Disruption (Riddler/Scarecrow, Hogwarts!AU)

    “Hey, Jonathan.”
    The words fade into existence in the margin of his enchanted notebook, emerald green and dripping with mischief. He looks up, over the heads of all the others taking notes from the blackboard, McGonagall lecturing away—totally oblivious to the brewing storm. Edward isn’t hard to spot, his bright ginger hair flaming out amid muted brown and black and blond. He’s grinning.
    “Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t,” Jonathan scrawls in the space where Nigma’s message has just been. The words fade into the parchment within seconds. He doesn’t dare look over again, can only wait for the next message.
    “Watch this.”
    Jonathan fumes silently.
    “I will not. I don’t want to witness whatever you’re planning.”
    The lesson is totally forgotten—it’s fortunate that he and Edward learned it on their own weeks ago.
    “Oh come on Jonathan.”
    “I will not come on.”
    “Look at me.”
     He sighs, humors the ginger, and wishes he hadn’t.
    “Those eyes won’t work on me.”
    “Yes they will.”
    “No they won’t.”
    “Please?”
    He pauses, sighs, hating himself a little.
    “….fine.”
    “Great!”
    “What do you need me to do?”
    “Just hold your breath when I tell you.”
    That bodes ill. But Jonathan humors him, when the emerald green ‘now!’ fades onto his page he takes a deep breath, holds it. Within seconds there’s a loud blast and the room fills with violet smoke. Jonathan feigns surprise, amid the sudden panic no one notices that there are two people who aren’t shouting. He watches the page, trying to keep calm in the face of eminent punishment and oxygen deprivation.
    “Breathe.”
    He tries not to gasp for air but is nonetheless relieved, good—albeit strangely sweet-smelling—air flooding his lungs. Everyone, himself included, looks around curiously, wondering what—if any—effects this strange smoke has.
    And then the laughter begins. Not from Edward, but from a short, dark-haired girl in the back row. Not a giggle, not a relieved chuckle, a hysterical cackle that goes on and on until another begins to chuckle. And then another, and another, until a good three-quarters of the class is laughing uncontrollably. All eyes, those not blinded by tears of laughter and quite possibly terror, turn not to Edward, but to Jack ‘the Joker’ in the back row. He’s laughing too, but it’s clear that his is entirely voluntary.
    McGonagall is furious. Her shouts of “absolutely inexcusable” and “blatant disregard for common courtesy” echo off the stone walls so much that Jonathan can’t tell exactly what is being said. But the premise is clear: she, like anyone not in the loop would, blames Joker. For once, he isn’t laughing anymore. He isn’t even smiling. He looks murderous.
    Jonathan fights to keep the grin from his own face as he glances toward Edward.
    “That,” he scrawls hastily, “Was stupid.”
    He pauses for a moment, then adds,
    “…And genius.”
    Edward glances down, his grin faltering, then spreading wider.
    “I try.”