deeper wonderment: oh, perilous place [part 1]
Title: Oh, perilous place
Author: technosage
Pairings: Bruce/Chloe; Bruce/Oliver
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 11,129
Summary: Late night, accidental frottage at the end of fifth year left matters between Bruce and Oliver awkward. Unresolved tension, emotional strain, breaks in the routine they have come to count on make for a miserable week until a fight brings the situation to its perhaps inevitable head.
Chronology: Sixth year
"Well, if it isn't our esteemed Prefect come to grace us with his presence," Chloe interrupted Lex mid-sentence as Bruce approached. "Good morning, Bruce."
"Chloe, Lex." Bruce nodded a polite greeting before taking his accustomed seat beside Chloe at the precise midpoint of the wall-side of the Slytherin dining table where the entire hall could be viewed with ease.
"Nice badge you've got there." As ever, Lex missed outright snide by less than a hair. He practiced it, had been practicing it, since third year when Bruce had cast the Silencing Charm at him and refused to reverse it until Lex had promised - by nodding vigorously - to keep a civil tongue in his head.
Bruce ignored him. Wearing a "P" on one's chest entitled one to ignore the jibes of classmates, though Bruce would've done it without the badge. Because, as Oliver had been at pains to tell him last year, not only did "P" stand for "Prefect", but also for "Phallus," "Penis," and "Prick." All of which he had, according to Oliver, to be, to wish to be a Prefect.
Not that Bruce had wanted to be a Prefect; however, as Professor McGonagall had observed, good luck to anyone who'd been appointed Prefect over him.
It was precisely that attitude that had him composing Quidditch drills in his head, while listening with only half an ear while Lex and Chloe returned to comparing the relative merits of the Holyhead Harpies and the Falmouth Falcons. He had no need to pay attention, as his mind would supply him with the exact details of the conversation if he ever required them.
"What about you, Wayne, who do you think will take the British league this year? The Falcons or the Harpies?" From his tone, Lex believed Bruce would agree with him over Chloe who favored Holyhead.
As it happened, he didn't. "Neither. The Falcons' new Beater, Bernie Allston, earned more penalties with the Chudley Cannons than any other three players combined. That alone will cost them the championship. The Harpies' best Chaser, Serafina Sandoval, has been suspended for repeated, flagrant violations of the Muggle Protection Act."
Bruce sipped his tea, gaze scanning the room behind and over Lex's head, still bald, as the hair-thickening charms he'd tried over summer had done nothing but turn his eyebrows into a veil. "The Ballycastle Bats new Seeker, Tifa Lensman was Beaux-Baton's best in over a century, and they've got two new Beaters as well. The Appleby Arrows might beat them, if they stop getting carried away with their own press."
"Speaking of Quidditch players carried away with their own press," Lex muttered, put out; though being disturbed by incisive analysis when one gambled as much on Quidditch as Lex did made no sense. He ought to be grateful. "Your buddy, Ollie, seems to be stirring things up over at the Gryffindor table."
Taking a bite of her blueberry scone, Chloe rolled her eyes and shook her head at Lex. She gave him a pitying look Bruce recognized as meaning you never learn, do you?
Bruce's own expression held not a trace of pity. "I'm certain the Gryffindor Prefects are quite capable of managing the situation without your input." The growing commotion at the far end of the Slytherin table, on the other hand, required his. "If you'll excuse me, I need to see to matters of our own House."
He stood and swept away, robes swirling around his ankles. Behind him, Lex muttered something he didn't quite hear, and Chloe burst into peals of decidedly un-Slytherin sunshine and lemonade laughter. "It could be worse, Lex. At least he's polite when he bends you over."
The scene that greeted him at the end of the table did not, unfortunately, share the un-Slytherin but not at all unpleasant quality of Chloe's laughter. In fact, it partook entirely too freely of Slytherin traditions that Bruce disapproved and intended to bring to an immediate end. Being a Prefect did have its perks.
Two third years, Geoffrey Haddon and Samuel Mirke, from old, if not especially distinguished, wizarding families left off hazing a new Slytherin from an all-Hufflepuff family, Basil Eckleston, at Bruce's approach. "Good to see you, Bruce." Haddon implied an intimacy that Bruce did not share. His companion, choosing the wiser course, simply said, "Good morning."
Taking the empty seat next to Eckleston, Bruce gave the boy a polite smile. "I understand you're the first Slytherin in your family."
This set Haddon and Mirke to smirking.
"Yes, sir." Eckleston looked all Hufflepuff, except for the ambitious gleam in his eyes of which Bruce approved.
"Why do you think you were Sorted as a Slytherin, Basil?"
"Chess, sir."
"Chess." Not quite a question, but Bruce added a hint of an upward inflection to invite the boy to elaborate. The eyebrow he arched at Haddon and Mirke had them exchanging uncomfortable looks, and well it should, since they hadn't done their homework before picking a target.
Basil's chest and chin lifted a little in pride. "I'm the British junior champion at Wizarding Chess, sir. Have a match with the senior champion next month, and odds are 300-13 in my favor."
"What's chess got to do with anything?"
In his irritation, Haddon raised his voice, which earned him another arched eyebrow from Bruce before he turned his attention back to the younger boy. "Slytherins are expected to show proper respect to older Housemates. This means answering their questions." Even those that showed a complete lack of intelligence.
Of course, Haddon and Mirke needed the reminder more than Eckleston, who nodded, and sat quiet for a moment. That he organized his thoughts, selecting those to speak and those to set aside, was obvious to Bruce's eye from the soft focus on the salt cellar in front of him and the slight gnawing on his lower lip.
At length, Basil looked up again and met Haddon's gaze. "Chess requires the accurate prediction of possible outcomes based on variable sequences of moves, the probability of any one move dependent on not only the skill but also the style of the opponent. Winning requires selecting the most probable moves of the opponent and blocking them, while still advancing one's own game." He sought Bruce's gaze, and Bruce nodded confirmation. "I play to win."
"The Sorting Hat-" Bruce allowed his lips to curve into a sly half-smile that made Mirke wince and Haddon look downright miserable. "-is a chess player, and an excellent one, at that. You'll fit in very well, Eckleston, and I look forward to beating you in chess."
Because, of course, Bruce also played to win, and unlike most wizards, he excelled at logic. More to the point, the only player at Hogwarts who had ever come close to beating him was Oliver, and he and Oliver knew each others' game so well, it'd become very like playing himself.
Eckleston smiled, and his eyes held a hunger that said it would be a damned good game. "I guess we'll see, sir."
"It's just 'Bruce.'" As he stood, Bruce added almost as if an afterthought, though the conversation had gone precisely as he'd predicted, "There's more to being Slytherin than ambition, and I'm certain Sam and Geoff will help bring you up to speed." He fixed the two with a sharp glare. "They wouldn't want me to have to deduct points from the House for unacceptable behavior."
Mirke fell all over himself to say, "Of course, Bruce," even while Haddon protested they had too much work to take a first year under their wing.
Bruce cut them both off, crossing his arms over his chest. "I think six inches on the History of Slytherin House from you, Sam, and six from you, Geoff, on 'What it Means to be a Slytherin,' will be more than sufficient to give Basil a firm foundation. You'll have those in the Prefect's Office by tomorrow first bell, I'm sure. I'll see that copies are distributed to all of the first years, in fact. Thank you."
He met each gaze in turn, but his polite smile when he took his leave he directed at Eckleston. "Enjoy your breakfast, gentlemen."
Before he returned to his own breakfast, he informed Professor Snape of the arrangement, which earned him a sneering smile and a "Well done, Mr. Wayne." The other Slytherin Prefect, Meg Masters, was less sanguine, but he blocked the incipient tirade at his treatment of her favorites with a sharply worded reminder that Slytherins did not turn on other Slytherins.
In the ten minutes that passed total, word traveled the entire length of the table. The hunched shoulders and busy gazes that failed to meet his didn't bother him at all. That his tea had gotten cold, did.
Not bothering with his wand, Bruce focused on the tea in the cup. "Reparo."
Head cocking, Chloe gaze him a quizzical look. "I realize Charms is not my best subject, so maybe I'm missing something essential here, but… it's not broken, Bruce."
Bruce responded by opening his hand to direct her gaze to the pleasant curl of steam now rising from the cup. "Hot tea is meant to be hot." He knew six other spells that could've been used to heat the tea, including the hot air charm Dumbledore preferred, a heating spell, and a way to Transfigure cool tea into hot, but he hadn't needed a wand to use the restore charm since third year.
To Bruce, anything that did not fulfill its intended function was broken and could therefore be fixed with the charm. Anything not alive, anyhow.
Lex, being Lex, had to try it - using his wand, of course - but it didn't work for him, and his petulant scowl didn't get any less petulant with Oliver's copy of the Daily Prophet hitting the table next to him. The paper's mid-toss wobble landed it skew, from which, even if Bruce hadn't noted tension in Oliver's forearms and elbows, he'd have known whatever he'd been discussing with Clark and Diana hadn't gone Oliver's way.
"Kindly hold the witty comments for after I've sat down and they aren't watching anymore." Oliver directed his words at Chloe, who decamped her feet from the chair and pretended to hide a wicked smile behind her tea cup. With a glance along the table, he slid into the empty seat. "Well, judging from the expressions down at that end, either Lex has been singing or Bruce has already made someone cry. Since all of the glassware remains intact, I'll assume it was the latter." Oliver's smile when he met Bruce's gaze lacked its usual ease. "Enjoying the reins of absolute power, Bruce?"
Bruce ignored the jibe, since it had as much to do with Diana and Clark as it did with him
"So I assume your own flippant remarks call an end to the moratorium on witty comments?" Chloe smirked at Oliver. "Because I'd be interested to know what exactly has the heads of Gryffindor causing such a ruckus in the Great Hall."
Then she turned a coy smile on him. "What is it you call behavior like that, Bruce? Common?"
"There are a lot of things that are Common in this room, Chloe." Oliver gave Lex a challenging look, Lex sneered and Bruce scowled into his tea at the reopening of annual hostilities between the two. "We Gryffindors aren't one of them."
Setting his teacup down, Bruce collected Chloe's gaze. "I'd call it unseemly." Then, with a pointed look at Oliver, added, "All of it."
Lex had exactly enough desire for Bruce's approval not to gloat at seeing Oliver upbraided, but even so Bruce didn't miss the smirk he buried in his pumpkin juice.
Flippant as ever and anything but apologetic, Oliver merely grinned. Wrists and forearms fluid now that he'd regained his equilibrium, Oliver lifted his paper, folded it in half, and tossed Chloe an easy smile. "I see you've made yet another coup, Chloe. Goblin Cultural Reclamation in the Americas by Chloe Sullivan."
Her second article in the Daily Prophet. Bruce made a mental note to add five points to Slytherin's tally for the accomplishment and congratulate her later, but didn't interrupt Oliver, merely quirked an eyebrow at the animated reading he'd begun.
The article interested him less in its particulars than in Chloe's initiative and in Oliver's inflection as he added his own cynical humor to her witty asides. Even the manner in which he held the paper spoke of his affection for Chloe - no tension in his fingers, an almost sly cock of his wrist, forearm flexing as he tilted the paper to study the pictures.
Corded muscle caught and held Bruce's attention. His best friend had filled out over the summer, gained a few inches in height and at least twenty pounds of muscle, and it looked good on him. But for a moment, Bruce saw firelight shadows on that forearm. Not affection, but need, in the grip of agile fingers and in the body straining up against his.
"So tell me," Oliver's voice, teasing and wry, rather than hoarse and hungry, snapped Bruce's attention back to the present. Tipping his head in unconscious salute, Oliver smirked. "Are you trying to piss off the American Goblins or does it just make good copy?"
"A bit of both really." Chloe leaned across the table to pluck a strip of bacon off Oliver's plate. Oliver looked completely unfazed, and Bruce just shook his head at the two of them. "The entire idea is ridiculous," Chloe continued, doing what she probably thought of as nibbling pensively on the bacon but looked to Bruce like talking with her mouth full. "Goblin society has settled into an uneasy truce with the Wizarding world. And by uneasy, I mean extremely tenuous. Everyone knows there are smaller factions of Goblins working to subvert the Wizarding governments of the world."
Lex curled his lip in an ugly sneer. "Sounds like someone has been reading a bit too much Muggle science fiction."
Only one step from there to calling Chloe a mudblood, and Bruce wouldn't have that. He quashed Lex with a lift of his eyebrow, accompanied by the full-stop of his fork in mid-air. Lex looked away, and Bruce returned his attention to Oliver. "Continue."
Oliver looked up from his meal. "Hmm?"
More aware than ever of the elegance of Oliver's upbringing in the effortlessly gracious table manners he maintained for Bruce's benefit, of Oliver himself, Bruce nodded to the paper. "Continue reading…if you please."
Oliver's reading would assuage the tension Lex's caustic comment had reintroduced and direct attention away from Chloe's blood-status. That Bruce found it pleasant was entirely incidental.
#
"Well." Lex's mouth wore its nearly perpetual sneer, and his tone could've flayed the hide off a Hungarian horntail. "That was only marginally less boring than watching bubotubers grow."
While Bruce shared his assessment of Binns' teaching style, Lex's sense of entitlement grated; as did his sweeping dismissal of the deaths of good witches and wizards during Voldemort's first rise. "History is only boring for those who lack imagination."
A smallish, warm hand slid down his shoulder to his waist - Chloe, and Bruce turned to see the suppressed snicker in her eyes. Slytherins didn't turn on other Slytherins, and Lex had his uses, but neither he nor Chloe had much patience for his pretension. It was one of the many things Bruce appreciated about her.
Bruce pushed the door to the classroom open, holding it for Chloe to pass. "Interesting question about goblin allegiances. How does the answer track with what you learned for your article?"
"I didn't know you were so interested in goblins." Sly insinuation dripped from Lex's words, and Bruce scowled at the implication that he'd only asked because it was Chloe.
"Everything that has ramifications for a resurgence of Dark wizardry interests me." That asking permitted him to show Chloe that he valued her insights pleased him, but it hadn't been the reason that he'd asked.
Chloe's lips quirked. "Everything about everything interests Bruce, Lex. Each piece part of a larger puzzle. Haven't you figured that out yet?"
Another thing he liked about her: she understood how his mind worked, and to a not insignificant extent hers worked the same way.
Lex tired of being odd man out and headed off to Charms with a tight nod. Chloe turned back to Bruce, then lifted her shoulder in an amused shrug.
"I haven't had a chance to think it through, but it fits. The American goblins' renewed interest in their own heritage definitely suggests growing discontent with their second-class status. If You-Know-Who-"
"Voldemort." Bruce slanted her a chiding look. Superstitious refusal to name the Dark Lord wouldn't keep him away.
"If You-Know-Who," Chloe continued stubbornly, because unlike Lex, and rather like Oliver, she'd always felt free to keep her own counsel in the face of his disagreement, "sought sanctuary in the United States, it's likely the goblins would provide it, if he promised them a change in status. That would lead to-"
The warm sound of Oliver's laughter preceded him around the corner. He appeared to be sharing a joke with the fair-skinned, part Veela Icelandic witch, Tora Olafsdotter.
"Hold that thought, Bruce?" Chloe smiled up at him, hand on his arm, and he nodded. "Hey, Ollie!"
Oliver looked up, smile faltering and uncertainty flickering across his face when he glanced from Chloe to Bruce. Bruce arched an eyebrow in question, but Oliver wouldn't meet his gaze, and that bothered him. "Something I can do for you, Chloe?" All smiles and brown-eyed charm again, but Oliver's wrists stayed tense.
"Newspaper meeting tonight, don't forget!"
"Forget my weekly date with the most beautiful editor in the world?" His friend's lips curved into a wicked smile filled with playful innuendo. "Wouldn't dream of it."
Bruce's lips twitched into an almost smile of his own. For an instant, everything seemed right and correct, but Oliver didn't grin as he ought to, only gave him a quick once over before returning his full attention to Chloe. "Same time, I'm assuming?"
Chloe glanced from Oliver to Bruce, then shrugged, eyebrows high. "Yeah, same room, too, but I hear the staircase moved, so you might want to head out a bit early in case you get lost."
"No problem, gorgeous. If you'll excuse me, I promised Tora I'd walk her to class." Oliver leaned closer, offering a slyly intimate wink. "A gentleman's work is never done." Righting himself Oliver flicked his gaze towards Bruce again before he threaded his arm through Tora's, leading her towards Binns' classroom -- even though they had ten minutes left of break.
A surge of cold discomfort accompanied the perception of a complex web of connections dangling by several threads. Bruce suppressed his irrational anger at Oliver's behavior. After all, Bruce hadn't addressed him and he had no obligation to stay and talk. Particularly not, if, as it appeared, he'd taken an interest in Tora.
"Bruce?" When he turned his gaze back to Chloe she gave him a thoughtful look, unnecessary concern amplified by the gentleness of her hand on his wrist. "Everything okay?"
If anyone - Oliver always excepted because Oliver wasn't anyone, he was Oliver - had the right to ask him that question, it would be Chloe. Chloe who had been a constant in his life since the first day of first year when he'd explained the enchantments on Quaffles in precise detail and she'd asked the perceptive question of how they were stored. Chloe, who everyone including Chloe believed to be his girlfriend and who, to the extent he found that concept meaningful, actually was.
"P is for Prefect," Bruce answered, relying on all of that to carry the deception.
"And Prick," Chloe agreed with a very Chloe smile, the one that said whether she believed him or not, she accepted that he wouldn't discuss it.
One more piece of the puzzle of Bruce Wayne, Oliver Queen and Chloe Sullivan -- Bruce arched an eyebrow and she grinned.
Briefly. Then she cocked her head to look up at him. "Bruce, about the meeting tonight--"
"I won't be attending it, nor any, so long as I'm Prefect."
Her relief swept over him, palpable. "Oh, thank God. I wouldn't have cut you, you're the best fact-finder I have, but I've been having nightmares about distracting you from…" Eyes going wide, Chloe wagged her head. "To keep you from deducting points every time someone ditched class, snuck out, or lied."
She should've known better. Probably their relationship obstructed her ability to predict his reactions, though why he'd be any different because of sex, he had no idea. "I see no point to cultivating situations that will require me to deduct points from our House or watch-owl you."
He held his arm out for her books, because that was what one did for a girlfriend, and her expression softened, pink coloring her cheeks and brightening her eyes. Precisely as it had when she'd impulsively kissed him at the train station at the end of last year and he'd kissed back.
She set her books atop his, then stood, lower back and abdomen tense, fingers uncertainly plucking at her robe. Understanding the dilemma - he did know his propriety and distance complicated interactions with those closest to him, he lifted his elbow, offering his arm.
Sudden laughter broke her tension, and she ducked under his arm, wrapping hers around his waist. "I hope you're not planning to break off other things." Her purring emphasis and sly smirk conveyed her meaning with precision, straight to his groin. "Because that would be a shame, Mr. Wayne. I can't help thinking it be very Slytherin for a Prefect to cultivate an intimate relationship with the newspaper editor."
Eyebrow raised, he steered her down the empty passageway in which he'd convinced the stairs to do his bidding. He gave her a level look, though strictly speaking, she had a point. "Outwitting the prefects to engage in private activities-" dueling, plotting, sex, "-is a time-honored Slytherin tradition. As is not turning on other Slytherins."
Chloe elbowed him in the ribs. "So if I were a Gryffindor, you'd break it off between us?"
The combination of sex and Gryffindors wasn't one he wished to address. So when they turned the corner, he stepped into her. Her back nudged the castle stone; her lips parted in invitation, which he took and kissed her until they had to stop or risk being late for Charms.
By his design, she took that as his answer, and the breathy sounds the kiss provoked said she found it more than satisfactory.
#
Slytherin practice for Quidditch trials began on Tuesday. Bruce didn't believe in wasting time, and the trials themselves would be only be used to confirm his decisions made from scrimmage games with the hopefuls.
Chloe accompanied him and Lex to the pitch. As announcer, she needed the practices as much as the players to identify names and tactics. Her diligence usually pleased him.
Not this evening. The way she eyed his bandaged forearm made him grit his teeth. A condition not improved by Oliver's absence, conspicuous for it being the first of Bruce's practices he'd missed since Bruce made Chaser in second year.
"I can't believe Madame Pomfrey okayed you to play tonight." Her eyes flashed, as though challenging him.
Bruce scowled.
"Oh, stop it, Bruce. You're not invincible. That fire crab melted the skin off your arm. I saw it happen."
As if he needed reminding that he'd not improved his care of magical creatures over the summer.
Lex's snorted a nasty laugh. "Lay off, Chloe. If there's anyone less in need of your indignant mother-henning than Bruce, I've yet to meet him."
For that, he might've let Lex have his dick the way he'd been begging for since they left the States by portkey three days ago. Except gentlemanly upbringing insisted Bruce not tolerate him speaking to Chloe in that tone. Turning his head far too slowly to be incidental, Bruce leveled Lex with a meaningful look.
Mood far better than Bruce's, Lex blew it off, rolling his eyes. "It's your own damned fault, Wayne. You could've dropped that ridiculous farce of a class after you A'd your O.W.L. No one's going to die because you can't feed and clean a fire crab without getting burned."
Chloe's jaw tensed and she shot Lex a will you shut up? glare, and Bruce's mood took a turn for the positively foul. Oliver would've teased Chloe into laughter by baiting Lex, but Bruce's mouth flattened to a thin line. "Voldemort's Death-Eaters used fire crab shells for cauldrons."
Both of them flinched at his use of the name, but they bore it in silence. They knew better than to take him on when his consonants went crisp. Which served as one more unpleasant reminder of Oliver's absence. In his head, he could hear Oliver mocking, "And if Lord Voldemort's followers mistreated those poor innocent creatures, it's our beholden duty to protect them. Come off it, Bruce. You're not fooling anyone."
"Madame Pomfrey told me to keep my arm out of direct sunlight for twenty-four hours. Neither moonlight nor Quidditch appeared in her list of restricted activities."
Chloe threw up her hands and stormed off ahead of them, to which Lex shrugged as amiable as he ever was. "Fucking women has its drawbacks."
Stopping dead in his tracks, Bruce rounded on Lex. "It's a pity about Slytherin colors, Luthor. Green is ugly on you."
Lex's mouth curled into its familiar sneer. "There isn't enough gold in Gringotts-"
"Taste can't be bought. Nor breeding. Don't speak of Chloe that way."
"Or what, you'll Silence me again?" Lex snapped.
"Five points from Slytherin, Lex." His voice came out cold, completely lacking inflection. "If you think sneering at Chloe is going to get my dick back in your mouth, you'd better consult Vector's charts again."
Flush claimed Lex's face and his fist clenched to strike. "I don't-"
Bruce lifted an eyebrow. "Go gear up, and if anyone gets hit with a Bludger, you're out for the first two games."
#
No one got hit with a Bludger and by Wednesday's Defense against the Dark Arts class, matters between him and Lex had quite returned to normal. Which was to say, Lex worked to gain his approval, and he withheld it unless it suited him to do otherwise.
The situation with Chloe, however, had not improved. She'd studied on the opposite side of the Slytherin Common Room after practice, had rolled her eyes at him when he'd tried to speak to her at breakfast, and had eaten lunch with Clark of all people. Now, she'd paired up with Jasmine Ayers, one of Meg's friends, for class.
Not that he and Chloe would've partnered for Defense Against the Dark Arts anyhow. On this one, critical thing, he and Lex had perfect accord, and as such, had worked together since the first year. But Jasmine's parents had both been Death-Eaters, and, unlike Lex, she had made no effort to distance herself from them.
Chloe probably believed she could ferret out Jasmine's loyalties by pairing with her, but while he appreciated the initiative, Bruce didn't like Chloe mixing herself up with Meg's lot. Lex apparently shared his assessment, because he flicked his gaze to the pair and lifted an eyebrow in question.
Bruce kept his commentary to a scowl, but he would monitor the situation.
The new Dark Arts professor, Quirrell by name, cleared his throat, summoning Bruce's attention to the lecture he now, haltingly, began. In any other class, his pale face and nervous mannerisms would occasion sneering editorial commentary from Lex, but he listened in silence, quill flashing over paper until he'd accumulated several inches of notes.
Bruce also took notes, but out of discipline, rather than true need, as his eidetic memory rendered them unnecessary. Still, it kept his focus on the classroom rather than on why he wouldn't be sharing his concerns about Chloe's choices with Oliver over dinner.
After explaining the Confundus Charm and expansions developed by Dark Wizard Tauron Ververe during Voldemort's war, Quirrell stopped twisting his hands to lift his class roster. His gaze fell on Lex, returned to the roster in search of his name, and then he looked up again with a twitchy smile. "Mr., ah, Luthor, supposing I were to cast Ververe's Confundus totalus spell at you. How would you combat that?"
Lex tapped his quill on the desk once, then leaned forward on his elbow, quill raised. In that moment, Bruce saw the man he would become. Polished, powerful and dangerous - only the question 'to whom' remained to be answered. It would be a simple matter for Lex's determination to define himself in opposition to his father to become a need to best him; that knowledge, more than anything, compelled Bruce to maintain their friendship, such as it was. As long as Lex sought his approval, he wouldn't turn to the Dark Arts.
"Assuming I were not fast enough to disarm you with expelliarmus…" Quirrell acknowledged Lex's proactive approach with a sharp nod. "And that I had not previously cast or could not now cast protego..." A slight sneer entered Lex's tone. He had nothing but disdain for their classmates who hadn't mastered the basic shield spell, and while the condescension earned him a tight-lipped frown from Bruce, he did agree failure to master the spell was a dangerous oversight. "I would attempt to end the spell's effects with finite incantem."
Bruce's gaze narrowed in thought. The ability to end the spell would depend on the speed of the effect.
Quirrell confimed it. "Confounding occurs nearly instantaneously. Even if the totalus version is used, leaving the affected aware that something isn't right with their thoughts, they'd be unlikely to be able to recall the termination spell to cast it." His attention settled on Bruce. "Mr. Wayne, you look pensive. Enlighten us."
Bruce set down his quill. "If one expected to be dueling with Dark wizards, it would be wise to drill finite incantem until it became the mind's reflexive response to being tampered with." Something to practice in Dueling club. "In the absence of such habit, I would counter the spell in a manner similar to that used in fighting the Imperio Curse."
Several students gasped at his mention of one of the three Unforgiveable Curses, and Chloe's shoulders stiffened. Quirrell, however, beamed. "Very good. Explain."
"The Imperio Curse overrides the subject's will. It can be thrown off if the will is strong enough. By analogy, sufficient clarity of mind should enable the subject to defeat Ververe's Confundus Charm."
Beside him, Lex snorted, muttering, "Too bad most of these sheep have trouble deciding what to eat for dinner."
Bruce slanted him an arch look, even while Quirrell followed up: "And how would you find that clarity, Mr. Wayne?"
"Meditation. Mantra. Personal touchstones. Focus on irrefutable truth. Each of us has core beliefs that no amount of persuasion can change. I would begin there and follow that outward."
"Like Theseus in the labyrinth with Ariadne's red yarn, yes. Can you give us an example?"
My parents were killed by Death-Eaters. "What is truth for me would be meaningless to other students. I would prefer not to."
For the first time in sixteen hours, Chloe's shoulders loosened. She didn't look at him, but he knew if he saw her expression, it would be the soft-eyed oh, Bruce look she always gave him when conversation drew too near that topic. Lex winced, and Professor Quirrell's face drew into a pinched frown, but he didn't press.
"Well, class, Mr. Wayne has the right of it. We'll spend the rest of the session practicing. Know your own minds. Anything of which you are sufficiently certain can serve as a beginning."
Wand raised, Quirrell performed the complicated motions of the modified charm. "Confundus totalus en masse."
A dense fog blanketed Bruce's thoughts. Incorrect, and that could not be permitted. What had happened?
Death-eaters killed my parents. And he had come to be raised by Alfred, then sent to Hogwarts to study. There he'd become reacquainted with Oliver Queen, his friend, and met Chloe Sullivan, now his girlfriend, and Lex Luthor, whose loathing of the Dark Arts near rivaled his own.
Oliver and he had been awkward with each other, Chloe was upset with him, but he and Lex has been in perfect accord while their new Dark Arts professor lectured them on the Confundus Charm.
Death-Eaters killed my parents.
The lesson snapped back into focus, and Professor Quirrell sat watching him, intense curiosity on his face. "You Confounded us," Bruce said, certain.
"Correct, Mr. Wayne. Well done. Now help your partner."
Bruce didn't waste time with satisfaction. He leaned over to Lex, whose face twisted in a frustrated scowl, and spoke quietly in his ear. It was no one's business but Lex's what lived in his heart. "Lionel Luthor."
Sharp shock cleared Lex's gaze, and a half-minute later, he shook his head. "Confundus totalus?"
Bruce nodded.
"Impressive, gentlemen. Five points to Slytherin. Mr. Wayne, you take the left half of the classroom, Mr. Luthor, the right. No spells. See what you can do for your classmates."
The fear in Chloe's eyes made Bruce want to protest the assignment. He could free her easily, but, though Lex made as careful study of their classmates as he, he had never understood Chloe.
Quirrell apparently knew more of them than Bruce supposed, because he said, "Left, Mr. Wayne, before I deduct those points again. Your girlfriend will suffer no lasting harm."
With a meaningful look at Lex, Bruce made his way to the other side of the room. Meg came free with a whispered, "Dean Winchester thinks you're beautiful," because bad blood between her family and the Gryffndor underclassman's could be counted on to rouse her sense of self. His Keeper, Mara Moghedien, cleared to the assertion that the Chudley Cannons had won their last six games; she loathed them.
"Enough, Mr. Wayne, Mr. Luthor," Quirrell chirped. "Let the others have a go at it. You two try Confounding each other."
They returned to their table, both casting concerned glances to where Chloe still struggled under the spell and Jasmine seemed to take perverse delight in not being able to help her. After several spell exchanges with Lex, each terminated faster than the last until neither could Confound the other at all, Bruce grew too concerned about the white around Chloe's eyes to let the matter sit.
"I'm having Alfred send pies by next post," he said, rather too loudly, to Lex. "I think Chloe would like rhubarb, don't you?" To anyone other than Chloe, it would seem harmless conversation between classmates, but Chloe was violently allergic to the tart vegetable.
Lex smirked. "Pie for your girlfriend? Really, Wayne, how positively sweet of you."
A half minute later, Chloe turned to look at them, soft smile curving her lips. "It is sweet, Bruce. Thank you." The emphasis in Chloe's voice was unmistakable, and Bruce allowed himself the satisfaction he'd suppressed earlier.
The sound of Lex's quill scratching pulled his gaze from Chloe's. His partner's notes now included a scrawled: Chloe loves/hates rhubarb. Find out. And that, his piercing intellect, made Lex worth having as an ally.
He favored Lex with an approving nod, but didn't disambiguate. And after class, in the broom closet by the stairs to the Slytherin dungeon, Chloe favored him with heated kisses and sure, quick strokes of her hand that brought him to shuddering release.
#
Part 2
Author: technosage
Pairings: Bruce/Chloe; Bruce/Oliver
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 11,129
Summary: Late night, accidental frottage at the end of fifth year left matters between Bruce and Oliver awkward. Unresolved tension, emotional strain, breaks in the routine they have come to count on make for a miserable week until a fight brings the situation to its perhaps inevitable head.
Chronology: Sixth year
"Well, if it isn't our esteemed Prefect come to grace us with his presence," Chloe interrupted Lex mid-sentence as Bruce approached. "Good morning, Bruce."
"Chloe, Lex." Bruce nodded a polite greeting before taking his accustomed seat beside Chloe at the precise midpoint of the wall-side of the Slytherin dining table where the entire hall could be viewed with ease.
"Nice badge you've got there." As ever, Lex missed outright snide by less than a hair. He practiced it, had been practicing it, since third year when Bruce had cast the Silencing Charm at him and refused to reverse it until Lex had promised - by nodding vigorously - to keep a civil tongue in his head.
Bruce ignored him. Wearing a "P" on one's chest entitled one to ignore the jibes of classmates, though Bruce would've done it without the badge. Because, as Oliver had been at pains to tell him last year, not only did "P" stand for "Prefect", but also for "Phallus," "Penis," and "Prick." All of which he had, according to Oliver, to be, to wish to be a Prefect.
Not that Bruce had wanted to be a Prefect; however, as Professor McGonagall had observed, good luck to anyone who'd been appointed Prefect over him.
It was precisely that attitude that had him composing Quidditch drills in his head, while listening with only half an ear while Lex and Chloe returned to comparing the relative merits of the Holyhead Harpies and the Falmouth Falcons. He had no need to pay attention, as his mind would supply him with the exact details of the conversation if he ever required them.
"What about you, Wayne, who do you think will take the British league this year? The Falcons or the Harpies?" From his tone, Lex believed Bruce would agree with him over Chloe who favored Holyhead.
As it happened, he didn't. "Neither. The Falcons' new Beater, Bernie Allston, earned more penalties with the Chudley Cannons than any other three players combined. That alone will cost them the championship. The Harpies' best Chaser, Serafina Sandoval, has been suspended for repeated, flagrant violations of the Muggle Protection Act."
Bruce sipped his tea, gaze scanning the room behind and over Lex's head, still bald, as the hair-thickening charms he'd tried over summer had done nothing but turn his eyebrows into a veil. "The Ballycastle Bats new Seeker, Tifa Lensman was Beaux-Baton's best in over a century, and they've got two new Beaters as well. The Appleby Arrows might beat them, if they stop getting carried away with their own press."
"Speaking of Quidditch players carried away with their own press," Lex muttered, put out; though being disturbed by incisive analysis when one gambled as much on Quidditch as Lex did made no sense. He ought to be grateful. "Your buddy, Ollie, seems to be stirring things up over at the Gryffindor table."
Taking a bite of her blueberry scone, Chloe rolled her eyes and shook her head at Lex. She gave him a pitying look Bruce recognized as meaning you never learn, do you?
Bruce's own expression held not a trace of pity. "I'm certain the Gryffindor Prefects are quite capable of managing the situation without your input." The growing commotion at the far end of the Slytherin table, on the other hand, required his. "If you'll excuse me, I need to see to matters of our own House."
He stood and swept away, robes swirling around his ankles. Behind him, Lex muttered something he didn't quite hear, and Chloe burst into peals of decidedly un-Slytherin sunshine and lemonade laughter. "It could be worse, Lex. At least he's polite when he bends you over."
The scene that greeted him at the end of the table did not, unfortunately, share the un-Slytherin but not at all unpleasant quality of Chloe's laughter. In fact, it partook entirely too freely of Slytherin traditions that Bruce disapproved and intended to bring to an immediate end. Being a Prefect did have its perks.
Two third years, Geoffrey Haddon and Samuel Mirke, from old, if not especially distinguished, wizarding families left off hazing a new Slytherin from an all-Hufflepuff family, Basil Eckleston, at Bruce's approach. "Good to see you, Bruce." Haddon implied an intimacy that Bruce did not share. His companion, choosing the wiser course, simply said, "Good morning."
Taking the empty seat next to Eckleston, Bruce gave the boy a polite smile. "I understand you're the first Slytherin in your family."
This set Haddon and Mirke to smirking.
"Yes, sir." Eckleston looked all Hufflepuff, except for the ambitious gleam in his eyes of which Bruce approved.
"Why do you think you were Sorted as a Slytherin, Basil?"
"Chess, sir."
"Chess." Not quite a question, but Bruce added a hint of an upward inflection to invite the boy to elaborate. The eyebrow he arched at Haddon and Mirke had them exchanging uncomfortable looks, and well it should, since they hadn't done their homework before picking a target.
Basil's chest and chin lifted a little in pride. "I'm the British junior champion at Wizarding Chess, sir. Have a match with the senior champion next month, and odds are 300-13 in my favor."
"What's chess got to do with anything?"
In his irritation, Haddon raised his voice, which earned him another arched eyebrow from Bruce before he turned his attention back to the younger boy. "Slytherins are expected to show proper respect to older Housemates. This means answering their questions." Even those that showed a complete lack of intelligence.
Of course, Haddon and Mirke needed the reminder more than Eckleston, who nodded, and sat quiet for a moment. That he organized his thoughts, selecting those to speak and those to set aside, was obvious to Bruce's eye from the soft focus on the salt cellar in front of him and the slight gnawing on his lower lip.
At length, Basil looked up again and met Haddon's gaze. "Chess requires the accurate prediction of possible outcomes based on variable sequences of moves, the probability of any one move dependent on not only the skill but also the style of the opponent. Winning requires selecting the most probable moves of the opponent and blocking them, while still advancing one's own game." He sought Bruce's gaze, and Bruce nodded confirmation. "I play to win."
"The Sorting Hat-" Bruce allowed his lips to curve into a sly half-smile that made Mirke wince and Haddon look downright miserable. "-is a chess player, and an excellent one, at that. You'll fit in very well, Eckleston, and I look forward to beating you in chess."
Because, of course, Bruce also played to win, and unlike most wizards, he excelled at logic. More to the point, the only player at Hogwarts who had ever come close to beating him was Oliver, and he and Oliver knew each others' game so well, it'd become very like playing himself.
Eckleston smiled, and his eyes held a hunger that said it would be a damned good game. "I guess we'll see, sir."
"It's just 'Bruce.'" As he stood, Bruce added almost as if an afterthought, though the conversation had gone precisely as he'd predicted, "There's more to being Slytherin than ambition, and I'm certain Sam and Geoff will help bring you up to speed." He fixed the two with a sharp glare. "They wouldn't want me to have to deduct points from the House for unacceptable behavior."
Mirke fell all over himself to say, "Of course, Bruce," even while Haddon protested they had too much work to take a first year under their wing.
Bruce cut them both off, crossing his arms over his chest. "I think six inches on the History of Slytherin House from you, Sam, and six from you, Geoff, on 'What it Means to be a Slytherin,' will be more than sufficient to give Basil a firm foundation. You'll have those in the Prefect's Office by tomorrow first bell, I'm sure. I'll see that copies are distributed to all of the first years, in fact. Thank you."
He met each gaze in turn, but his polite smile when he took his leave he directed at Eckleston. "Enjoy your breakfast, gentlemen."
Before he returned to his own breakfast, he informed Professor Snape of the arrangement, which earned him a sneering smile and a "Well done, Mr. Wayne." The other Slytherin Prefect, Meg Masters, was less sanguine, but he blocked the incipient tirade at his treatment of her favorites with a sharply worded reminder that Slytherins did not turn on other Slytherins.
In the ten minutes that passed total, word traveled the entire length of the table. The hunched shoulders and busy gazes that failed to meet his didn't bother him at all. That his tea had gotten cold, did.
Not bothering with his wand, Bruce focused on the tea in the cup. "Reparo."
Head cocking, Chloe gaze him a quizzical look. "I realize Charms is not my best subject, so maybe I'm missing something essential here, but… it's not broken, Bruce."
Bruce responded by opening his hand to direct her gaze to the pleasant curl of steam now rising from the cup. "Hot tea is meant to be hot." He knew six other spells that could've been used to heat the tea, including the hot air charm Dumbledore preferred, a heating spell, and a way to Transfigure cool tea into hot, but he hadn't needed a wand to use the restore charm since third year.
To Bruce, anything that did not fulfill its intended function was broken and could therefore be fixed with the charm. Anything not alive, anyhow.
Lex, being Lex, had to try it - using his wand, of course - but it didn't work for him, and his petulant scowl didn't get any less petulant with Oliver's copy of the Daily Prophet hitting the table next to him. The paper's mid-toss wobble landed it skew, from which, even if Bruce hadn't noted tension in Oliver's forearms and elbows, he'd have known whatever he'd been discussing with Clark and Diana hadn't gone Oliver's way.
"Kindly hold the witty comments for after I've sat down and they aren't watching anymore." Oliver directed his words at Chloe, who decamped her feet from the chair and pretended to hide a wicked smile behind her tea cup. With a glance along the table, he slid into the empty seat. "Well, judging from the expressions down at that end, either Lex has been singing or Bruce has already made someone cry. Since all of the glassware remains intact, I'll assume it was the latter." Oliver's smile when he met Bruce's gaze lacked its usual ease. "Enjoying the reins of absolute power, Bruce?"
Bruce ignored the jibe, since it had as much to do with Diana and Clark as it did with him
"So I assume your own flippant remarks call an end to the moratorium on witty comments?" Chloe smirked at Oliver. "Because I'd be interested to know what exactly has the heads of Gryffindor causing such a ruckus in the Great Hall."
Then she turned a coy smile on him. "What is it you call behavior like that, Bruce? Common?"
"There are a lot of things that are Common in this room, Chloe." Oliver gave Lex a challenging look, Lex sneered and Bruce scowled into his tea at the reopening of annual hostilities between the two. "We Gryffindors aren't one of them."
Setting his teacup down, Bruce collected Chloe's gaze. "I'd call it unseemly." Then, with a pointed look at Oliver, added, "All of it."
Lex had exactly enough desire for Bruce's approval not to gloat at seeing Oliver upbraided, but even so Bruce didn't miss the smirk he buried in his pumpkin juice.
Flippant as ever and anything but apologetic, Oliver merely grinned. Wrists and forearms fluid now that he'd regained his equilibrium, Oliver lifted his paper, folded it in half, and tossed Chloe an easy smile. "I see you've made yet another coup, Chloe. Goblin Cultural Reclamation in the Americas by Chloe Sullivan."
Her second article in the Daily Prophet. Bruce made a mental note to add five points to Slytherin's tally for the accomplishment and congratulate her later, but didn't interrupt Oliver, merely quirked an eyebrow at the animated reading he'd begun.
The article interested him less in its particulars than in Chloe's initiative and in Oliver's inflection as he added his own cynical humor to her witty asides. Even the manner in which he held the paper spoke of his affection for Chloe - no tension in his fingers, an almost sly cock of his wrist, forearm flexing as he tilted the paper to study the pictures.
Corded muscle caught and held Bruce's attention. His best friend had filled out over the summer, gained a few inches in height and at least twenty pounds of muscle, and it looked good on him. But for a moment, Bruce saw firelight shadows on that forearm. Not affection, but need, in the grip of agile fingers and in the body straining up against his.
"So tell me," Oliver's voice, teasing and wry, rather than hoarse and hungry, snapped Bruce's attention back to the present. Tipping his head in unconscious salute, Oliver smirked. "Are you trying to piss off the American Goblins or does it just make good copy?"
"A bit of both really." Chloe leaned across the table to pluck a strip of bacon off Oliver's plate. Oliver looked completely unfazed, and Bruce just shook his head at the two of them. "The entire idea is ridiculous," Chloe continued, doing what she probably thought of as nibbling pensively on the bacon but looked to Bruce like talking with her mouth full. "Goblin society has settled into an uneasy truce with the Wizarding world. And by uneasy, I mean extremely tenuous. Everyone knows there are smaller factions of Goblins working to subvert the Wizarding governments of the world."
Lex curled his lip in an ugly sneer. "Sounds like someone has been reading a bit too much Muggle science fiction."
Only one step from there to calling Chloe a mudblood, and Bruce wouldn't have that. He quashed Lex with a lift of his eyebrow, accompanied by the full-stop of his fork in mid-air. Lex looked away, and Bruce returned his attention to Oliver. "Continue."
Oliver looked up from his meal. "Hmm?"
More aware than ever of the elegance of Oliver's upbringing in the effortlessly gracious table manners he maintained for Bruce's benefit, of Oliver himself, Bruce nodded to the paper. "Continue reading…if you please."
Oliver's reading would assuage the tension Lex's caustic comment had reintroduced and direct attention away from Chloe's blood-status. That Bruce found it pleasant was entirely incidental.
#
"Well." Lex's mouth wore its nearly perpetual sneer, and his tone could've flayed the hide off a Hungarian horntail. "That was only marginally less boring than watching bubotubers grow."
While Bruce shared his assessment of Binns' teaching style, Lex's sense of entitlement grated; as did his sweeping dismissal of the deaths of good witches and wizards during Voldemort's first rise. "History is only boring for those who lack imagination."
A smallish, warm hand slid down his shoulder to his waist - Chloe, and Bruce turned to see the suppressed snicker in her eyes. Slytherins didn't turn on other Slytherins, and Lex had his uses, but neither he nor Chloe had much patience for his pretension. It was one of the many things Bruce appreciated about her.
Bruce pushed the door to the classroom open, holding it for Chloe to pass. "Interesting question about goblin allegiances. How does the answer track with what you learned for your article?"
"I didn't know you were so interested in goblins." Sly insinuation dripped from Lex's words, and Bruce scowled at the implication that he'd only asked because it was Chloe.
"Everything that has ramifications for a resurgence of Dark wizardry interests me." That asking permitted him to show Chloe that he valued her insights pleased him, but it hadn't been the reason that he'd asked.
Chloe's lips quirked. "Everything about everything interests Bruce, Lex. Each piece part of a larger puzzle. Haven't you figured that out yet?"
Another thing he liked about her: she understood how his mind worked, and to a not insignificant extent hers worked the same way.
Lex tired of being odd man out and headed off to Charms with a tight nod. Chloe turned back to Bruce, then lifted her shoulder in an amused shrug.
"I haven't had a chance to think it through, but it fits. The American goblins' renewed interest in their own heritage definitely suggests growing discontent with their second-class status. If You-Know-Who-"
"Voldemort." Bruce slanted her a chiding look. Superstitious refusal to name the Dark Lord wouldn't keep him away.
"If You-Know-Who," Chloe continued stubbornly, because unlike Lex, and rather like Oliver, she'd always felt free to keep her own counsel in the face of his disagreement, "sought sanctuary in the United States, it's likely the goblins would provide it, if he promised them a change in status. That would lead to-"
The warm sound of Oliver's laughter preceded him around the corner. He appeared to be sharing a joke with the fair-skinned, part Veela Icelandic witch, Tora Olafsdotter.
"Hold that thought, Bruce?" Chloe smiled up at him, hand on his arm, and he nodded. "Hey, Ollie!"
Oliver looked up, smile faltering and uncertainty flickering across his face when he glanced from Chloe to Bruce. Bruce arched an eyebrow in question, but Oliver wouldn't meet his gaze, and that bothered him. "Something I can do for you, Chloe?" All smiles and brown-eyed charm again, but Oliver's wrists stayed tense.
"Newspaper meeting tonight, don't forget!"
"Forget my weekly date with the most beautiful editor in the world?" His friend's lips curved into a wicked smile filled with playful innuendo. "Wouldn't dream of it."
Bruce's lips twitched into an almost smile of his own. For an instant, everything seemed right and correct, but Oliver didn't grin as he ought to, only gave him a quick once over before returning his full attention to Chloe. "Same time, I'm assuming?"
Chloe glanced from Oliver to Bruce, then shrugged, eyebrows high. "Yeah, same room, too, but I hear the staircase moved, so you might want to head out a bit early in case you get lost."
"No problem, gorgeous. If you'll excuse me, I promised Tora I'd walk her to class." Oliver leaned closer, offering a slyly intimate wink. "A gentleman's work is never done." Righting himself Oliver flicked his gaze towards Bruce again before he threaded his arm through Tora's, leading her towards Binns' classroom -- even though they had ten minutes left of break.
A surge of cold discomfort accompanied the perception of a complex web of connections dangling by several threads. Bruce suppressed his irrational anger at Oliver's behavior. After all, Bruce hadn't addressed him and he had no obligation to stay and talk. Particularly not, if, as it appeared, he'd taken an interest in Tora.
"Bruce?" When he turned his gaze back to Chloe she gave him a thoughtful look, unnecessary concern amplified by the gentleness of her hand on his wrist. "Everything okay?"
If anyone - Oliver always excepted because Oliver wasn't anyone, he was Oliver - had the right to ask him that question, it would be Chloe. Chloe who had been a constant in his life since the first day of first year when he'd explained the enchantments on Quaffles in precise detail and she'd asked the perceptive question of how they were stored. Chloe, who everyone including Chloe believed to be his girlfriend and who, to the extent he found that concept meaningful, actually was.
"P is for Prefect," Bruce answered, relying on all of that to carry the deception.
"And Prick," Chloe agreed with a very Chloe smile, the one that said whether she believed him or not, she accepted that he wouldn't discuss it.
One more piece of the puzzle of Bruce Wayne, Oliver Queen and Chloe Sullivan -- Bruce arched an eyebrow and she grinned.
Briefly. Then she cocked her head to look up at him. "Bruce, about the meeting tonight--"
"I won't be attending it, nor any, so long as I'm Prefect."
Her relief swept over him, palpable. "Oh, thank God. I wouldn't have cut you, you're the best fact-finder I have, but I've been having nightmares about distracting you from…" Eyes going wide, Chloe wagged her head. "To keep you from deducting points every time someone ditched class, snuck out, or lied."
She should've known better. Probably their relationship obstructed her ability to predict his reactions, though why he'd be any different because of sex, he had no idea. "I see no point to cultivating situations that will require me to deduct points from our House or watch-owl you."
He held his arm out for her books, because that was what one did for a girlfriend, and her expression softened, pink coloring her cheeks and brightening her eyes. Precisely as it had when she'd impulsively kissed him at the train station at the end of last year and he'd kissed back.
She set her books atop his, then stood, lower back and abdomen tense, fingers uncertainly plucking at her robe. Understanding the dilemma - he did know his propriety and distance complicated interactions with those closest to him, he lifted his elbow, offering his arm.
Sudden laughter broke her tension, and she ducked under his arm, wrapping hers around his waist. "I hope you're not planning to break off other things." Her purring emphasis and sly smirk conveyed her meaning with precision, straight to his groin. "Because that would be a shame, Mr. Wayne. I can't help thinking it be very Slytherin for a Prefect to cultivate an intimate relationship with the newspaper editor."
Eyebrow raised, he steered her down the empty passageway in which he'd convinced the stairs to do his bidding. He gave her a level look, though strictly speaking, she had a point. "Outwitting the prefects to engage in private activities-" dueling, plotting, sex, "-is a time-honored Slytherin tradition. As is not turning on other Slytherins."
Chloe elbowed him in the ribs. "So if I were a Gryffindor, you'd break it off between us?"
The combination of sex and Gryffindors wasn't one he wished to address. So when they turned the corner, he stepped into her. Her back nudged the castle stone; her lips parted in invitation, which he took and kissed her until they had to stop or risk being late for Charms.
By his design, she took that as his answer, and the breathy sounds the kiss provoked said she found it more than satisfactory.
#
Slytherin practice for Quidditch trials began on Tuesday. Bruce didn't believe in wasting time, and the trials themselves would be only be used to confirm his decisions made from scrimmage games with the hopefuls.
Chloe accompanied him and Lex to the pitch. As announcer, she needed the practices as much as the players to identify names and tactics. Her diligence usually pleased him.
Not this evening. The way she eyed his bandaged forearm made him grit his teeth. A condition not improved by Oliver's absence, conspicuous for it being the first of Bruce's practices he'd missed since Bruce made Chaser in second year.
"I can't believe Madame Pomfrey okayed you to play tonight." Her eyes flashed, as though challenging him.
Bruce scowled.
"Oh, stop it, Bruce. You're not invincible. That fire crab melted the skin off your arm. I saw it happen."
As if he needed reminding that he'd not improved his care of magical creatures over the summer.
Lex's snorted a nasty laugh. "Lay off, Chloe. If there's anyone less in need of your indignant mother-henning than Bruce, I've yet to meet him."
For that, he might've let Lex have his dick the way he'd been begging for since they left the States by portkey three days ago. Except gentlemanly upbringing insisted Bruce not tolerate him speaking to Chloe in that tone. Turning his head far too slowly to be incidental, Bruce leveled Lex with a meaningful look.
Mood far better than Bruce's, Lex blew it off, rolling his eyes. "It's your own damned fault, Wayne. You could've dropped that ridiculous farce of a class after you A'd your O.W.L. No one's going to die because you can't feed and clean a fire crab without getting burned."
Chloe's jaw tensed and she shot Lex a will you shut up? glare, and Bruce's mood took a turn for the positively foul. Oliver would've teased Chloe into laughter by baiting Lex, but Bruce's mouth flattened to a thin line. "Voldemort's Death-Eaters used fire crab shells for cauldrons."
Both of them flinched at his use of the name, but they bore it in silence. They knew better than to take him on when his consonants went crisp. Which served as one more unpleasant reminder of Oliver's absence. In his head, he could hear Oliver mocking, "And if Lord Voldemort's followers mistreated those poor innocent creatures, it's our beholden duty to protect them. Come off it, Bruce. You're not fooling anyone."
"Madame Pomfrey told me to keep my arm out of direct sunlight for twenty-four hours. Neither moonlight nor Quidditch appeared in her list of restricted activities."
Chloe threw up her hands and stormed off ahead of them, to which Lex shrugged as amiable as he ever was. "Fucking women has its drawbacks."
Stopping dead in his tracks, Bruce rounded on Lex. "It's a pity about Slytherin colors, Luthor. Green is ugly on you."
Lex's mouth curled into its familiar sneer. "There isn't enough gold in Gringotts-"
"Taste can't be bought. Nor breeding. Don't speak of Chloe that way."
"Or what, you'll Silence me again?" Lex snapped.
"Five points from Slytherin, Lex." His voice came out cold, completely lacking inflection. "If you think sneering at Chloe is going to get my dick back in your mouth, you'd better consult Vector's charts again."
Flush claimed Lex's face and his fist clenched to strike. "I don't-"
Bruce lifted an eyebrow. "Go gear up, and if anyone gets hit with a Bludger, you're out for the first two games."
#
No one got hit with a Bludger and by Wednesday's Defense against the Dark Arts class, matters between him and Lex had quite returned to normal. Which was to say, Lex worked to gain his approval, and he withheld it unless it suited him to do otherwise.
The situation with Chloe, however, had not improved. She'd studied on the opposite side of the Slytherin Common Room after practice, had rolled her eyes at him when he'd tried to speak to her at breakfast, and had eaten lunch with Clark of all people. Now, she'd paired up with Jasmine Ayers, one of Meg's friends, for class.
Not that he and Chloe would've partnered for Defense Against the Dark Arts anyhow. On this one, critical thing, he and Lex had perfect accord, and as such, had worked together since the first year. But Jasmine's parents had both been Death-Eaters, and, unlike Lex, she had made no effort to distance herself from them.
Chloe probably believed she could ferret out Jasmine's loyalties by pairing with her, but while he appreciated the initiative, Bruce didn't like Chloe mixing herself up with Meg's lot. Lex apparently shared his assessment, because he flicked his gaze to the pair and lifted an eyebrow in question.
Bruce kept his commentary to a scowl, but he would monitor the situation.
The new Dark Arts professor, Quirrell by name, cleared his throat, summoning Bruce's attention to the lecture he now, haltingly, began. In any other class, his pale face and nervous mannerisms would occasion sneering editorial commentary from Lex, but he listened in silence, quill flashing over paper until he'd accumulated several inches of notes.
Bruce also took notes, but out of discipline, rather than true need, as his eidetic memory rendered them unnecessary. Still, it kept his focus on the classroom rather than on why he wouldn't be sharing his concerns about Chloe's choices with Oliver over dinner.
After explaining the Confundus Charm and expansions developed by Dark Wizard Tauron Ververe during Voldemort's war, Quirrell stopped twisting his hands to lift his class roster. His gaze fell on Lex, returned to the roster in search of his name, and then he looked up again with a twitchy smile. "Mr., ah, Luthor, supposing I were to cast Ververe's Confundus totalus spell at you. How would you combat that?"
Lex tapped his quill on the desk once, then leaned forward on his elbow, quill raised. In that moment, Bruce saw the man he would become. Polished, powerful and dangerous - only the question 'to whom' remained to be answered. It would be a simple matter for Lex's determination to define himself in opposition to his father to become a need to best him; that knowledge, more than anything, compelled Bruce to maintain their friendship, such as it was. As long as Lex sought his approval, he wouldn't turn to the Dark Arts.
"Assuming I were not fast enough to disarm you with expelliarmus…" Quirrell acknowledged Lex's proactive approach with a sharp nod. "And that I had not previously cast or could not now cast protego..." A slight sneer entered Lex's tone. He had nothing but disdain for their classmates who hadn't mastered the basic shield spell, and while the condescension earned him a tight-lipped frown from Bruce, he did agree failure to master the spell was a dangerous oversight. "I would attempt to end the spell's effects with finite incantem."
Bruce's gaze narrowed in thought. The ability to end the spell would depend on the speed of the effect.
Quirrell confimed it. "Confounding occurs nearly instantaneously. Even if the totalus version is used, leaving the affected aware that something isn't right with their thoughts, they'd be unlikely to be able to recall the termination spell to cast it." His attention settled on Bruce. "Mr. Wayne, you look pensive. Enlighten us."
Bruce set down his quill. "If one expected to be dueling with Dark wizards, it would be wise to drill finite incantem until it became the mind's reflexive response to being tampered with." Something to practice in Dueling club. "In the absence of such habit, I would counter the spell in a manner similar to that used in fighting the Imperio Curse."
Several students gasped at his mention of one of the three Unforgiveable Curses, and Chloe's shoulders stiffened. Quirrell, however, beamed. "Very good. Explain."
"The Imperio Curse overrides the subject's will. It can be thrown off if the will is strong enough. By analogy, sufficient clarity of mind should enable the subject to defeat Ververe's Confundus Charm."
Beside him, Lex snorted, muttering, "Too bad most of these sheep have trouble deciding what to eat for dinner."
Bruce slanted him an arch look, even while Quirrell followed up: "And how would you find that clarity, Mr. Wayne?"
"Meditation. Mantra. Personal touchstones. Focus on irrefutable truth. Each of us has core beliefs that no amount of persuasion can change. I would begin there and follow that outward."
"Like Theseus in the labyrinth with Ariadne's red yarn, yes. Can you give us an example?"
My parents were killed by Death-Eaters. "What is truth for me would be meaningless to other students. I would prefer not to."
For the first time in sixteen hours, Chloe's shoulders loosened. She didn't look at him, but he knew if he saw her expression, it would be the soft-eyed oh, Bruce look she always gave him when conversation drew too near that topic. Lex winced, and Professor Quirrell's face drew into a pinched frown, but he didn't press.
"Well, class, Mr. Wayne has the right of it. We'll spend the rest of the session practicing. Know your own minds. Anything of which you are sufficiently certain can serve as a beginning."
Wand raised, Quirrell performed the complicated motions of the modified charm. "Confundus totalus en masse."
A dense fog blanketed Bruce's thoughts. Incorrect, and that could not be permitted. What had happened?
Death-eaters killed my parents. And he had come to be raised by Alfred, then sent to Hogwarts to study. There he'd become reacquainted with Oliver Queen, his friend, and met Chloe Sullivan, now his girlfriend, and Lex Luthor, whose loathing of the Dark Arts near rivaled his own.
Oliver and he had been awkward with each other, Chloe was upset with him, but he and Lex has been in perfect accord while their new Dark Arts professor lectured them on the Confundus Charm.
Death-Eaters killed my parents.
The lesson snapped back into focus, and Professor Quirrell sat watching him, intense curiosity on his face. "You Confounded us," Bruce said, certain.
"Correct, Mr. Wayne. Well done. Now help your partner."
Bruce didn't waste time with satisfaction. He leaned over to Lex, whose face twisted in a frustrated scowl, and spoke quietly in his ear. It was no one's business but Lex's what lived in his heart. "Lionel Luthor."
Sharp shock cleared Lex's gaze, and a half-minute later, he shook his head. "Confundus totalus?"
Bruce nodded.
"Impressive, gentlemen. Five points to Slytherin. Mr. Wayne, you take the left half of the classroom, Mr. Luthor, the right. No spells. See what you can do for your classmates."
The fear in Chloe's eyes made Bruce want to protest the assignment. He could free her easily, but, though Lex made as careful study of their classmates as he, he had never understood Chloe.
Quirrell apparently knew more of them than Bruce supposed, because he said, "Left, Mr. Wayne, before I deduct those points again. Your girlfriend will suffer no lasting harm."
With a meaningful look at Lex, Bruce made his way to the other side of the room. Meg came free with a whispered, "Dean Winchester thinks you're beautiful," because bad blood between her family and the Gryffndor underclassman's could be counted on to rouse her sense of self. His Keeper, Mara Moghedien, cleared to the assertion that the Chudley Cannons had won their last six games; she loathed them.
"Enough, Mr. Wayne, Mr. Luthor," Quirrell chirped. "Let the others have a go at it. You two try Confounding each other."
They returned to their table, both casting concerned glances to where Chloe still struggled under the spell and Jasmine seemed to take perverse delight in not being able to help her. After several spell exchanges with Lex, each terminated faster than the last until neither could Confound the other at all, Bruce grew too concerned about the white around Chloe's eyes to let the matter sit.
"I'm having Alfred send pies by next post," he said, rather too loudly, to Lex. "I think Chloe would like rhubarb, don't you?" To anyone other than Chloe, it would seem harmless conversation between classmates, but Chloe was violently allergic to the tart vegetable.
Lex smirked. "Pie for your girlfriend? Really, Wayne, how positively sweet of you."
A half minute later, Chloe turned to look at them, soft smile curving her lips. "It is sweet, Bruce. Thank you." The emphasis in Chloe's voice was unmistakable, and Bruce allowed himself the satisfaction he'd suppressed earlier.
The sound of Lex's quill scratching pulled his gaze from Chloe's. His partner's notes now included a scrawled: Chloe loves/hates rhubarb. Find out. And that, his piercing intellect, made Lex worth having as an ally.
He favored Lex with an approving nod, but didn't disambiguate. And after class, in the broom closet by the stairs to the Slytherin dungeon, Chloe favored him with heated kisses and sure, quick strokes of her hand that brought him to shuddering release.
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Part 2