beginning of summer that Harry would need to remain in their house. Harry had no idea how it had happened, but Molly had appeared with Ron that first day, ushered a glaring Petunia and red-faced Vernon into the kitchen and come out with a kind of grim satisfaction a half an hour later. He really, really wanted to know what exactly had happened in that half an hour, but ever since then the Dursleys had all pointedly avoided noticing the fact that Ron or Harry existed. Hermione has simply been flooing over every morning (much to Aunt Petunia's silent dismay), but her presence had also been ignored as much as possible.

"So there are little jars of electricity in this box and –"

"No, Ron, it's like lightening. You don't keep that in jars. The clock just has power running through it which keeps track of the time and makes the numbers glow."

Having a friend stay over had been a new experience for Harry and he'd found it both better and worse than he'd imagined. It'd been great to be able to avoid his relatives. The Dursleys had made themselves scarce and Harry had really only caught glimpses of them as they'd rush out the door and then sneak back in at night. It had also been great to spend time with one of his best friends when there wasn't homework or an imminent crisis or a bunch of other people around. They'd played exploding snap until they'd needed to bring in a fan to air out all the smoke the combusting cards had made.

But Harry had also discovered that he didn't much care for having someone around who'd be in a position to ask uncomfortable questions like 'where is all your stuff?' or 'why doesn't your aunt ever make breakfast?'. Ron wasn't the most observant of people, but it still made for some awkward moments.

On the whole, however, this had been the best start to summer he'd had in a long time. So the fact that he hadn't had a chance to mope about certain issues was hardly worth complaining about.

On the other hand, Voldemort was still out there, growing in power, and the whole wizarding world was depending on himto do something about it. If only Professor Dumbledore could have told him more about the horcruxes-

"Hey," Harry felt a finger poke him in the ribs and he hastily lowered his arm from where it had been draped over his eyes to see Ron looming over him, "Harry, weren't there some peaches in the pantry downstairs?"

Huffing, he rolled his eyes and gave up trying to get any serious thinking done. "Yeah, hold on, I'll show you."

Half an hour and four cans of peaches later, Harry gave a gusty sigh and abruptly announced, "I think we should start planning what we'll be doing next."

Both Ron and Hermione looked up at him. They were seated around the table, Hermione at the head, where Petunia usually sat, empty can of peaches and sticky fork in front of her. Ron, to her left, sat in Dudley's seat, two empty cans in front of him. At Harry's statement, he pulled the fork he'd been sucking on out of his mouth and dropped it, tines down, into one of the cans in front of him.

With a bright smile of approval at Harry, Hermione jumped up and rushed over to a bag she'd set on the counter when she'd arrived earlier. "That's wonderful, Harry! I've started a list already." She began digging around in what sounded like several reams of paper, "We have so much to do and I've been hoping you'd feel like doing some planning instead of rushing off like we normally seem to do." She apparently got frustrated with trying to find whatever she was looking for and so turned the bag upside down and dumped its contents across the counter.

"Blimey, Hermione!" Ron stared at the mess, "I thought you kept everything organized!"

"Yes, usually," she started pawing through the parchment, quills, and books, "but I was in a hurry this morning and had to just dump it all – ah-ha!" She cried triumphantly, holding a bleached white piece of muggle notebook paper up. Harry could see a bulleted list in her neat handwriting that traveled down over half the page. She also selected a quill and a pulled a small stoppered inkwell from a sealed side pocket of the bag and came back to the table.

"Now, I'm thinking that the first thing we should do is talk to several Order Members and-"

"Wait!" Harry raised his hands, eyes wide, "Dumbledore didn't tell anyone else about the Horcruxes! He didn't want me to tell anyone but you two."

"Well, we're not going to be able to do this on our own," She pointed out.

"What!?" Ron sounded offended, "We don't need anyone else!"

"Yes we do!" Hermione argued back, "We don't need to tell anyone exactly what we're doing but we'll need help finding these Horcruxes. Do you have any idea where to look?"

Ron folded his arms, "We'll research people related to the Hogwart's founders. That's what Professor Dumbledore said, right? That You-Know-Who probably stuffed his chopped up pieces of soul in artifacts the Hogwarts founders left," He wrinkled his nose at the idea. "They've got to have lots of descendants by now."

"Exactly! Lots of descendants! How am I going to comb through half the wizarding world? You know it'll end up being me that does most of the research and you know I love doing it, but this is a massive project!" She brushed her hair back out of her face in an impatient gesture, "I'd be lucky to get through a small fraction of the people before the year is out!"

Ron and Harry exchanged somewhat abashed looks. Neither of them had really thought too much about all the research they'd been taking for granted Hermione would do. Harry just figured she'd come up with the right locations and then they'd all sneak in and grab the Horcruxes and then destroy them. But now that he actually considered it, he doubted it'd be that easy. If Dumbledore had only found two, the ring and the locket, after searching for fifteen years, what chance did they have?

Harry abruptly stood and began to pace, "We can't go to the Order. None of them would help us without asking too many questions and trying to 'protect' us by taking over. We'd be shoved in some hidden location and left there." He gave his aunt's flowery kitchen a disgusted look. He wasn't letting anyone stuff him into a cage ever again. Not even a gilded one. "This is mytask. The prophecy said I was the only one who could kill that bastard and I'm not taking the chance that it'll get screwed up by letting the adults take over." He scowled, "Besides, the fewer people who know that we know how to make Voldemort mortal again, the better."

Now it was Ron and Hermione's turn to exchange glances.

"I agree." Ron stated and Hermione reluctantly nodded.

"Fine. No one from the Order." She scratched a line through her first list item. "But we have to find someone. Someone we can trust, and if that's not an Order member, then who?"

Harry rubbed his forehead as they considered. Who did that leave? Their classmates? He couldn't imagine that Neville or Dean could find a Horcrux that neither Hermione nor Dumbledore could. And he refused to conscript every able-bodied witch and wizard they could find to hunt through data for them. As he'd mentioned, the more people they told, the better the chance Voldemort would get wind of what they were doing and that was not something they wanted to alert him to until it was too late.

"What about one of my brothers?"

Pausing in his pacing, he considered each of Ron's brothers, discarding each in turn. Bill was holding down a job, still recovering from being bit by a werewolf, and getting ready for marriage. He was in no position to help them. Charlie was off in Romania and while he'd probably come back to help if asked, Harry couldn't see that he'd be any better than the three of them at figuring out where the Horcruxes were. Percy? As if he would help. The twins? Harry actually paused, thinking it over. They were certainly creative and if anyone could come up with new ideas of how to find Voldemort's Horcruxes, it'd be them. They were discreet too. Harry glanced over at Hermione and thought of a room full of dusty old tomes. He just couldn't picture Fred or George sitting down and methodically going through books, taking careful notes. They'd be more likely to get a page into a book, get distracted, and dunk a the whole thing in some experimental potion, destroying it and the rest of the library in the process.

He shook his head. They'd go talk to the twins if they needed help getting past the Horcrux's defenses, not while they were still looking for them.

"If Percy wasn't being so stubborn about Harry, he might be helpful." Hermione slowly said, "But right now he's more likely to go tell the Minister about everything we're doing." She gave Ron and apologetic look, "I like your family, Ron, but I don't think any of the others would be able to help at this point."

Ron let out a breath in disappointment, but he didn't seem too surprised, "Yeah, they aren't really 'research' type of people."

"Well, maybe we don't need someone who can delve into dusty old tomes; maybe someone who's good at politics would be what we need."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked

"I was just thinking of someone like Percy," Hermione explained thoughtfully, "If we could really trust him, he's perfectly positioned to find out all sorts of stuff – the kind of things that are happening right now, rather than things we'd find in books that are centuries old."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. Hermione claiming that there were things to be learned outside of a library?

She made a face at his expression, "Oh, come on. I know there's more to life than books. It's not like Voldemort wrote out his life story with footnotes on where he stashed pieces of his soul. We'll have to talk to people and I'm just saying that it'd be helpful if we had someone who was good at that sort of thing. A diplomatic people-person."

Ron tipped his chair back to balance on the back two legs, "Well, I think-"

He was cut off by the slamming of a car door and Petunia's shrill voice calling to Vernon. Harry grimaced. He'd been hoping his relatives would stay away until nightfall, as they'd been doing the last several days, but it looked like they were planning on having lunch at home.

He reached over the table and snatched all three forks and tossed them in the sink. He'd clean them later, with the dinner dishes. Snagging a bunch of bananas off the counter, he thrust them at Ron, "Grab your stuff, Hermione. We'll talk about this some more in my room."

Without questioning him, she waved her wand and the mess on the counter returned to her bag. She hefted it and left the room with Ron on her heels. Harry tossed the used peach cans in the trash and grabbed a bag of sunflower seeds from a cupboard before following. His aunt and uncle had not been stingy with food so far, but it never hurt to be prepared.

He made it to the stairway before the front door opened and Petunia walked in carrying a plastic grocery bag. She spotted him and narrowed her eyes, lips pinching together, but otherwise made no comment and he escaped up to his room without incident.

He found Ron and Hermione sitting side by side on the bed, Ron with his shoes kicked off and one knee bent so that he could prop his elbow up on it and rest his chin on his hand. Hermione sat with ankles crossed frowning down at her list.

The only other seat in the room, the rickety wooden desk chair, was currently piled with the folded blankets and pillows Ron used at night. Although they probably should have shrunk them to get them out of the way, Ron seemed to have forgotten he could do such a thing and Harry disliked having it shoved in his face that he was still under-age and technically shouldn't be doing any magic yet, so he pretended that he preferred the bedding stored the muggle way. With the choice of either crowding onto the bed with the others, moving the extra bedding, or standing, Harry choose to stay on his feet. Besides, it was easier to pace that way, even if it was only three strides from one side of the room to the other.

"I think," Ron started as if he'd never been interrupted in the kitchen earlier, "that we should use magic to find someone who'll help."

Hermione grimaced, "What, like divination?"

"It's not all rubbish, you know." Ron admonished with a touch of superiority, "Even Trewalny made some real predictions."

"Twice in twenty years does not make her exactly reliable!" Her voice was laced with scorn, "We'd need something more accurate and something we could use on demand."

"Well, just because Divination wasn't your best subject doesn't mean it's not worth considering!"

"Fine." she snapped, "You think of some way to get your tea leaves to tell you who we can trust and I'll try finding a real solution."

"Stop!" Harry interrupted their budding argument, "We don't need to quarrel over this." He turned pleading eyes to Hermione, "Maybe not divination, but there might be some other type of magic we can use."

Her brow creasing in thought, she brought a hand up to rub the back of her neck, as if to massage away stress, "Something to find a specific type of person…" Her eyes drifted around the room and stopped on Hedwig, napping atop her perch. Her face lit up and she jumped off the bed in her excitement, "That's it! Hedwig can find someone!"

"What?" Harry looked over at his snowy owl, "But we don't know who to have her look for."

Hermione beamed, "That's the beauty of it! Owls need specific direction, something that'll make sure they know which single individual out of the entire world's population to deliver a letter to, but that doesn't have to be a name."

At Harry's unchanging blank expression, she elaborated, "For example, if you tell an owl to find deliver a message to 'the tallest person in London', they could do it as long as two people weren't exactly the same height. It's not usually all that useful since most people don't have a distinguishing feature that'd let an owl identify them. Names and locations are so much more specific. But if we word it right, I think we could get Hedwig to deliver a letter to someone who could help us!"

Ron was staring at her with wide eyes, "That's brilliant, Hermione! We could ask Hedwig to find the person who would know where to look for Voldemort's Horcruxes!"

"Wait!" Harry cautioned his two enthusiastic friends, "If we ask her to do that, what's to say she wouldn't fly straight to Voldemort? He's the one who'd know where to find his own Horcruxes best, after all."

Hermione blinked at him, "Well, we have to word it carefully, of course. Make sure it's someone who's on our side and who'd be willing to help us."

Still reluctant to agree with this idea, he pressed, "But what happens if we don't make it specific enough? Or so specific that no one fits the description? Will Hedwig simply start flying in circles?" He looked over at his pet to find she'd opened her eyes and was looking back at him. Her head tilted to one side and then swung back to tilt the other way.

"Of course not." Ron answered, "Owls are too smart for that. If there's no one to deliver a message to, they just fly back to their owner in a couple of hours."

Hermione nodded, "Yes, exactly. We'll try something and if she comes back in a few hours still carrying our letter, we'll just re-word the directions until we get it right."

Harry's eyes swung from Ron's excited face to Hermione's confident one and back. "So you think Hedwig will be able to figure out who we'd choose to have help us, if only we knew who to think of?"

Nodding again, Hermione added, "And who'd choose to help usif he or she knew we needed help."

Harry pondered the idea, hands idly crinkling the forgotten sunflower seed package. Was there a down side to this idea? Even if they couldn't end up finding someone this way, would it hurt anything to try? They couldn't use Hedwig to send any other letters while she was occupied with this, but except for Ron sending his mum a note on the first day they'd arrived at the Dursley's, they hadn't needed her so far… And she really did love to be delivering messages. "Alright. Let's try it."

Hermione beamed at him, "Wonderful! Let me just get some parchment." With that, she grabbed her bag and dumped the contents out between herself and Ron who grimaced and scooted away a bit farther away to make room.

"You've really got to do something about that, Hermione." Ron told her, nudging aside a slim book that had slid into his thigh.

"Oh, hush up, Ron. It's not like I haven't seen the way you pack your trunk." She snagged a blank piece of parchment and with a flick of her wand the rest of the papers flew back into the waiting bag. "Now, let's see…" She ran the feathered edge of her quill over her lips in a gesture Harry recognized as her 'composing an essay' look.

After a moment of thought she began her first draft, muttering as she wrote, "Dear Sir or Madam, we cordially invite…no, that's too stiff." She scratched it out and started a new line, "To whom it may concern… no, that sounds like a resume cover letter…"

Ron looked over at Harry with a grin. "Too bad this won't give class credit." He tilted his head towards Harry's hands, "You planning on eating those or just crushing them?"

Harry looked down at the plastic bag of sunflower seeds clenched in his fists and relaxed his fingers, "They're for later." He set it down beside Hedwig's perch who looked at it and gave a mournful hoot. "You want one of those, girl?" He stroked her feathers and picked the package back up, ripping a small hole in the side and offering her a seed. She delicately took it from his fingers with one taloned foot and examined it before deftly cracking the shell with her beak and swallowing the tiny seed inside. She dropped the shell to the desk below her and looked back up with hopeful eyes.

"Oh, sure, feed the owl but not your starving best friend."

Harry grinned over at Ron as he offered another seed to his familiar, "You're not starving. I saw how many pancakes you put away at breakfast."

Voice raised in an exaggerated whine, Ron called, "But that was hoursago!"

Harry's grin widened, as he rolled his eyes, "Okay, here, have a sunflower seed."

He tossed him as single seed which Ron caught. He rolled his eyes, "How generous." He popped it in his mouth.

"Okay!" Hermione finished writing with a flourish and passed the paper to Ron, "What do you think of this?"

Ron simply skimmed over the short note and nodded, passing to Harry as he stood to look for a wastebasket for the sunflower seed husk. Finding nothing, he ended up depositing the seed shell with Hedwig's leftovers. The owl gave him a very disapproving look.

"You didn't mention Voldemort?" Harry asked.

Hermione pursed her lips at the page as Harry returned it to her. "I'm not sure if the recipient would get scared away if we mention who we're fighting."

"Wouldn't that be a good thing, though?" Ron interjected. "I mean, if the bloke is going to run screaming at the first sign of Death Eaters, he wouldn't be much help, now would he?"

"Yes, but we're not really thinking of someone who'll charge into battle, right? Just someone who'll help with research."

"Actually, I don't think we should limit ourselves like that," Harry replied in a thoughtful tone, "If Hedwig can really find anyone based on our description, then I'm thinking we should ask her to find whoever will be most helpful in both finding the Horcruxes andin defeating Voldemort."

Hermione bit her lip, "I don't know, Harry, the more conditions we put on this, the less likely that Hedwig will find someone. What if there's someone that'd be brilliant at figuring out where the Horcruxes are and another who'd be this powerful wizard who'd take out Death Eaters right and left and she can't decide between the two? We'd end up with neither."

Ron piped up, "Just tell her to find the person who'll best help us with whatever we most need help with."

Harry and Hermione both stared at Ron.

"What? It covers everything, doesn't it?"

"It's a bit vague," Hermione began, considering the idea, "but something like that might work." She brought out her quill again and hummed for a moment. "What about this," as she paused then spoke in measured, careful syllables, "Take this letter to the person who will best help us in completing Harry's quest to defeat Voldemort and who will be both willing and able to be of assistance."

Ron scratches his ear, "Sounds a bit wordy, but it works for me." Harry simply shrugged.

Seeing their approval, Hermione jotted down the wording so she'd remember it when she had to address Hedwig once the letter was finished.

"But I don't think we should sign our names," Harry said, returning back to the topic of the letter's contents. "I don't want whoever it is to turn up just because he's being asked to by the 'Boy-who-lived' or whatever. I want someone who'll be interested in helping because Voldemort needs stopping whether it's me who's asking or someone no one's ever heard of."

"Yeah," Ron nodded, "Just put a little phoenix symbol at the end."

"Technically we're not part of the Order," Hermione muttered.

"Who'll know? Or care?" retorted Ron, "If we're not signing our names, the person might think it's just a prank. Sign it with a fancy, animated symbol and at least it'll look like we put some effort into it."

Hermione gave Ron a slow grin, "That's true. Good idea, Ron."

Harry was amused to note that Ron seemed to puff up at the praise.

Hermione sharply nodded, "Okay, Let me just re-write this letter on nicer parchment…" She pulled a tightly rolled bundled from her bag and quickly transferred the message in neat, legible script. She then rifled through the papers once more and found a slim book. As she flipped through the pages, Harry caught glimpses of dense print, but she didn't pause long enough for him to actually read any of it. Near the back of the book she stopped at a point where a folded piece of paper lay stuffed between the pages.

"What's that?" Ron asked, curious.

"It's my invitation to Hogwarts." And indeed, as she unfolded it, Harry saw it was identical to the numerous invitations he'd received six years ago. Well, almost identical. It was addressed to 'Miss Hermione Granger, 603 Glassglow Ave'. He wondered why her invitation got a real address and his had only said 'Cupboard Under the Stairs', but dismissed the thought as soon as it came. He wasn't there any more, and he didn't want to think about it.

"I'm going to copy the little phoenix here in the corner." She pointed to a small stylized bird in flaming orange near the Headmaster's signature.

"Did my invitation have that on it?" Ron wondered.

"I'm sure it did." With a flourish, Hermione brushed her wand over the invitation and then over their letter. Slowly it began to appear and fill in with vibrant color.

"Why do you have your invitation with you anyway?" Ron asked idly.

Hermione brought the letter close to her face to examine the still growing figure, "Oh, I always keep it in my dorm during the school year, up on the wall behind my bed. I just stuck it in that book to keep it from getting bent when we left and I haven't had a chance to put it up at home yet."

Satisfied that the charm had finished, she tapped her wand to the paper edge to dry the ink. When it was ready, she stood and secured it with a bit of ribbon before handing it to Hedwig. "Please take this letter to the person who will best help us in completing Harry's quest to defeat Voldemort and who will be both willing and able to be of assistance," She recited without looking at her notes. Hedwig bobbed her head and lifted up off her perch, gliding out the open window and out of sight.

Harry sighed and Hermione patted his arm, "Don't worry, Harry, it'll work."

"Sure." His gazed stayed fixed on where his owl has vanished, and in a quieter voice repeated, "I'm sure it will."

-0-0-0-0-0-

Tim bounced into the dining room, stomach growling. He'd been slaughtering armies of orcs on the latest Dragon Fighter video game, sweeping past Dick's high score, when the mouth-watering smells of Alfred's cooking had started to drift in. He'd held out as long as possible, wiping out another cavern full of digital monsters, before being forced to pause the game and head toward the kitchen in the hope of snagging a taste of whatever was cooking. Alfred, guardian of the kitchen and ever vigilant however, had caught him before he'd taken three steps inside and quickly ushered him out again with an admonishment about patience making the final product even better.

Personally, Tim thought a small nibble on the cream cakes wouldn't dent his appetite, but obediently left to wait in the second-formal dinning room, the one the family always used.

Knowing how efficient the elderly butler was, he half expected to see the table already set; however, Tim paused at the threshold of the room when he realized there were more than just the usual two place settings. Despite the fact that Alfred was practically family and the only one Bruce Wayne, Tim's guardian and mentor, could be consistently counted on to actually listen to, the elderly gentleman never sat down to eat dinner with them. He would join them for breakfast on the rare occasion that any of 'his boys' were awake and wanted to eat something more substantial than a muffin in the morning, but never for the evening meal. Tim thought it was some sort of strange British butler rule, but hadn't ever found a time to ask about it.

So the extra place setting was certainly not for the third member of the current Wayne household. Which left a visitor or a guest.

Tim did not particularly care for guests. They always wore cloying perfume and batted their eyelashes and giggled. He particularly hated the giggling.

If it was a guestthen Bruce would be leaving after dinner to go to some charity function or society gala and Batman would start his evening patrol of the city from there instead of from the cave downstairs, which meant Robin would either be meeting him somewhere (which further meant a test on his ability to find the Dark Knight) or he'd be told he had to stay home for the evening as Batman didn't have time to wait for him.

Tim scowled at the dinner table. He really didn't like it when guestswere invited over for dinner.

Much less enthusiastic now, Tim walked slowly over to the table to examine the china, dragging scuffed trainers over the polished floor as he went. He finally reached the table and looked at the china set out. And broke into a broad grin.

It was the blue and gold pattern. The one Bruce's mother picked out for her wedding. A thin ring of 14k gold rimmed the plates with pale blue doves and roses in the center of white bone china. These plates were never used for any of the guests – they only made their appearance when someone who was part of the 'family' came over - Barbara Gordon, Cassandra Cain, or Dick Grayson. Since no chair had been removed from the table to accommodate a wheelchair, and since Cass rarely just popped over for a visit without Barbara, Dick was the most likely third plate.

With genuine excitement, Tim rushed over to his seat and plopped himself down, as if his rushing would make his 'brother' appear more quickly.

Instead he found himself rhythmically tapping his foot against a leg of the long table and watching the door.

Although not related in any way, Dick was probably the best older brother imaginable, as far as Tim was concerned. The original second half of the Batman and Robin team, world class acrobat, skilled detective, and Bruce's first ward, the older boy could have been aloof or resentful of the younger teen who'd somehow managed to follow in his footsteps, but Dick had been genuinely kind and helpful and friendly. They didn't get to see each other terribly often since Dick lived in a separate city and they both had very busy lives, but Tim always looked forward the visits.

He had no idea how long Dick was planning on being in town, but he hoped it would be long enough for Robin and Nightwing, Dick's nighttime persona, to tackle a few muggers together that night. Nightwing was a lot more fun than Batman, willing to play tag over the elevated trains and cracking the occasional joke at the expense of a two-bit thief. Batman was all business once he was out, but Nightwing had always been more lighthearted. He'd somehow escaped the grim disillusionment that coming face to face with the dredges of society could, and often did, bring to the superheroes.

The door opening interrupted his musing. Looking up in anticipation, he was rewarded by seeing Dick strolling inside, leather jacket and motorcycle helmet dangling from two fingers and slim phone plastered to his ear.

Tim bounced up from his chair and waved in greeting rather than saying anything, in deference to the phone. Dick smiled and nodded in response, tossing his jacket over a spare chair and setting his helmet on the far end of the table. No doubt he'd get a scolding from Alfred about putting things where they didn't belong, but that was practically their 'welcome home' ritual.

Since he couldn't ask Dick the hundred and one questions he had, Tim fell back to shameless eavesdropping while he waited. It took several minutes, but in the end he figured out that Dick was listening to Lian, the bright little six year old daughter of one of Dick's best friends, chatter on about her life. As with most exuberant children of that age, she was going almost non-stop, bouncing from one topic to another, so Tim couldn't really follow most of it until she seemed to return to the point of the call. Apparently she really, really wanted 'Uncle Dick' to convince her dad to name a new kitten Princess Blueberry. Or, failing that, Rainbow Fluffyface. Dick was telling her, in a patient voice that sounded like he'd already gone over this before, that she needed to listen to her dad and that Dick really shouldn't get involved and that boy-kittens probably wouldn't like to be named Rainbow or Princess-anything.

Dick was in the middle of giving off a list of suggestions (which included such classics as 'Tigger', 'Socks', 'Shadow', and 'Dick is Seriously Cool' – Disc for short) when Bruce showed up.

Dressed in casual slacks and polo shirt, Bruce looked like he's spent the day lounging around the pool and practicing his golf swing, but, like the mask he wore at night to frighten the more superstitious criminals, the costume of languid playboy Bruce wore in the day was created to be misleading. Bruce never touched a golf club outside of scheduled appearances and Tim couldn't even imagine Bruce lounging anywhere, let alone beside a swimming pool. The man had most likely spent the afternoon, once he'd woken up, exercising (if the brutal work-out could be called something so banal), researching, and checking the condition of his numerous gadgets and tools. In fact, Tim was somewhat surprised to see Bruce outside of the cave before Alfred dragged him up into daylight.

Dick and Bruce nodded to each other while Dick continued to list possible kitty names.

"Hi!" Tim bounded up from the table and over to Bruce, ready to re-direct his good mood at someone who could talk back. Bruce was carrying a sheaf of papers and Tim cheerfully peered over Bruce's arm at them. They all had the Wayne Enterprises letterhead and most had columns of numbers. Financial reports for the various departments, if Tim had to guess. "Checking to make sure you're still a billionaire?" Tim grinned cheekily.

Bruce shot him a mild glare. At least, mild for him. "Someone is embezzling from the company."

"Someone other than you?"

The glare became considerably more forceful. "You cannot steal from yourself. All resources and products, both intellectual and material, ultimately belong to me as the sole owner of the company."

Tim raised his hands in a placating manner, "I'm just kidding! I know how it works. No need to bite my head off." He grinned and asked eagerly, "So what have you discovered? Need any help?"

Setting the pile on the table and dividing it up into different portions, he pointed to one stack and told him, "Computer analysis is not showing any major flags on any single department, so I've narrowed down the problem to within the IT or Accounting departments. That's the audit of the Bookkeeping division." Without further explanation, took his seat and began scanning through column of figures.

Shrugging, Tim slid a stack of paper down the table to his own seat and started sifting through the data.

It would have been less cumbersome to just scroll through the numbers on a computer, but it was easier to add notations or pull out particular spreadsheets when everything has been printed out, so the fact that Bruce was going through stacks of loose paper didn't surprise him, but the fact that he was willing to bring the work up from the cave to the manor proper, was almost shocking. Even if everything was completely legitimate Wayne Corporation work, it just wasn't like Bruce to be willing to display so much intelligent concern in even a remotely pubic place.

Bruce was never one for showing much affection. Certainly, Tim had never heard the man say 'I love you' to anyone. Ever. But just the fact that Bruce voluntarily came up from his work downstairs to greet Dick at the table was probably the strongest declaration of his feelings for his eldest he could make.

The room was not exactly oozing with sentimentality, but Tim suspected Dick would pick up on the gesture anyway.

A flash of white movement caught his eye from the doorway. Turning to look, Tim spotted a large bird gliding in, low and slow. Even before he'd finished registering what it was, Tim had snatched up a fork and his dinner plate, ready to defend himself from a sharp beak and even sharper talons. He'd been attacked by too many trained birds to think one flying into the manor was cute or coincidental. Both the men beside him had also grabbed a few utensils and stood at ready, Dick making a hasty good-bye and setting down his phone first.

The bird, an owl, Tim noted, made no move to attack, but with a few powerful beats of its wings flew upwards and settled on the chandelier above them. Head cocked to one side, the animal regarded the three of them for a moment before lifting a foot and dropping something. Tim tensed, ready to dive beneath the table if the bird had just released some sort of explosive, but ended up staying put as the object proved to be a piece of paper, bound like a scroll, and tied with a simple ribbon. It bounced off the table and rolled a few inches before coming to rest against the salt shaker.

"Penguin?" Dick asked tersely.

"He was still in Arkham as of last night." Tim replied and glanced at Bruce to see if there'd been any change in that status that he wasn't aware of.

Bruce simply grunted. In a smooth motion, he replaced his wine glass to the table and picked up his cloth napkin, shook it out and used it to carefully pick up the small parchment the animal had dropped. After a close examination of the paper and ribbon, he gently set it down and used a separate corner of the napkin to pull the knot loose.

Tim kept half his attention on the owl and half on what Bruce was doing. "At least the bird isn't attacking." He commented quietly to Dick, "I hate the claws on those things."

The owl swung its head around to look at him and hooted, managing to sound rather indignant.

"Yeah," Dick agreed, "What do you think Oswald would want with Bruce Wayne?"

Tim rolled his eyes and snorted, "Money. What else does anyone want with him?"

By this time Bruce had gotten the parchment unrolled and had scanned the contents. "Actually, this may not be from him."

Tim groaned, "There's another psycho bird guy running around?" Retaining his hold on both his fork and plate, Tim shifted over to peek at the parchment and Bruce, still holding it with the napkin, obligingly tilted it in order for him to see the small, neatly printed writing. For Dick's benefit, Tim read it aloud. "It says:

'To whoever receives this missive:

If you are willing to stand against the great evil that has arisen, please meet us inside of the Leaky Cauldron, near the muggle entrance, at noon on July 14th. Bring Hedwig (the owl) with you to identify yourself and we will talk. We would greatly appreciate any help you are able to give us.'"

Bruce added, "It's signed with a stylized bird and dated four days ago."

Dick, still keeping one eye on the bird, glanced over at them, "Well, that was less than specific."

Tim agreed, "Yeah, which 'great evil' is it talking about, where the hell is the Leaky Cauldron and what's a 'muggle entrance'?"

Bruce looked thoughtful and mused, "Perhaps it's a person's name."

Tim thought about that, "Like the 'Wayne Wing' at the hospital?" He shrugged, "Could be."

The owl gave a soft cooing hoot and took to the air, gliding down to perch on the back of the chair Dick had been sitting in. It cocked its head at him, made a contented sound and promptly shut its eyes for a nap.

Dick snorted and finally relaxed, "Well, I don't suppose we have a bird cage large enough for an owl around here somewhere, do we?"

Tim immediately piped up, "It's on your chair, so it's obviously your responsibility. You get to try to coax it into whatever you find."

"Gee, thanks. I appreciate your sacrificing my flesh to its talons."

"No problem!" Tim grinned cheekily back.