Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics or the Harry Potter series.

oOo

Expanding the Colony

oOo

Tim cursed as the ebony wand stung his fingers and leapt for freedom, embedding itself several inches into a nearby wall. He glared at the offending hunk of wood, rubbing his now-throbbing right hand.

The little old lady behind the counter—one Elizabeth Wesson, co-owner of Smith and Wesson's Fine Wands—tsked amusedly. "My goodness! Such a violent reaction is uncommon. It seems that hellhound blood cores just don't agree with you darlin'." She absentmindedly tossed the empty box in the general direction of the growing pile of incompatible wands, peering through her silver-rimmed bifocals at the boy standing before her.

Tim was thoroughly weirded out. He knew that the magical world was strange and that he needed to expect the unexpected, but his few lessons with Jason Blood hadn't prepared him for the reality of wizarding life. Laveau Street was the center of magical commerce in New Orleans, Louisiana, but to Tim it felt like the Twilight Zone. Mrs. Wesson was his first magical contact outside of the superhero set, and the little old woman was downright bizarre. Her curly salt and pepper hair, pulled back in a messy braid, contrasted sharply against her dark skin. The top of her head barely came up Tim's sternum. With her bright smile and habit of calling Tim "darlin'", she seemed like someone's beloved grandmother. He'd half expected her to invite him in for cookies, milk, and a chat about her grandchildren, but the camouflage robes and tiny gold nose stud ruined that mental image. She practically danced as she moved, bopping around the shop to a tune that she alone could hear.

She certainly wasn't what Tim was expecting when he made an appointment with the premier wandmaker in the United States.

An amused snort, quickly disguised as a cough, shattered the silence, and Mrs. Wesson blinked awake from her quiet study. Without a word, she spun on her heel and danced into the back room. Unless Tim was mistaken, and he rarely was, she was doing the cha cha.

He turned, glaring at Dick, who was currently leaning against a display case by the door, his shoulders shaking and eyes twinkling with repressed mirth. Tim looked to the third person in the room. "Could you please put a leash on him or something?"

From his spot at Dick's side, Bruce huffed. "He's never bothered to listen to me before. What makes you think he'll start now?"

Tim's growl only amused his companions, so he decided to bring out the big guns. "Fine, Dick." The emphasis on his own name made the original Robin smirk. "If you don't behave, I'll tell Alfred."

Dick's outraged retort was cut short by Mrs. Wesson's return. She dropped an armful of boxes on the counter-top, shuffled them around, and chose one seemingly at random, removing the lid and extending the box to Tim. "Driftwood and demiguise hair. Good for transfiguration and spells involving stealth. Give it a swish."

Ignoring Dick's snickering with a resigned sigh, Tim grabbed the lumpy gray wand. It seemed to warm at his touch. When he gave it a wave, a few red and yellow sparks tumbled out of the end and fell to the floor. Tim grinned, happy to have finally gotten a positive result.

Mrs. Wesson merely hummed thoughtfully. She plucked the wand from his fingers and set it aside, keeping it separate from the discard pile. "That was good, but not great. We can do better."

Tim waved a dozen more wands, all with lackluster results. When only one wand was left in the pile, Mrs. Wesson carefully picked up the box, holding it close to her bosom like a beloved child. "Well Mr. Drake, you certainly are a puzzle." She opened the box, staring at the wand inside. "Normally I wouldn't even bother pulling out this old boy. It was an experiment from my early days of wandmaking. Both the wood and the core are notoriously difficult to work with, so this is the only wand I've successfully crafted with this particular combination." She ran a finger down the velvet inside the box, careful to avoid touching the wand itself. "Normally I wouldn't bother with this wand, but I have a good feeling about you, darlin'."

She held out the box and Tim studied the wand nestled inside. It was a deep red color, shot through with veins of white that were only visible when light hit its surface at just the right angle. The handle was a stylized bird similar to those found on Native American totem poles in the Pacific Northwest, its wings wrapped around the base of the wand. Judging by the detail in the carving, the wand's creation had clearly been a labor of love. The sky outside the shop windows darkened ominously, but Tim didn't notice as his attention was firmly fixed on the beautiful wand. Slowly, he wrapped his fingers around the handle.

A shock, like an electric pulse, shot through his right hand and spread throughout the rest of his body. It wasn't painful. On the contrary, it was like an injection of pure power, leaving him feeling invigorated and invincible. The veins along the wand's length began to glow. Tim slashed upwards and silver-white bolts of lightning leaped towards the ceiling, singeing the wood and filling the room with the scent of ozone. A piercing avian cry, like the call of a diving falcon, rang through the shop. Outside, thunder rumbled and lightning flashed in the sky above.

Bruce and Dick shared a worried look, but Tim was oblivious as he stared at the wand. A gentle hand on his elbow broke the spell and Tim turned to Mrs. Wesson for guidance. She smiled softly at the awestruck young man. "I told you I had a good feeling about you, darlin'. That wand is redwood from the Giant Sequoia—ancient and unyielding—with the core of a thunderbird feather. The thunderbird is powerful, intelligent, and wrathful to those who have wronged it, and I think you'll find those same qualities reflected in your new wand. This will be a stubborn wand, Mr. Drake, and it will take a powerful and willful wizard to successfully wield it, but I think you just might be up to the task."

She came around the counter and helped the still silent Tim strap a black leather holster to his right forearm. With a flick of his wrist, the wand disappeared into its new sheathe.

Bruce settled the bill and the trio was preparing to leave the shop when a hand grabbed Tim's shoulder, its grip surprisingly firm. He turned to find Mrs. Wesson watching him with knowing hazel eyes. "According to legend, the thunderbird is a protector, fighting off evil spirits that wish to harm mankind. Make sure you put this wand to good use." She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him, leaving Tim to stare at the top of her graying head in bewilderment. Then she winked and gave him a nudge toward the door. "Good luck, darlin'. I have a feeling that you'll need it." With that, she sashayed back behind the counter, into the storeroom, and out of sight.

With one last puzzled glance, Tim stepped outside and into the chaos of Laveau Street. The sun was shining, his family was close by, and he was getting his first opportunity to really explore the wizarding world. He ran his hand along the new holster, pleased at the tiny spark of electricity that passed between his fingers.

Though Mrs. Wesson's parting words left an uneasy a knot in stomach, they were soon forgotten as Tim hurried into the crowd, chasing after Bruce and Dick in their search for a bookstore.

oOo

The day dragged on, leaving the Bats feeling like the proverbial fish out of water amidst the bizarreness of the American wizarding world. Dick tried to sneak away to visit a ramshackle hoodoo shop, but Bruce's firm grip on his arm instead guided him towards the bookstore. Amidst the chaos, garish colors, and random noises of Laveau Street, The Book Wurm was an oasis of sanity. Despite the strange subject matter, the universal smell of a large collection of books—paper, dust, and time—and the sight of shelf after shelf of titles provided a bit of calm familiarity to the trio. They took their time exploring, browsing the aisles and skimming through anything that caught their eye. Between the three of them, they bought more than eighty different books. Aside from Tim's school texts, they'd ended up with books on defensive and offensive magic, wards, magical creatures, history, herbology, potions, charms, and wizarding culture, customs, and business practices. They also cleaned out the sections on technomagic and wizarding forensics, though depressingly enough that only amounted to five books total.

When the trio left Sylvester's Sporting Goods later that morning, the clerk had quite literally been walking on air. After hearing that Bruce intended to purchase six Firebolt broomsticks—one for Tim, one each for Dick and Bruce to play with, and three to experiment on—the young salesman, who apparently worked on commission, had been so excited that a burst of accidental magic had left him floating around the shop

Soon the sun reached its apex and the humidity left the trio's shirts sticking uncomfortably to their skin. Dick threw his hands up in exasperation. "That's it! If I'd have known we were going swimming today, I'd have brought my swim trunks. I think it's time for a break." Spotting a sidewalk café, he grabbed both Bruce and Tim by the arm and began dragging them out of the sun-baked street. They chose a table outdoors, beneath the shade of a large black and white striped umbrella and surrounded by palm frond fans spelled to provide a welcome breeze. A waiter soon appeared, orders were taken, and the three men were left in a comfortable silence. Across the street, a group of enchanted instruments-a trumpet, saxophone, guitar, double bass, and a couple of snare drums—filled the alley with lively jazz music.

Soon the waiter returned with a basket of rolls and three large glasses of sweet iced tea. Dick immediately reached for a roll, taking a large bite. Shredding the remainder into small pieces, he wadded them up and began flicking them into Tim's tea with perfect aim. Fighting down the urge to stab his older brother with a fork, primarily because he knew there was no way he'd come out on top in that particular scuffle, Tim fished the little doughy projectiles out of his drink. Shooting Dick a triumphant smirk, Tim covered the top of his glass with a napkin. But Dick was unfazed, turning his attention to eyeballing Bruce's glass thoughtfully.

"Don't even think about it", Bruce growled in the voice normally reserved for the cape and cowl. Dick merely rolled his eyes and sank back into his chair with a petulant huff, but his grin gave away his amusement.

Feeling too keyed up to sit quietly, Tim mentioned an upcoming charity event that both Bruce and Dick were expected to attend. The conversation soon strayed to other public-approved topics, such as Tim's upcoming time at Hogwarts and a new lung cancer treatment that was showing promising results in Wayne Pharmaceuticals' clinical trials.

All chatter ceased as the waiter approached with a large tray, heavily laden with dishes. Tim had read up a little on magical culture, including the many strange foods and beverages he could expect to see. Even here, in this tiny sidewalk café, he'd spotted dragon steak, pumpkin juice, and something called "butterbeer" on the menu. But luckily, not even the isolationist nature of the wizarding world was enough to keep the influence of Cajun country at bay.

Tim's stomach rumbled greedily and he began salivating like Pavlov's dog as the waiter slid a plate in front of him—a catfish po' boy sandwich, surrounded by a bed of seasoned fries, cole slaw, and hushpuppies. Bruce received a big bowl of seafood gumbo and a half-dozen raw oysters. And Dick, well- Tim wasn't sure what to think about Dick's entrée. It certainly didn't look very appetizing, but Dick seemed to enjoy it well enough. It was a large platter, piled high with bright red mutant water bugs. Or crawfish, as they were technically called. Not that Tim could tell the difference. One of the palm frond fans carried the pungent scent of the crawfish over Tim's way and he had to struggle not to gag. Holding his breath, he carefully shifted his chair aside and out of the breeze's path. Only then could he focus on his own lunch.

Unfortunately, he was so focused that he almost missed Dick leaning around the table. His well-honed senses finally kicking in, Tim snapped his head around and came nose-to-antennae with a little red mudbug, one claw extended and, up until a moment ago, ready to grip onto his earlobe. Dick grinned gamely at being caught, then cracked the shell and devoured Tim's almost-earring.

Tim pretended to turn back to his sandwich once again, but surreptitiously watched Dick instead. His older brother was behaving strangely. Dick was generally a happy and outgoing person. He had a certain joiedevivre which, when combined with his naturally magnetic personality, made people love him. It fact, he was one of the most trusted and well-liked members of the superhero community, second only to Superman himself. But within the last couple of days, Dick had been acting downright goofy, occasionally even bordering on juvenile. Something was going on and Tim was starting to worry.

Had he not been watching Dick at that exact moment, he might have missed it. The clown's mask fell away and Dick cut his eyes sideways, studying Bruce in his peripheral vision. And suddenly, Tim understood.

Both Dick and Tim had served as Robin at one time or another, but each brought his own personality to the costume. Tim preferred silent support. He did his job competently and completely, then stayed close at hand should Bruce need back-up in a fight, a careful eye at a crime scene, or a quiet comment when Batman's world became a little too dark and he ventured a little too close to the edge.

But Dick was different. Dick was light and laughter. He kept Bruce grounded by reminding him of all that was right with the world. He made it look effortless, smiling, dropping a stupid pun or a silly joke at just the right moment to keep the darkness at bay.

Tim knew that once you've been a Robin, there was really no getting away from it. Dick had moved on, creating a life for himself by becoming Nightwing. He was the protector of Bludhaven and leader of the Titans now. But the red, green, and yellow were still there, buried deep beneath the black and blue of Nightwing. He'd never wear the green elf boots again, but he would always be a Robin at heart.

Tim would be leaving soon, going overseas for months on end. But more importantly, he was taking Robin with him.

And Batman needed a Robin.

With Tim headed for Scotland, Dick was stepping up to fill the position-even if it was only in spirit.

Tim had never been as grateful for his older brother as he was at that moment.

Dick was still studying Bruce and Tim followed his lead, shifting his focus to his adopted father. Bruce was a superb actor. He pretty much had to be to hide the face of the Batman under the mask of Brucie Wayne. But his boys could still read him easily. They knew his tells; how to read his moods by the set of his jaw, the lines around his eyes, and the slant of his broad shoulders-shoulders which carried far more than their fair share of responsibility and worry.

Right now, Tim thought Bruce looked content. There was no stress, no worry, and no darkness lurking just beneath the surface. Tim mentally thanked Dick once again.

Apparently, Dick came to the same conclusion as he ceased his silent study, swiped a piece of shrimp from Bruce's gumbo, and turned his attention back to Tim.

"So Timmy boy, about those dresses—"

Tim outwardly rolled his eyes, but he was smiling on the inside. Now that he knew the game, he was more than happy to play along. "For the last time, they're robes. Not dresses. And it's not like I have a choice in the matter. I have to wear them."

"Oh come on. You know you're excited. Anyone that loves dressing up in drag as much as you do would jump at the chance to openly wear dresses in public."

"Wha-! I do not like dressing in drag! I was just the only one of us small enough to make it convincing." Tim lobbed a hushpuppy at Dick's head, but Dick plucked it out of the air and hurled it back with deadly accuracy. Rubbing his abused forehead, Tim wondered how his older brotherhood had managed to make a little wad of fried cornmeal sting. "You have got to stop hanging out with Roy", he mumbled, shooting Dick a dirty look.

"Speaking of Roy, I'll bet he and the other Titans would just love to see you in your robes. Maybe I'll have Babs send out a mass email to everyone-"

Tim froze. If he thought Dick's teasing was bad, Kon would be downright merciless. Like Krypto with his favorite chew toy, Kon would keep gnawing away at Tim until his pride was shredded. "Don't you dare. You even think about it and I swear that I will find a spell to turn you into a toad. Besides, who are you to critique my fashion sense? Need I remind you that you spent several years in those godawful green shortpants?"

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much."

"Two words, Dick: Disco.Suit."

"Oh Timmy my boy, it's nothing to be ashamed of. We can even add a little skirt to your uniform. It'll be absolutely adorable."

Shifting around in his seat, Tim began dancing and singing. "Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive."

A pointedly cleared throat interrupted his performance, but Tim knew the embarrassment of being caught making a fool of himself by the confused waiter was a small price to pay for the smile on Bruce's face and the amused sparkle in his eyes.

oOo

Their last stop for the day, Lulu's Bayou Zoo was the largest pet store on Laveau Street. Behind the spotless front windows, six kneazle kittens clumsily tumbled about with one another, trying to catch a small stuffed mouse enchanted to run circles around them. The inside of the shop was just as clean, bright blue walls and plenty of lamps providing a cheerful and welcoming atmosphere. It was noisy, with bird calls and feline meows mingling with the croaks of toads and reptilian hisses.

Tim wandered the store, Bruce and Dick following close behind. Tim studied the various animals, debating the relative merits of each. In truth, it was proving to be rather difficult to narrow his choice down to a single species. Owls, ravens, and falcons reminded him of the Penguin, frogs and salamanders of Killer Croc, snakes of King Snake, and the cats and kneazles reminded him of Isis—Catwoman's little terror. He dealt with each enough during his caped outings and didn't relish spending any more time with them than necessary.

The jarveys were amusing, but Tim knew their foul language would quickly wear on his last nerve. He wasn't actually sure if the puffskeins were real animals or merely the wizarding equivalent of a pet rock. They didn't seem to do much but sit there and occasionally stick out their tongue. He briefly considered the shop's only hellhound, 200 pounds of midnight black fur and muscle packed into a beast that stood as tall as a Great Dane. As a kid, he'd always wanted a dog. Something large and friendly. He'd even picked out a name-Ace. But his parents never wanted the responsibility and his childhood dreams of having a puppy of his own never came to pass. Right now, Tim hoped to find a familiar. A creature that was not just a pet, but one that he shared a connection with and that served as a trusted friend and companion. When he looked into the hellhound's glowing red eyes, he felt nothing.

Besides, Alfred would probably flip if he brought home something that big.

Tim stopped along the back wall and the dozens of bird cages lined up there. He pensively eyed a large Eagle Owl. With his hopes of find a true familiar fading, the smartest thing to do would be to settle for an owl. Unlike his other options, at least it could carry mail. The stark lines of the bird's brow feathers made it seem as though the owl was glaring at him and Tim frowned in return. The owl wasn't ideal, but it would do. As Tim turned to catch a salesman's attention, he could swear that the owl rolled its eyes at him.

While waiting for the clerk, Tim pondered over names for his soon-to-be pet. Nothing was jumping out at him. He was about to ask for Bruce and Dick's opinion when he heard a familiar chirp. Tim froze, his well-trained ears straining to pinpoint the sound's origin. He heard it again, coming from behind the owls. Carefully, he picked up several cages and shifted them aside, ignoring the indignant hooting from within. Instead of the wooden wall he was expecting, Tim found a huge glass tank spanning the entire back of the shop, from wall to wall and floor to ceiling.

A pair of glossy amber eyes was staring back at him.

Resting one hand lightly on the tank, Tim stepped forward, his nose mere inches from the thin pane of glass. Inside was the largest bat he had ever seen, hanging upside down from a wooden perch. Its body was over a foot and a half long, with deep reddish brown fur, a black muzzle, and a black domino-like mask of fur surrounding its striking eyes. The creature chirped and spread its leathery black wings, their color and texture reminding him of Bruce's cape, and Tim was amazed to see that its wingspan was easily five feet across.

Intelligence glittered in the creature's eyes, reminding him of another overgrown Bat, and Tim fell in love.

"I see you've found our Giant Golden Crowned Flying Fox. He's one of a very rare species of fruit bat from the Phillipines."

Tim spared a momentary glance at the shopkeeper, long enough to observe that he was a tall Hispanic man with dark hair. According to the tag on his robes, his name was Luis. He looked to be in his late 40s, though it was sometimes hard to tell with wizards. After all, Jason Blood was over a thousand years old, but he didn't look a day over 30.

Tim turned his attention back to the bat. "Luis, right? Why is he hidden? He's beautiful."

"He is striking, but the truth is that bats don't sell. I ended up with him when aurors broke up a magical creature smuggling ring. No one else knew how to care for him, so I took him in. While a bat will carry mail for the right wizard or witch, people prefer owls. Bats can be temperamental and difficult to handle."

Tim chuckled softly, murmuring, "Tell me something I don't know."

If Luis heard, he didn't comment. "I can see by the look on your face that you want him. He's expensive."

"I don't care."

The man rattled off a number and soon found his hands full of galleons, compliments of Bruce, along with quite a bit extra for a perch, traveling cage, and any other supplies the clerk felt might be necessary.

Twenty minutes later the trio was back outside, the newest member of their colony circling overhead.

Bruce shook his head, amused despite himself, as the bat dive-bombed a flock of pigeons, sending them scattering. "You do realize that you're going to Scotland so that you can blend in, right? A giant bat isn't exactly unobtrusive."

Tim lifted his arm, allowing the surprisingly light creature to land and hang upside down, curling his wings around himself. "I know, but I couldn't leave him there. He's perfect."

Bruce scratched the bat under his fuzzy chin, getting a happy chirp in return. "I suppose we can work around it."

Tim grinned wickedly, then caught Dick's gaze with laughter-filled eyes. "So, Bruce," he said, fighting down a case of the giggles. "How mad would you be if I named him Brucie?"

oOo

Author's Note: The Giant Golden Crowned Flying Fox is an actual creature. I've posted a few links to example pictures at the bottom of my profile.

The next chapter will have Tim entering the HP world. However, I'm at a bit of a loss as to which house to put him in. I know where I think he should go, both for characterization and narrative purposes. But as many people have pointed out, he could technically fit into any of the houses. If you were writing this story, where would you put him?

I've decided to gather all of my "Tim at Hogwarts" stories in one entry, but they will not be one cohesive novel. Instead, it'll be a series of fics and ficlets that skip around to cover different events. I can't even promise that they'll be in chronological order, though I will certainly try.

There might be a little light romance or flirting later, but I'm undecided on that. If it does appear, I doubt it will be anytime soon.

Finally, thank you to everyone who has reviewed—not just on this story, but on all of them. I wish I could respond personally to everyone, but it's simply not possible. I've been even more busy than usual lately. In fact, I've had this entry waiting for almost a month, and I finally had to rearrange my schedule just to be able to sit down, look for obvious errors, and post it. Please don't think I'm ungrateful for not responding. I most certainly am grateful, and every review leaves me wanting to write more.