Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was a new feeling, a feeling that consumed him like an intoxicating flame, something he had never experienced before.

Damian made him feel this way, and the credit belonged entirely to him.

The way Damian made him walk a tightrope toward an uncertain destination was both terrifying and thrilling in equal measure.

He wanted more; he wanted to feel it more and more.

He wanted to lose himself in the limbo of those pistachio-green eyes staring back at him with an almost pure devotion—as if he were the center of the world, as if nothing else around them mattered but the two of them.

And, in fact, it didn't.

What mattered was that very moment: the two of them looking at each other, the way Damian lowered his gaze for a few seconds, staring at his lips, before looking back up into his eyes as if seeking silent permission.

Harry caught his breath. 

This was new—incredibly new. 

And now, it didn't seem so terrifying anymore.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His voice caught in his throat, along with everything he wanted to say—words that perhaps only magic could explain, or something lost in Damian's Arabic vocabulary.

He gasped softly, then knit his brows as the dark-haired boy tightened the grip on his waist.

A smirk played on Damian's lips, and for a moment, Harry compared his eyes to those of a black cat.

"What's the matter, Gatuno? Did I leave you breathless... or just speechless?" Damian teased.

Harry felt his face flush a vibrant red at the provocation.

Harry's silence was the loudest answer Damian could have ever wished for. 

The wizard could feel his own magic tingling beneath his skin, reacting to the electric proximity of the Wayne heir.

When he finally found a thread of his voice, it came out raspier than he intended.

"You know exactly what you're doing, Damian," Harry murmured, his hands rising hesitantly to the other's shoulders, feeling the rigid muscles beneath the training gear. "You're a strategist. You planned this effect on me, didn't you?"

Damian let out a low sound, somewhere between a chuckle and a purr, leaning in even closer and eliminating the scant space left between them.

The heat radiating from him contrasted sharply with the gothic chill that always seemed to lurk in the corners of the manor.

"I don't plan chaos, Harry. I master it," Damian corrected, his voice vibrating inches from Harry's lips. "But with you... there are no plans. There is only this stupid gravity pulling me in your direction."

He took a step forward, forcing Harry to back up until his spine met the cold stone wall of the Batcave.

The contrast between the freezing rock and the warmth of Damian's body drew another gasp from Harry.

Damian seized the moment to slide one hand from Harry's waist to his face, his thumb tracing the line of his jawline with a gentleness that belied his violent nature.

If he hadn't wanted to kiss Damian before, now he wanted it more than anything else.

"You look at me as if I'm a riddle to be solved," Damian whispered, his pistachio-green eyes gleaming with a predatory intensity. "But I am merely your Násl. If you want me to stop, you'll have to use more than words. You'll have to push me away."

Harry held his gaze and knew, in that very instant, that he would never possess enough willpower to push him away.

Instead, he closed his eyes and tilted his head slightly, surrendering to Damian's silent dominance.

In response, Damian brought his lips closer, as if hesitating. 

The smile that broke across his face at that gesture was an unexpected confirmation—something he hadn't anticipated.

Then, he pressed his lips against Harry's. 

It was quick.

There was no time to deepen the kiss, nor to express everything he harbored and felt for the wizard in that single contact.

But the touch came heavy with a promise: there would be much more ahead.

The tingling, the weightlessness they both felt at the exact same time after that brief brush of lips…

It was overwhelming.

He wanted more.

They wanted more.

And there would have been more, if Dick and Stephanie hadn't arrived at that exact moment, staring at the two of them with utterly dumbfounded expressions.

Of the four, the first—and only—one to burst into historical laughter was Stephanie.

Dick shot her a sidelong glance, silently begging her to control herself, while Damian glared at his siblings with a thoroughly hostile expression, muttering curses in Arabic.

And Harry? He turned as red as a tomato, completely flushed, but the foolish grin on his face betrayed that he didn't mind in the slightest.

Yes, he was disappointed by the interruption—he was just mentally thanking God it was Dick and Stephanie, and not his father.

Damian didn't back away completely. Even with his siblings' invasive presence, he kept a possessive hand on Harry's waist, as if planting a flag on conquered territory, daring anyone to question him.

"Unless you have an apocalypse-level emergency to report, I suggest you get out of here before I decide to use you as target practice for the new daggers my grandfather sent me," Damian hissed, his eyes flashing a shade of green that would make kryptonite itself look dull.

"Oh, forgive me, Your Highness!" Stephanie cried through her laughter, wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of her eye. "We only came to tell you that dinner is ready, but it looks like you were already served... dessert?"

"Stephanie!" Dick scolded, though an amused glint entered his blue eyes as he looked at Harry. "Let the kid breathe. You're going to make him pass out from embarrassment."

Harry, whose face could now easily be mistaken for a ripe tomato, tried to fix his hair, which was slightly disheveled from both the training and Damian's proximity.

"I... I'm fine," Harry stammered, forcing a smile that, despite his shyness, carried a spark of genuine happiness. "We were just... training our reflexes."

"Reflexes, right." Dick stepped forward, crossing his arms with the smirk of a proud older brother. "The famous Al Ghul Extreme Proximity Training. A classic, Harry. Don't feel bad, Damian has always been a dedicated student."

"Very dedicated," Stephanie agreed. "The next step in this training program is marriage."

Damian let out a low growl, but Harry noticed that the tips of the Wayne boy's ears were slightly red.

The predatory aura from seconds ago had been replaced by the defensive irritation typical of someone caught in a moment of vulnerability.

"Get out. Now," Damian ordered.

"So soon, little demon? I wanted to spend some time with my brother-in-law too," Dick teased with a grin, while Stephanie muffled her laughter.

"He's officially a 'Wayne' now, you have to let the rest of the family spend time with him," Stephanie said.

Half a second later, Damian stepped away from Harry toward a workbench and hurled two daggers right at his siblings.

Harry's eyes widened as he saw the blades fly, but he was even more surprised when Stephanie ducked masterfully and Dick caught them mid-air as if it were just part of their daily routine.

"We're leaving!" Stephanie raised her hands in surrender, starting to walk backward toward the exit. "But Harry, a word of advice from a 'sister-in-law': watch out for his teeth. He bites."

With one last laugh, she yanked Dick by the arm, letting the silence of the Batcave gradually return—though now it was tinged with a residual energy of shyness and interrupted desire.

Damian sighed, closing his eyes for a moment to regain his composure before turning his attention back to Harry.

The fierce look softened instantly upon meeting the wizard's green eyes.

"I'm going to kill them," Damian promised, but his voice was now low and gentle. "Slowly."

"Don't kill them, Damy," Harry laughed softly, stepping closer and gathering the courage to intertwine his fingers with Damian's. "They're fun. And... she's right about one thing."

"About what?" Damian arched an eyebrow.

"I wouldn't mind if you bit," Harry whispered, his audacity returning with a vengeance.

Damian's jaw tightened, staring at him with a dangerous mix of shock and admiration.

Harry knew his father had heard it, but he couldn't care less about that piece of information.

Still, he could hear the audible choke Clark gave, followed seconds later by rushed footsteps echoing through the manor.

The footsteps didn't belong to his father. 

And from yesterday to today, Harry could already identify with precision exactly who each stride inside that house belonged to.

And he knew that this time, it wasn't Dick or Stephanie.

Because of that, two seconds later, he looked in the direction where Jason was emerging.

Damian merely extended his arm in a subtle gesture, casting a look loaded with disgust toward his brother.

As soon as Jason turned and saw them, a smug smirk spread across his face—the typical smile of someone who had just won the lottery.

"Looks like the party's lively down here and I missed the invitation," Jason commented, stopping at a safe distance, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. "I heard metal hitting the wall and thought, 'Either Damian finally lost his mind, or the little wizard decided to fight back.'"

He alternated his gaze between the dagger embedded in the wall—the one Stephanie had dodged—and Harry's hand still intertwined with Damian's.

Jason's smirk widened, becoming almost predatory in its own way.

"And from what I just heard from upstairs..." Jason tilted his head, pointing to the ceiling in a clear reference to Clark's hearing.

"Super-Dad is about two seconds away from smashing through the concrete to carry Harry right back to Metropolis. You're brave, kid. Fishing for compliments from Robin right in front of a man who can hear grass grow? That is League of Shadows level of suicide.

Damian took a step forward, partially positioning himself in front of Harry, his eyes narrowing.

"Todd, if you came down here to be the narrator of my personal life, know that the Lazarus Pit does not cure decapitation," Damian hissed.

"Relax, short-round. I only came to grab my gear. The front-row gossip was just a bonus," Jason winked at Harry, completely ignoring his younger brother's fury. "But seriously, Harry… if you want to survive dinner without Clark turning Damian into an ice cube with his freeze breath, I suggest using some of that 'diplomacy magic' of yours to wipe that smirk off his face. It’s pretty obvious what you two were doing."

Harry let out a nervous laugh, feeling his face burn all over again, but he didn't let go of Damian's hand. On the contrary, he stepped to the side, moving out of the Wayne boy's protective shadow to face Jason.

He knew that hadn't exactly been a kiss—not even a real peck. 

Dick and Stephanie had interrupted before anything could deepen.

 In truth, he hadn't even had the chance to experience a real first kiss yet.

So, yes. He was disappointed in everyone.

"My dad knows I'm not a kid anymore, Jason," Harry said, despite the slight tremor in his voice.

 "And Damian is an excellent instructor. Of reflexes… and other things."

Jason burst into a loud laugh that echoed through the cave.

"'Other things.' I am definitely saving that one."

"Get out of here, Jason!" Damian exclaimed, grabbing a third dagger from the workbench.

"I'm going, I'm going!" Jason raised his hands in surrender, laughing as he backed away. "See you guys at dinner. I'm sitting right next to Clark, just to watch the vein on his forehead pop every time Damian breathes near you."

When Jason finally vanished into the shadows of the cave, the remaining silence grew heavier, charged with the anticipation of the inevitable confrontation waiting upstairs.

Damian turned to Harry, his expression softening, though it still carried a latent possessiveness. 

He brought his free hand to Harry's neck, his fingers brushing the skin where, seconds ago, Stephanie had suggested there might be a mark.

"You are very audacious for a wizard who hasn't even finished his fourth year, Gatuno," Damian murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "Provoking your father like that… you know he could pose a problem for us."

"He's my dad, Damy. He loves me," Harry smiled, leaning in close enough for their noses to almost touch. "And he knows that if I choose you, there is nothing in the world—not even his strength—that will make me change my mind."

Damian felt a jolt shoot down his spine.

 That purity mixed with Harry's determination was what disarmed him the most. 

He wasn't used to being chosen so directly, so intensely.

"So…" Damian whispered, his hand on Harry's waist tightening slightly against the fabric of his shirt. "About that suggestion of yours… about me biting…"

Harry caught his breath, his green eyes gleaming in the dim light of the Batcave.

"Can dinner wait five minutes?"

Damian smiled—the smirk of a black cat that had just found the cream.

"Dinner can wait all night."

But before they could touch again, Alfred's cold, mechanical, and omnipresent voice echoed through the cave's loudspeakers:

"Master Damian. Master Harry. Mr. Kent is currently gripping a silver fork tightly enough to begin melting it. I suggest you come upstairs immediately, unless you wish for Wayne Manor to require structural remodeling before dessert."

Harry and Damian traded a look.

 The moment had passed, but the promise in both their eyes remained absolute.

"Let's go," Damian sighed, releasing Harry reluctantly. "Before the 'Man of Steel' decides I am a planetary-level villain."

"He won't," Harry laughed, pulling Damian toward the elevator. "But maybe you should avoid asking him to pass the salt tonight."

Before they had even taken twenty steps, Damian suddenly stopped. 

He knit his brows, and a scowl of pure disgust washed over his face. Harry noticed Damian's heartbeat quicken slightly, right as he squeezed his hand in a possessive grip.

Harry recognized the feeling immediately:

jealousy.

But jealousy over what, exactly?

"What did you mean by 'if I choose you'?" Damian's gaze made Harry realize, in that exact instant, that he had phrased things poorly. 

Now, Damian believed there was someone else.

No, there wasn't anyone else.

Before, maybe there had been someone… but that would be a massive headache right now. 

Should he tell him about his old crush?

Yes.

But not right now.

There was something in his chest that made him feel like if he spoke about it at this moment, he would be taking the blame for a loss that still hurt too much to name.

"Are you interested in someone from your school?" Damian asked directly the moment he noticed the other's lack of an answer.

Harry took a deep breath and bit his lip. 

It wasn't that he wanted to hide something from Damian, but he was fully aware that was exactly what it looked like.

"Well… it wasn't exactly liking them, I think," Harry ran a hand through his hair, embarrassed. "But I do think he's quite handsome. People say he's attractive…"

Damian blinked only twice before letting out the breath he didn't even know he was holding.

"Who is he, Harry?" he asked. He wanted a name, and Harry could tell.

Harry looked into Damian's eyes and realized that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to tell him something like this… right?

"I just thought he was handsome and I did feel, well, attracted to him," Harry said calmly, squeezing Damian's hand and smiling. "But he's dating someone. And he's just a friend. He's in the Triwizard Tournament too."

"A friend… he's in the tournament. What is his name?" Damian repeated the question, and Harry closed his eyes momentarily.

"Diggory. Cedric Diggory," he answered after half a second. "He helped me figure out the riddle for the second task of the tournament, but my friends don't really like him."

"They don't? And why is that?" A smirk formed on Damian's lips in a way that made Harry realize it wasn't a good sign.

"Hermione told me once that he flirts with me even though he has a girlfriend, and that the shoes he put on my feet were also a way of flirting."

"You accepted shoes from him?"

"No. Well, I didn't have much of a choice."

Damian took a deep breath, then smiled sweetly at Harry.

Soon, he placed his hand on the wizard's face, massaging his cheeks before gently resting his forehead against Harry's.

"I am going to kill him, Saher."

Harry sighed.

In other words, he didn't feel much pity for Cedric at that moment—in fact, he didn't feel any at all—because of Damian.

It felt as though the world shut down around them, and Harry only wanted to stay right there.

To stay in that moment, in Damian's world.

And maybe he really had fallen for Damian, which was a little crazy. 

He had known him for less than a week and had already shared a peck with him.

But at that moment, Damian looked at him.

His gaze was calm, filled with a love that was reserved solely for Harry, while his mind was already searching for families with the surname Diggory.

Damian was going to kill Cedric. 

He was certain it would happen sooner or later, and the more time passed, the more ways he found to do it.

Harry was his and his alone. 

He was his Saher, and men like Cedric needed to know that.

Now he had to find Cedric and set a shoe on fire.

And who on earth was named Cedric anyway? Only an idiot like that would dare give his own shoes to his Qalbi.

*******

*******

In the end, Clark wouldn't be staying for dinner.

Bruce Wayne had reserved a table at LeMarvin Bistro, located in the prestigious district of New Troy.

Stephanie announced it in the living room as she appeared alongside Damian on their way to the dining table. It was a contemporary French restaurant with a modern twist that, while luxurious, offered a far more intimate and romantic atmosphere than the grand hotel dining halls.

All of it had been arranged so that his father and Lois could have a moment to themselves.

Harry felt a mixture of relief and anxiety. On one hand, he was happy that his father would have a normal evening, away from capes and global conspiracies. On the other, he knew that, without Clark around, Damian's "filter" would disappear completely.

Bruce and Clark exchanged one final handshake in the entrance hall. Bruce wore that enigmatic half-smile of someone who knew he had just won a round of chess by removing Superman from the board for a few hours.

"Enjoy yourself, Clark. LeMarvin has an excellent wine cellar," Bruce said with almost cruel precision. "And don't worry about Harry. Damian will make sure he doesn't break anything... or that nothing breaks him."

Clark gave Harry a long look before turning an even sharper one toward Damian, who met his stare with almost regal insolence.

"Harry, go to bed early," Clark said, looking his son straight in the eyes. "Lock your bedroom door... or sleep in mine."

"Dad, why are you saying that all of a sudden?" Harry asked, visibly puzzled.

"I heard it," Clark replied a few seconds later.

"Oh." That explained a lot. "It was just a peck, Dad."

"Just a peck? I was talking about you telling him he could bite you, but there was a peck too?" Clark took a deep breath and looked at Damian standing beside his son.

Clark appeared to be going through the five stages of grief at record speed. He looked toward Bruce as though begging the billionaire to intervene, but Wayne merely adjusted his wristwatch, suddenly seeming deeply interested in the chauffeur's punctuality.

"A peck is the beginning of the end, Harry," Clark muttered, his voice carrying the same dramatic weight he usually reserved for alien invasions. "And as for the... the 'biting'... I don't even have the words to describe how dangerous that sounds to the structural integrity of a Kent neck."

Sensing that Clark was on the verge of canceling his evening just to stand guard outside Harry's bedroom, Damian stepped forward. He clasped his hands behind his back, adopting a respectful posture that Harry knew was ninety percent acting.

"Mr. Kent, the restaurant has a strict policy regarding late arrivals. Lois Lane is a patient woman, but even the world's greatest journalist has her limits." Damian inclined his head slightly. "Harry will be safe. You have my word of honor as an Al Ghul."

"That's exactly the 'Al Ghul' part that worries me," Clark shot back, sending Harry another deeply concerned look. "I don't approve of this. You haven't even known each other for a week."

"Dad, you and Mom only met in person once, and I was practically conceived that very same day. So why is a peck—or even a bite—such a big deal?" Harry asked, only to hear Tim mutter from somewhere in the background that he was definitely following in his father's footsteps.

The atmosphere in the manor's entrance hall was an odd blend of relief and impending chaos. Harry could still feel the warmth of Clark's crushing hug, but the reality of everything was taking time to sink in.

"Harry, my son. You're fourteen years old, and you're telling me you wouldn't mind if he bit you?" Clark inhaled deeply twice, his chest swelling in a way that would make any intergalactic villain think twice before picking a fight, before giving his son a stern warning glance.

"Dad, you're talking as if it would leave a mark," Harry replied a couple of seconds later, trying to use logic against the Man of Steel. "I'm your son. No matter what Damian does, it won't leave a mark. My skin is... well, you know."

He said it so casually that it took him several moments to notice the deathly silence that had fallen over the room. Stephanie's eyes widened, Dick covered his mouth with one hand, and Jason let out a low whistle.

"I'll take that as a challenge," Damian said after nearly thirty seconds of complete silence, staring Clark directly in the eyes with a level of audacity bordering on insanity.

"Bruce, I'm going to throw your son into space," Clark threatened in a dangerously calm voice.

He wouldn't actually do it, of course, but the mental image was immensely satisfying at that particular moment.

"Dad!" Harry cried, his face now as red as Superman's cape.

"Let them be, Clark. They're just teenagers living their lives," Bruce intervened with the calm composure of someone who had dealt with the Joker and Bane before breakfast. He gestured elegantly toward the front door. "Or are you planning to keep Lois waiting at the restaurant? LeMarvin doesn't tolerate late arrivals—not even award-winning reporters."

Clark stared at Bruce before turning his icy gaze back to Damian, looking as though he wanted to freeze him solid with a single glance.

Finally, he looked back at Harry, and his expression softened instantly, becoming that of the kind-hearted father from Smallville once more.

"Fine, but listen," he relented hesitantly as he walked toward the exit. Before crossing the threshold, he pointed two fingers at his own eyes and then at Damian. "My ears are going to be listening to everything. Every. Single. Sound."

"You got it, father-in-law," Damian teased, the words dripping with almost sadistic satisfaction as he wrapped an arm around Harry's waist and pulled him closer. Both Damian and Harry could hear Bruce's barely restrained chuckle echoing behind them.

In one last burst of determination, Clark firmly pushed Damian aside and pulled Harry into a tight embrace. Judging by the strength of the hug, it looked more like a farewell before an endless war than a simple two-hour dinner.

In the end, however, he sighed, defeated by the clock and by the fact that Lois was already waiting for him. He kissed the top of Harry's head.

"If anything happens, call me. And I mean anything. If he so much as breathes too close to your ear, I'll be back at Mach 5."

Fifteen minutes later, the engine of the car carrying Clark away had become nothing more than a distant hum echoing through Gotham's streets. Harry blinked, still trying to process how quickly everything had unfolded.

"Wait a second... did Bruce just kick my dad out?" Harry asked, staring at the closed front door.

"If by 'kick out' you mean booking a five-star restaurant, paying for everything, and arranging a romantic evening with his 'coworker' who's clearly much more than just a coworker..." Cassandra, who had remained completely silent in the shadows until now, took a slow breath before meeting Harry's eyes. "Then yes. He absolutely kicked your father out."

Harry opened his mouth in astonishment at the sheer efficiency of Wayne logistics when it came to other people's love lives and turned toward Bruce. The billionaire merely adjusted his shirt cuffs, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

"I would have adopted you, Harry," Bruce said with a sincerity that genuinely startled the young wizard. "But I know Clark would never agree to it. So I'm perfectly happy just being your father-in-law."

Harry felt the world spin.

Father-in-law?

He looked at Damian, whose hand still rested possessively around his waist as though it belonged there. Were they dating now? Harry honestly couldn't tell. But after the peck, and after all of Damian's open declarations of "ownership" in front of both of their fathers...

Maybe they were.

That was fast...

Harry thought, his heart racing.

But when he looked at Damian's crooked smile—the one that made it perfectly clear he had no intention of ever letting him go—Harry decided he didn't mind the speed at all.

*******

*******

He wasn't jealous.

There had been many moments in his life where he could have harbored that feeling—and he wasn't about to start now.

He was a cautious person. 

Therefore, given the choice between feeling jealous and taking precautions, he would choose to be cautious, every single time.

During dinner, he managed to look up Cedric Diggory. 

He conducted a sweep of every family with that surname. It was complicated when information was scarce, but that was never an issue for him.

It didn’t take long to find something useful. 

So, he sent a message to a contact inside MACUSA.

Damian wouldn't call it jealousy. 

Jealousy was an irrational, unchecked emotion, something that clouded judgment. 

What he was practicing was risk management. 

And Cedric Diggory was a risk that needed to be neutralized—or, at the very least, properly cataloged.

The response from MACUSA arrived in a formal tone, but Damian knew how to read between the lines. 

He kept his phone hidden beneath the table, the glow of the screen reflecting subtly in his green eyes while his siblings argued over who would get the last slice of pie.

‘Diggory family: British pure-blood lineage. Amos Diggory, employee of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. The heir, Cedric, is a Hufflepuff prefect and Seeker. Notes: Considered the ‘model student.’ Exceptionally popular. Impeccable history of fair play.’

Damian narrowed his eyes. 

“Model student.” “Exceptionally popular.”

 A bitter taste filled his mouth.

People like Diggory were the most dangerous because they hid their intentions behind gentle smiles and shoes offered in moments of vulnerability.

"Something wrong with your food, Damian?" Bruce's voice cut through his thoughts.

 His father was watching him with that look that said he knew perfectly well his son wasn't just "checking the time."

"The risotto is acceptable, Father," Damian replied, pocketing the device with a fluid motion. "I was merely checking the status of a... foreign exchange project."

"Foreign exchange project?" Bruce questioned.

When Damian didn't elaborate, Harry narrowed his eyes at him, focusing entirely on the beat of his heart.

Then he leaned in, whispering:

"You found out something about Cedric Diggory, didn't you?"

Damian turned his face to him. The possessiveness Clark so greatly feared flared intensely in his eyes.

"I found out he is an unnecessary distraction from your focus on the Tournament, Harry. And that his 'kindness' is an approach tactic that will not be tolerated in Gotham."

"Damy, he's in Scotland!" Harry laughed softly, finding the other's sheer seriousness almost adorable.

"The world is small for those who know how to travel through shadows, Gatuno," Damian countered, his voice dropping to a dangerously soft pitch. "If he approaches you again with this nonsense of 'riddles' and 'shoes,' I will make him wish he had never crawled out of that badger sett he calls a home."

"Who is Cedric?" one of Damian's siblings asked, looking at Harry.

"A friend," Harry answered with a smile. He then took a sip of his pumpkin juice, which Alfred had prepared specially for him. "He's in the Triwizard Tournament with me, and he gave me his shoes when I lent mine to Luna."

"And you accepted them?" Dick asked, looking directly at the sour expression on Damian's face.

Harry fell silent. 

Was it possible for all the Waynes to react the exact same way whenever the topic seemed to be him liking someone else?

Harry didn't know what to think about it. 

The only conclusion he reached was that the Waynes were incredibly jealous.

"I didn't have much of a choice. He ran off before I could give them back," he answered again, slumping his body against the back of his chair.

"Kid, this Cedric guy is dead," Jason laughed, as if it were a cheesy uncle joke.

Harry lowered his head, tilting it toward Damian. 

He shot him a sidelong glance, and Damian went back to staring at his generous portion of steak, already half-eaten.

"Damy…" he called in a whisper, and pistachio-green eyes locked onto his. "It's just a shoe, you don't need to make such a drastic decision."

Bruce observed the two of them and sought to hide his smile behind his glass as he followed the interaction.

"A shoe is a symbol of protection and support, Harry. In the etiquette of certain lineages, offering footwear is a subtle way of saying you wish to walk by that person's side," Damian replied, his voice maintaining a freezing calm that was far more terrifying than a shout.

"My cousin, Draco, is a pure-blood, and so is my best friend, Ron. They never mentioned that etiquette, not even the professors," Harry said three seconds later. 

Stephanie would have let out a screech and a loud laugh at his remark if Tim hadn't muffled her mouth the exact moment she tried to.

Damian remained silent for almost an entire second, licked his lips, and looked directly into Harry's eyes before saying:

"I will not allow a British 'badger' to believe he has the right to guide your steps."

"He's a Hufflepuff, Násl. They're known for being… loyal and kind," Harry tried to defend, though he felt the warmth rising to his face at the technical explanation.

"Then his loyalty should be to his own footwear," Damian shot back, finally putting down his utensil.

Jason let out a boisterous laugh, slamming his hand on the table.

"'Badger sett'! I am definitely using that one. Dick, write that down: Robin is officially in relationship-vigilante mode. If Diggory shows up in Gotham, he's getting hung upside down from the Verrazano Bridge before he can even say 'abracadabra.'"

"Stop baiting Damian," Bruce intervened, though the amused glint in his eyes hadn't faded. "Harry, do not worry about your classmate's physical integrity for the time being. Damian knows an international incident with the Ministry of Magic would be... inconvenient."

"For now," Damian muttered, picking up his silk napkin with lethal elegance.

Dinner proceeded with the siblings trading knowing looks, while Harry tried—unsuccessfully—to change the subject to the manor's gargoyles. 

As soon as Alfred began clearing the plates, Bruce stood up, signaling that the social portion of the evening had concluded.

There had been many moments where Harry believed he had lived through enough, but he never imagined he would live long enough to see someone more jealous than his cousin or his father.

But, apparently, Damian Wayne had claimed the title of the most jealous.

He was even jealous of his siblings—his own siblings. 

Could anyone even comprehend that? His excuse was that they weren't blood siblings and that the only reason he didn't kill them was because his father, Bruce, wouldn't appreciate it very much.

So, it came as no surprise that at 7:30 PM, right after dinner, Damian was standing beside Harry, watching Jason teach him how to use a firearm.

Would this be useful for anything? No. But it was interesting.

It was his first time holding a weapon of that kind—aside from his own wand or his bare fists.

Damian stayed right by his side, adjusting his posture when it was time to shoot, which wasn't exactly necessary since Jason was already explaining how it should be done.

But that only made him wonder, internally, just how many weapons Damian Wayne knew how to use.

He wouldn't say it was over thirty, nor would he state it as a fact. 

But he had a vague notion that any object would turn into a weapon in Damian's hands. Without a doubt, even a flower would be the most deadly weapon he could wield.

Well… now he thought he had gone too far.

"Look at the target. Aim like this," Jason struck a pose worthy of an Olympic sport shooter. It was envy-inducing.

"Talk is easy when you already have the practice," 

Harry replied, cranky, and Dick muffled a laugh at the indignant expression Jason made.

Jason feigned a stab to the heart, placing his hand over his chest dramatically.

"'Talk is easy'? Kid, I'm an artist, and this beauty right here is my paintbrush," he spun the unloaded gun before handing it over to Harry. "The problem is you're holding it like it's a magic wand. It's metal, Harry. It's weight. Keep your arm steady, or the recoil will make you kiss the ceiling."

Harry sighed, feeling the cold weight of the metal in the palm of his hand.

"The recoil is going to make me kiss the ceiling when I throw this gun at your head." He took a deep breath, looked at Jason, but quickly fell silent as he remembered the dragon.

Jason laughed and looked at Dick as if to say, "See? The little demon's influence on our brother-in-law." It was ridiculous—Harry could deduce what each of them was thinking based on their expression, attitude, or movements.

He was truly good at reading people.

"You two need to be separated," Stephanie said with a grin, her legs resting on a small workbench that held Tim's laptop. "You're turning out exactly like Damian, and we cannot let that happen."

Cassandra took her eyes off the magazine she was flipping through just to nod in agreement, returning her attention to her reading immediately after.

"A word of advice," Tim said, after shoving Stephanie's legs down to the floor. "Don't listen to any of these idiots. Follow your heart.".

"What a crappy advice," Dick sighed, then faced Harry. "Harry, just adjust your fingers and aim. You don't need to hit every target. Jason doesn't always hit them either."

"Oh, what a damn lie." Jason flipped his brother off, but Dick ignored him.

Before Harry could adjust his fingers, Damian materialized behind him. 

Once again, Harry felt that "stupid gravity" pulling him. 

Damian pressed his chest against Harry's back, sliding his hands down Harry's arms until he reached his wrists, forcing them down into a more precise angle.

"Todd is a brute, Harry. He relies on the raw force of the caliber," Damian whispered, his voice sending shives down the wizard's neck. "You have Clark's blood. Precision shouldn't be an issue for you. Feel the balance. Do not fight the weapon; make it an extension of your will."

"You two look like a romantic action movie poster, you know that?" Dick commented, sitting on an ammo crate, watching the scene with an amused smile. "Damian, are you teaching him to shoot or are you trying to fuse your atoms together?"

"Silence, Richard," Damian snapped back, without letting go of Harry. "I am ensuring he does not blow himself up due to the sheer incompetence of the primary instructor."

"There's no way for me to blow myself up, Damy. My body is literally steel. Just admit you just want to be close to me." Stephanie let out a incredibly loud laugh the moment Damian fell silent; his ears were slightly pink.

"Harry, I love you!" she shouted nearly a minute later, once the room finally calmed down.

Harry tried to focus on the paper target ten meters away, trying to completely ignore Stephanie's shout, which had sounded like a bell ringing way too loudly in the silence of the room. 

But it was hard when he could feel Damian's breath in his ear and the heat of his body surrounding him.

"Damian…" Harry murmured, his face beginning to heat up. "I can shoot on my own now."

"Are you certain?" Damian tightened his fingers around Harry's wrists in a possessive manner, a silent reminder that he was still irritated by the whole British 'badger' story. "Because if you miss the target, I will assume you were thinking about Diggory. And we wouldn't want me to think that, would we?"

"What a paranoid boy," Tim commented in a not-so-hushed whisper, with which Stephanie and Dick agreed.

Meanwhile, Jason was just judging them.

Defiance sparked in Harry's eyes. The mention of the hitherto forbidden name was the exact fuel he needed. He steadied his stance, feeling his Kryptonian strength stabilize his arms like steel beams. He pulled the trigger.

BAM.

The bullet tore directly through the center of the paper target's head, leaving a smoking hole.

Jason whistled, impressed.

"All right. The kid's got talent. Or some highly well-channeled hatred."

Harry relaxed his arms and turned to Damian with a victorious smile.

"What were you saying about Diggory again?"

Damian stared at him. His pistachio-green gaze dropped for a second to Harry's lips before returning to his eyes. The jealousy was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but now there was also a new respect—and a flame he made no effort to hide from his siblings.

"I say that…" Damian took a step forward, ignoring Jason's whistle and Dick's "I knew it" look, "…you learn far too quickly for your own good, Gatuno. But you still require practice in close-quarters combat."

He took the weapon from Harry's hand and tossed it to Jason, who caught it by surprise, all while Damian never broke eye contact with the wizard.

Jason let out a chuckle, as if to remind them they were still in the room. When Harry shifted his gaze to him, Jason picked up a second gun.

"Well, little brother-in-law, now I'm gonna show you how to shoot with precision using dual weapons."

Harry wanted to laugh, but checked himself immediately.

The moment Jason took his stance, with near-superhuman speed, he fired and hit the targets dead center.

"OW."

That was Harry's only response, quickly replaced by the hooting of an owl. When he looked toward the sound, he was met with a beautiful snowy owl flying straight toward them.

"I could shoot from right here and clip that owl," Jason joked.

The owl hooted at him, as if telling him she doubted it with her gaze alone. She flew directly toward Harry, who promptly took flight to meet her, wrapping his arms against her chest with a scowl on his face. The owl hooted once or twice before starting to emit a sound akin to a "purr" against his chest.

It was a joke. 

A stupid, idiotic joke. Jason wouldn't actually do that. But Harry didn't seem to have taken it that way.

"EYYYY!" Harry's scream echoed through the entirety of Wayne Manor and the Batcave.

Startled by the fright, Jason threw himself against Dick, who went pale just from the young boy's shout. Everyone traded looks—including Dick and Jason—who quickly backed away from each other with sour expressions.

"Take it easy, brother-in-law. It was a joke," Jason said, recomposing himself.

"I don't care if it was a joke! Never use those words about my Hedwig ever again!" Harry caressed the owl so protectively that Jason raised his hands in surrender.

"A mother," Cassandra commented, staring at him before smiling at Tim and casting a sidelong glance at Damian, who, in response, flipped her off.

The tension in the training room shifted from "romantic action" to "survival instinct" in a nanosecond. Jason Todd, who had already faced the Joker and Batman himself, felt a chill down his spine that didn't come from the Batcave's air conditioning.

 The glint in Harry's eyes wasn't just a reflection of the lights; it was a promise that if a bullet ever came near that owl, Jason would find out whether or not a Kryptonian-wizard could bend the laws of physics across his face.

"Alright, alright! Message received!" Jason exclaimed, holstering his weapons with defensive speed. "No jokes about the royal bird. I get it. Jeez, what kind of protection is that?"

Harry landed gently, still keeping Hedwig nuzzled against his chest. The owl, for her part, cast a sovereign and disdainful look at Jason, making Stephanie hold back from falling off the bench again.

"She isn't a 'royal bird,' Jason. She is Hedwig," Harry murmured, his voice still laced with an authority that made Damian arch an eyebrow, impressed.

Damian stepped closer, but this time there was no malice or teasing. He extended his hand with calculated slowness, allowing the owl to evaluate him. Hedwig tilted her head, hooted softly, and gave his finger a light, affectionate nip.

"She has good taste in allies," Damian commented, the corner of his mouth lifting into a barely perceptible smile. "And an excellent instinct for identifying idiots."

"Hey!" Jason protested, but he was ignored.

"What is she doing here, Harry?" Dick asked, approaching with curiosity. "I thought Hogwarts owls stayed over there or at your house."

"She brought a message. And if she crossed the Atlantic alone to deliver this to me…" Harry untied the small scroll of parchment attached to her leg, his face lighting up with a smile. "It's something that couldn't wait for normal mail."

Damian felt the mood shift. The jealousy from seconds ago was replaced by Robin's instinct. He positioned himself by Harry's side, guarding his space while the wizard unrolled the paper.

"Is it from Sirius?" Damian asked in a low voice. Harry's expression soured just upon hearing the name.

"No," Harry answered, his eyes running along the hurried lines. "It's from Hermione. She's updating me on the events of the last few days. And that Aunt Bella is, in fact, her mother… and that her name is Cassiopeia."

"Cassiopeia is quite a different name," Stephanie commented, while Cassandra began paying closer attention to the conversation.

"Yes. It's a tradition in the Black family to give names based on stars and constellations," he explained, and a subtle glint appeared in Dick's eyes. "In fact, her godfather is named Regulus, the star known as the heart of the lion. Though he's currently missing."

"He's missing?" Damian questioned.

"It's classified as 'undetermined,' so you could say he's missing. My cousin Draco and she believe Regulus is trapped inside something." He grew pensive, looked down at the letter, and plunged into reflection.

"A mirror," Cassandra said, thirty seconds later.

The silence that followed her words wasn't the ordinary silence of an interrupted conversation.

 It was an absolute vacuum. Even Jason, who was about to make another biting joke about the "royal bird," froze with his hand on his holster.

When Cassandra Cain spoke with that level of certainty, it wasn't a guess.

 It was a reading of the world.

"A mirror?" Harry repeated, his voice cracking slightly. He looked down at Hermione's—or rather, Cassiopeia's—letter, and then back at Damian's sister. "Cass, why do you think it's a mirror?"

Cassandra closed her magazine slowly, her movements fluid like those of a shadow. She stood up and walked over to Harry, stopping at a distance that respected his and Hedwig's space.

"Trapped between the reflection and reality," she said, her dark, deep eyes fixed on Harry's. "A place where one can see, but not be seen. Where time doesn't run, it only repeats."

Damian felt a shiver run down his spine.

 As Robin, he had already dealt with mystical artifacts from the League of Shadows, and what Cassandra was describing sounded like high-level imprisonment magic.

"The Mirror of Erised?" Harry murmured, his mind traveling back to his first year at Hogwarts. "No… that mirror shows desire. If Regulus is trapped in a mirror, it must be something much older. Something from the Black lineage or Dumbledore's."

"Mione mentioned they are researching it, but the investigation hasn't moved past the stage of assumptions yet," Harry continued, reading the letter again with urgency. "She said she'll wait for me to return to start investigating properly."

"Is there something hindering the investigation? From what I can see, they've already made a huge leap," Tim commented, after putting down his laptop.

"Yeah, but Mione isn't the type to let herself be guided purely by guesswork. She wants to be certain before blindly following something like this." Harry softened his gaze toward the letter, a small smile appearing on his face. "She's truly focused on finding her godfather."

"Regulus is a Black, isn't he?" Dick asked.

Harry nodded in confirmation.

"From what I've seen, in the wizarding world there are certain protections around a residence. There must be something similar on theirs too, right?"

"Yes," Harry answered, nodding once more. He fell silent for an instant while Hedwig hooted on his shoulder. "Regulus was the rightful heir after Sirius was disowned, which makes her his heir."

"But being Regulus's heir, wouldn't she have free access to the Black residence?" Tim asked, confused.

For two seconds, the room fell silent.

"Meaning Regulus is missing because he was backstabbed by his own brother," Damian concluded, contemplatively.

Harry stared at him.

He already harbored a certain distaste for Sirius. But if that were truly proven to be the truth, all his resentment would be tripled to an alarming degree.

Sirius had long ceased to be his hero. Harry didn't even view him as a godfather anymore—which was strange. He had met him just the previous year, and yet, he no longer considered him family.

It was enough that he betrayed his mother's trust, his own, and lied about his father. It was a succession of twists that caused Harry to lose the magic he used to feel toward his godfather.

It wasn't surprising. He had been far too kind. Even he knew it would be difficult to forgive a Black.

But his friends weren't lying when they said that, at some point, he would end up forgiving him.

And, in fact, he would forgive him—but only to watch him wither away in his own remorse.

 Because the day he forgave him would be the exact day he stopped considering him a godfather, leaving no bond or feeling remaining for Sirius.

His mother would be proud of him, he thought, with a faint smile.

"What a majestic owl."

The voice of a woman, clearly older, echoed through the environment.

 Harry made sure to note just how confident and secure in herself she seemed.

When he looked at her, he found eyes as blue as the sky gazing at him, and curly hair as dark as midnight. 

She was smiling at him, flashing incredibly white teeth.

She was beautiful—so beautiful that Harry was certain she could only be a goddess among mortals.

He must have stood in silence for a few seconds, staring at her, long enough for her to let out a soft, refined laugh.

"Just from that, I already assume you are the son of Kal-El," she said, two seconds later.

Harry scoured his memory, trying to recall where he knew her from. 

If she knew his father's birth name, then she was someone close to him.

As if a lightbulb had been switched on in his mind, he let out a dumbfounded gasp.

"Wonder Woman…" he murmured, surprised.

Her smile widened.

"On occasions like this, I prefer Diana Prince."

She stepped closer, and Harry stared at her, feeling vaguely timid.

Damian held Diana's gaze firmly.

"You see, your father and I are practically siblings, so that makes me your aunt, Har-El."

"Har-El?" Harry asked, confused. "No… Harry Kent."

Diana smiled before looking at Damian and messing up the younger Wayne's hair, causing him to grumble.

"Your boyfriend is adorable, little bat," she commented, amused, before turning her attention back to Harry.

"Technically, that is also your name. Har-El, of Krypton."

"Oh…" Harry's eyes widened, as if he had finally understood.

He belonged to the House of El.

The impact of the revelation seemed to reverberate through the stone walls of the Batcave. Harry felt a flutter in his stomach that had nothing to do with Gotham's weather.

Har-El.

A name so similar to his father's. 

He liked it. 

He really liked the idea of something that brought him even closer to him.

"Har-El…" he repeated, and the pronunciation came out more natural than he expected. "Sounds like something that should be in a history book, not on my birth certificate."

Diana let out a melodious laugh that seemed to purify the heavy air of the cave.

"And you are in the history books, little Harry. But today, you are living history."

She noticed how Harry shrunk back upon hearing he was in books. 

The idea of being known or remembered for past deeds didn't seem to please him.

"Kal-El told me a lot about you, though he omitted the part where you are just as charming as he is."

Damian, who until then had been observing the interaction in possessive silence, crossed his arms and took a step forward, narrowing his eyes at the Princess of Themyscira.

"He is a Kent, Diana. And he has training to finish. Your 'auntie visit' is disrupting the schedule."

"Always so focused, Damian," Diana teased, casting a knowing look at Harry. "Careful, Harry. The Waynes have a habit of turning everything—even affection—into a training mission."

"I've already noticed that," Harry smiled, caressing the feathers of Hedwig, who seemed enchanted by Diana's aura. "Par for the course, but I think I'm starting to like the 'Wayne method.'"

Damian smiled smugly before grabbing Harry's hand and pulling him close to his side. 

Hedwig, from above, hooted in warning at the approach.

The atmosphere in the Batcave, which before was pure military tension, now felt like a strange superhero family gathering.

Damian ignored the owl's hoot, keeping Harry firmly by his side, while Diana watched the scene with a millenia-old glint of approval in her eyes.

"The Wayne method is effective, Diana, because it does not accept mediocrity," Damian declared, his voice carrying that typical self-assurance of an heir to legendary lineages. "And Harry doesn't need pampering. He needs to be ready."

Diana tilted her head, her black hair falling like a cascade over her shoulders. 

She took another step closer, and Harry could catch the scent of wild flowers and something reminiscent of ozone before a storm.

"He needs both, Damian," she corrected gently, before turning back to Harry. "Kal-El is very proud of your adaptation. But he is also… restless. Having a son who belongs to two worlds so different—and now to a third, here in Gotham—is a challenge even for the Man of Steel."

Harry looked at the ring on Diana's finger and then at her face, absorbing the weight of those words.

"He's afraid something might happen to me, isn't he? Or…" he shot a sidelong glance at Damian, "…of whatever is happening here."

"Fear is something that represents Kal-El at this moment, Har-El." Diana stared at him with seriousness.

Harry gazed at her for more than two seconds before squeezing Damian's hand.

"Your father has many enemies. He fears that one of them might discover your existence. That is why you haven't been introduced to anyone else yet."

Harry blinked a few times.

"Nobody knew I am Superman's son?" he asked directly to Damian.

"As far as I know, my father-in-law," he made sure to emphasize the word, as if Clark could hear him from a distance, "wants to break the news to people gradually. And even then, only among heroes."

"Can you imagine if someone with that shiny bald head like Lex Luthor finds out about you?" Tim commented, while reading through some files he had obtained from MACUSA.

"I'd rather not imagine," Dick murmured.

"While one billionaire adopts kids and becomes a hero, the other burns billions trying to kill one," Stephanie commented, in distaste.

"Wait… Lex Luthor is trying to kill my dad?" Harry asked, stunned.

Panic surfaced immediately. He knew his father was practically immune to almost everything.

But it only took remembering kryptonite to feel his blood pressure drop slowly.

Damian rolled his eyes and huffed, as if that were an exaggeration, pulling Harry closer.

"I wouldn't say 'kill.' It's more of an extremely strange obsession he has with your father, Saher." Damian smiled softly.

Harry blinked.

"A bald man obsessed with my dad?" he bellowed, in complete horror, involuntarily remembering his first year, when Voldemort lodged himself like a parasite on the back of Professor Quirrell's head.

"Well, you Kryptonians seem to have a gift for attracting deranged and obsessed people," Diana commented.

The exact moment she finished her sentence, Jason burst out laughing. 

Stephanie pulled Cassandra into the elevator, and when the doors closed, the two of them started laughing as well.

Tim visibly winced and shut his laptop.

"Yeah… our little demon is pretty deranged," Dick shook his head as if he were in mourning, before letting out a laugh.

"But wasn't that obvious? With all the knives and katanas he throws at us daily," Tim completed, chuckling.

Shortly after, he straightened some sheets he had printed out and, with some hesitation, approached Harry, handing them over to him.

"Send this to your friend. I think it might help her. MACUSA is very useful for a number of things."

"Why does it seem like you guys have so much influence over the wizarding world here in America?" Harry questioned, holding the sheets.

"A lot of bribery and money," Dick answered with an ironic smile.

"You need to work on those jokes," Jason retorted.

"To answer your question, little god… it's simply because of Constantine and Zatanna," Diana said, laughing as she noticed the shock and horror on Harry's face.

"I am no god!" Harry protested, looking at Damian in horror.

Damian tilted his head to the side, and a smile as goofy as that of a smitten child appeared on his face.

"I could build a temple. Statues in your honor, Qalbi."

Damian said that with such absolute conviction that Harry felt the breath leave his lungs—and it wasn't because of gravity. The term Qalbi—“my heart,” in Arabic—reverberated through the Batcave with more force than any explosion caused by Jason Todd.

He was still getting used to Damian's displays of affection in Arabic, but every time he heard the perfect pronunciation, his heart beat so hard it felt ready to leap out of his throat.

"Damian!" Harry protested, his face reaching a shade of red that rivaled Superman's cape. "No temples. No statues. I already have enough trouble with fame in England. I don't need a cult in Gotham!"

"It wouldn't be a cult. It would be the recognition of a fact," Damian countered, the possessiveness gleaming in his green eyes while ignoring Dick's giggles in the background. "But if you prefer discretion, I can limit myself to ensuring no one else gets close."

Diana smiled with the expression of someone who had already witnessed millennia of epic romances begin exactly like this.

"Kal-El is going to need a lot more than super-hearing to deal with you two."

She adjusted her hair and observed Hedwig, who flew directly to her, landing on her shoulder. Diana caressed the owl's head amidst her black curls.

"And so fast… barely learns to walk and talk, and he's already living his first love. Kal-El must be stewing over this."

Diana's words caught Hedwig's attention, who narrowed her eyes at Damian and Harry.

Damian looked at Diana, and the smirk on his face perfectly betrayed his brazen intentions.

Hedwig hooted, as if reprimanding him for any attitude that could be detrimental to Harry.

Then Damian continued:

"He shouldn't worry so much, Diana. Kal-El knows better than anyone that the Kents have a soft spot for... complicated people," Damian completed, casting a sidelong glance at Harry that was half challenge, half promise. "Besides, I am a strategist. I do not enter battles I do not intend to win, and I intend to win every single line of defense Superman places between us."

Diana let out a laugh that echoed vibrantly through the room.

"You are exactly like Bruce, Damian. The same arrogance, the same focus. But beware: even Batman had to learn that the heart doesn't follow contingency plans." 

Harry felt his face burning. 

Diana's mention of "first love" and Damian's possessive response left him in a state of buoyancy that not even his ability to fly could explain.

"I... I just want to finish my training and ensure no one dies in the Tournament," Harry murmured, trying to return to the safety of pragmatism, though his hands were still firmly intertwined with Damian's. "And now find out what happened to Regulus."

He looked at the sheets Tim had handed him.

 They were technical reports from MACUSA regarding portal frequencies and signatures of confinement magic.

"Tim, this is incredible," Harry said, genuinely impressed. "Hermione is going to lose her mind when she sees this. She always says magic is just science we haven't fully explained yet."

"She and I would get along very well," Tim replied with a tired but satisfied smile. "Send it to her. Use Hedwig or, if you prefer something faster and less 'trackable' by the British Ministry, I can use one of our encrypted channels that Constantine 'forgot' to leave closed."

Hedwig hooted loudly, flapping her wings against Diana's shoulder, clearly offended by the suggestion that a fiber-optic cable would be more efficient than her.

"I think she wants to do the job," Harry laughed, extending his arm so the owl would return to him. "She's proud. Crossing the ocean is like a walk around the block for her."

Harry fastened the sheets—after arranging them in a way that they wouldn't come loose, for he didn't know if, even in the United States, the law prohibiting minors from performing magic outside of Hogwarts applied; still, he organized everything so well that it left Diana impressed with his skill—to Hedwig's leg.

"Take this to Cassiopeia, girl. And tell her to be careful."

Hedwig approached Harry and nuzzled his face with her head before nipping his ear in an affectionate manner.

Perhaps Harry truly was a god, and Damian wondered whether or not he should construct a temple for him, where the only devotee authorized to venerate his beauty would be Damian Wayne himself.

Hedwig observed the situation in silence as soon as she felt the change around her.

She wasn't a jealous owl—or at least she liked to think she wasn't—but she wasn't liking this one bit. To the snowy owl, Harry wasn't just her owner; he was her ward, the fledgling she had cared for since he was a scrawny little boy living in a cupboard under the stairs. And that dark-haired human—whom she actually kind of liked—who smelled of danger, was invading Harry's space in a way she considered… excessive.

Harry, for his part, felt his breath shorten, Damian's hand sliding slowly up his arm, his fingertips brushing the exposed skin with a possessive audacity.

But there was a pair of amber eyes watching everything. From Harry's shoulder, Hedwig fixed her gaze on Damian.

The moment he opened his mouth to speak, the sound that filled the room wasn't his voice. It was a sharp, territorial screech.

In the millisecond Damian brought his hand to Harry's face, intending to hold his chin firmly to seal the challenge, a white blur flew from Harry's shoulder straight toward his hand.

"Hedwig!" Harry shouted.

Damian's League of Shadows training focused on human attacks, not on magical and extremely jealous birds of prey.

Hedwig didn't just use her wings to disorient him. With the precision of a Seeker catching the Golden Snitch, she swooped down, her talons sharp as silver scalpels scratching the back of Damian's hand, which was extending toward Harry.

"Maledetto!" Damian growled, pulling his hand back instantly.

The owl landed on Harry's shoulder again, puffing out her white feathers until she appeared double her size and snapping her beak threateningly at Damian. Her large eyes seemed to say, “Keep your hands off my wizard.”

"Did she hurt you, Damy?" Harry asked, worried, holding Damian's hand to assess the damage.

Three deep red welts crossed the back of Damian's hand. Blood began to well up, but what drew the most attention was the fact that, for a second, the Wayne boy didn't look furious. He looked… genuinely outraged at having been bested by a bird.

"This... this creature," Damian hissed, glaring at Hedwig, who returned a look of pure royal disdain. "She attacked me. I am a master of combat and I was wounded by a mail delivery animal."

"She's very protective, Damy," Harry said, trying to hide his laugh while caressing Hedwig's chest to calm her down. "I think she felt you were... pressing me. In her world, that's a sign of an attack."

Damian looked at his own hand, then at the owl, and finally at Harry. He let out a heavy sigh; the fantasy tension of a temple being built in devotion was lightly shattered by the reality of having a feathered "mother-in-law" guarding every movement.

"She is lucky she belongs to you, Harry. Any other bird would be served for Titus's dinner right now," Damian grumbled, though there was a glint of reluctant respect in his gaze as he stared at Hedwig. "But if she thinks three scratches are going to keep me away, she underestimates a Wayne's persistence."

He took a step forward, ignoring the owl's new hoot of warning.

Harry looked at Jason, then at Dick, Tim, and finally at Diana. Then, he turned back to Damian, took his uninjured hand, and pulled him toward the elevator.

"Alfred has antiseptic ointment in the desk drawer," Harry suggested, feeling his face burn.

"I do not need ointment," Damian retorted, squeezing Harry's hand and bringing it to his lips, completely ignoring Hedwig now. "I need you to understand that if your owl wants to fight for you, she will have to get in line. Because I do not intend to yield my place to anyone. Not to badgers, and not to birds."

Hedwig snapped her beak lightly in the air, but Harry held her firm, laughing softly, while the chaos of that family—of heroes, wizards, and temperamental birds—finally seemed to make sense.

********

********

The library was as silent as the Batcave when no one was around—were it not for the bats and the computers.

But when it was just the two of them there, it was different.

He wasn't going to lie: he was blaming himself for Hedwig's jealous behavior, which made him reflect on whether his father or the owl itself was worse when it came to jealousy.

But that didn't matter at that moment. That moment belonged to him and Damian.

Harry had a vague notion that it was nearly nine or ten in the evening; he wasn't entirely sure. His father hadn't returned yet, and he wouldn't lie if he said he was worried.

But right now, for the time being, Damian was his priority.

Harry cleaned the wound on the back of Damian's hand with care. Every time the other hissed when the alcohol came into contact with the exposed flesh, Harry flinched in guilt.

He would have continued feeling guilty if Damian weren't so incredibly indiscreet with his provocations. Yes, they were alone—but still, Harry was embarrassed.

Damian was relentless with his flirting.

"You are far too slow with this, Saher," Damian commented, his deep voice vibrating in the still air of the library. He didn't even look away from the wound, but Harry felt the weight of that entirely focused attention on him. "If I were in the field, I would have already cauterized this and returned to the fight."

"But you aren't in the field," Harry shot back, trying to keep his hand steady while swabbing the cotton. "And I am not a League of Shadows assassin. I'm a wizard trying to ensure you don't get an infection out of pure stubbornness."

Damian let out a short laugh, a dry sound that wasn't quite mockery, but rather an almost predatory amusement. Seizing the moment Harry leaned over to close the bottle, he caught the wizard's chin with his uninjured hand, forcing him to tilt his face up.

Harry's eyes dilated almost immediately, the green gleaming in a vivid shade of fascination.

"Your concern is touching," Damian whispered, bringing his face closer. "But unnecessary. I survived poisoned blades before you ever learned how to hold a broomstick. What truly bothers me right now isn't the alcohol on my skin... it is the distance."

Harry felt his face burn. The light from the library's bronze lamps cast long shadows, and the pistachio-green of Damian's eyes seemed even more intense there, without the interference of his siblings or Clark's X-ray vision.

"My dad could arrive at any moment, Damy…" Harry warned, though his voice came out rasper than he intended.

"The 'Man of Steel' is occupied at Le Marvin. Bruce ensured the service would be slow and the wine, excellent," Damian slid his thumb across Harry's lower lip, a slow gesture that made the wizard's heart race against his ribs. "We have time. And you still owe me a demonstration that your skin is as resilient as you claim."

"Damian…" Harry cautioned, but the Wayne only stared at him with a feline smile.

Harry swallowed hard. He remembered the tease he had made in the hall, right in front of Clark, about marks not staying on him.

"I was talking about physical protection, not... " he tried to complete, but Damian leaned in even further, eliminating the space between them.

"I know exactly what you were talking about," Damian murmured, his lips nearly brushing Harry's. "And I do not plan on using a knife to test that theory."

He pulled Harry by the waist, bringing him to stand between his legs while remaining seated on the oak table. The contrast between the cold metal of Damian's belt buckle and the heat emanating from him was overwhelming. Harry felt magic tingle at his fingertips—an instinctive reaction to the electric proximity of the Wayne heir.

The magic clung to him so tightly that Harry lost his breath for ten whole seconds.

"Taher, there are several ways to leave a mark so deep in your mind that you would never forget me," he smiled, smug, with a confidence that made Harry roll his eyes internally. "You would think of me twenty-four hours a day, without rest."

"I already do that, you idiot," Harry confessed, his voice barely more than a breath, admitting defeat before the battle had even begun.

Damian appeared satisfied with the confession, but he did not soften his grip. On the contrary, his hands slid up Harry's back, pulling him closer, until the wizard's chest was pressed against the training uniform beneath the jacket.

"Admitting it is the first step toward total surrender, Rouhi," Damian sibilated, his voice laced with a possessiveness that left no room for doubt. "But I want more than thoughts. I want it so that when you return to that castle in Scotland, the mere scent of sandalwood or the sound of a cape moving makes you search for me in the shadows."

He tilted his head, his mouth brushing Harry's ear, where the skin was most sensitive.

"That badger... Diggory. He can give you shoes, but me?" Damian lightly nipped Harry's earlobe, a calculated gesture that made the wizard's legs weaken. "I will give you the world. Or I will burn it down if he tries to take you from me."

Harry gasped, feeling the magic in his veins vibrate in response to Damian's intensity. It was terrifying how drawn he felt to that vigilant darkness. He placed his hands on Damian's shoulders, feeling the tense muscles beneath his fingers.

"You talk as if I were a prize to be kept in a vault in the Batcave," Harry murmured, trying to regain a bit of dignity, even though his own body betrayed his words.

"Vaults are for inanimate objects," Damian countered, pulling back just enough to look Harry in the eyes. "You are a force of nature. And I am the only one capable of taming the storm."

Harry stared at him for nearly a full minute. Then, he reflected on what he was doing with his own life. He looked at Damian's hand, which had stopped bleeding some time ago, and took a deep breath.

"If you bite me and my dad hears..."

Damian kissed him.

Harry had started to speak, but he was silenced by a kiss that began slow and possessive, as if Damian were claiming every single inch of territory.

"Damian…" he whispered, embarrassed, his lips tingling. "Your hand…"

He murmured this before being pulled into the kiss once more.

The kiss was simply devastating. Was it his first kiss? Yes. And he felt as though he were flying.

The world seemed to have stopped spinning. Harry had already flown on brooms, on hippogriffs, and even by his own means, but nothing compared to the vertigo that Damian's kiss provoked. It was as if Gotham's gravity had decided to concentrate all its force into that single point of contact.

Damian didn't kiss like an inexperienced teenager; he kissed with the exact same precision and intensity with which he fought. His hands—completely ignoring the slight discomfort of the nearly healed wound—rose to the nape of Harry's neck, his fingers tangling in the wizard's unruly hair, pulling him so that not a single millimeter of air remained between them.

Harry tasted Damian—something that reminded him of mint and discipline—and let himself be carried away. His hands gripped the fabric of Damian's uniform and, for a moment, he forgot he was the "Boy Who Lived" or the "Son of Krypton." He was just Harry. And he was utterly enchanted by the boy everyone called dangerous.

When Damian finally pulled away a few centimeters, their foreheads remained rested against each other. Their breathing was erratic, echoing in the silence of the library.

"Your hand..." Harry repeated, his voice weak, trying to regain his focus while looking at the palm he had been cleaning seconds before.

Damian let out a low, husky laugh that sent a new wave of electricity through Harry's body. He opened and closed his injured hand, showing that the skin was already nearly sealed thanks to the rapid treatment and his own resilience.

"My hand is perfectly functional, Habibi," he murmured, his green eyes gleaming with undisguised triumph. "What is not functional is my self-control when you look at me that way."

He rubbed his nose against Harry's, a surprisingly tender gesture that contrasted with the intensity of moments before.

"You said marks didn't stay," Damian recalled, his voice dropping to a dangerously soft pitch. "But your heart is beating so fast I can feel it against my chest. That is a mark, Harry. One that not even your steel blood can erase."

Harry smiled—a genuine and slightly cheeky smile—feeling more confident under his gaze.

"You are incredibly conceited, you know that? My dad really is going to throw you into space if he finds out you are trying to 'tame the storm' in the middle of Bruce's library."

"Let him try," Damian countered, leaning his head toward Harry's neck, his voice becoming a vibrant whisper against the sensitive skin. "I have already mapped seventeen different escape routes from this room. And in all of them, I am taking you with me."

Harry laughed softly.

"You are an idiot, you know that?"

Damian smirked.

"But it is this idiot right here who is going to marry you."

Harry smiled—and he liked how that sounded rolling off Damian's tongue.

And, in fact, he had fallen in love.

Luna, once again, was right.

**********

**********

Clark rubbed his forehead before running a hand through his hair.

Then he smiled at Lois, who was looking at him with a gentle smile.

Good Lord.

She was truly beautiful—and Lois Lane knew it.

Even so, she was sitting there with him in a five-star restaurant that his best friend had reserved exclusively for the two of them, all so Clark's son could be alone with Bruce's.

The French restaurant was elegant and refined. Clark Kent suddenly froze with his fork suspended halfway to his mouth, his brow knitting together.

"Something wrong, Clark?" Lois asked, noticing the stunned expression on his face.

"I... I think I just heard Bruce Wayne win a bet I didn't even know we had," Clark muttered, suddenly fighting the overwhelming urge to fly back to the manor at Mach 5.

"Oh." Lois grew thoughtful for a moment before smiling at him. "And Harry? What happened?"

Clark sighed—a sound that, had he not been controlling his strength with microscopic precision, would have extinguished every candle on the surrounding tables. He carefully set his fork back onto his plate.

"Harry..." Clark hesitated, searching for the right words while his super-hearing caught the faint echo of Damian Wayne's low, satisfied chuckle from miles away. "Harry is discovering that Gotham's gravity is much stronger than Metropolis's. And Bruce... that manipulative bat... he knew. He planned every detail of this dinner so I wouldn't be there to... to intervene."

Lois let out a soft, musical laugh as she lifted her wineglass to her lips. Her eyes sparkled with the sharp intelligence of someone who had earned Pulitzer Prizes uncovering secrets, yet who also understood the heart of an overprotective father.

"Clark, you knew this was going to happen from the moment Harry first mentioned Damian's name with that different look in his eyes," she said, reaching across the table to take his hand. "They're fourteen, sweetheart. It's the age of first mistakes, first secrets... and first kisses."

"Kisses? Lois, Damian was talking about building temples," Clark whispered, his voice filled with almost comical indignation. "He called my son Qalbi, whatever that means in Arabic. I've fought Darkseid and never felt half the danger I feel coming from that manor simply because my son is standing next to Damian."

Lois tilted her head, clearly amused by the panic of the most powerful man on Earth.

"A temple? Well, at least the boy has good taste and ambition." She gave Clark's hand an encouraging squeeze. "Harry is strong, Clark. He has your heart and his mother's determination. He isn't going to lose himself over a Wayne. If anything, I'd say Damian is the one who's eventually going to end up dancing to Junior's tune."

Clark's shoulders relaxed, though his jaw remained slightly tense. He looked at Lois and saw the anchor that had always kept him from drifting too far away from his own humanity.

"You're right. As always." He smiled faintly before picking up his fork again. "But tomorrow I'm going to have a very serious conversation with Bruce about these 'silent bets.' And maybe I'll fly over the manor a few times during the night... just to make sure Damian's greenhouse doesn't grow too much."

"You're not going to do any such thing," Lois scolded, giving him a look that left no room for argument. "You're going to finish your Coq au Vin, enjoy this wonderful evening with me, and let your son have, for the first time in his life, a night where he doesn't have to be anyone's hero—just a boy who's in love."

Clark looked at her, and for the first time that evening, he held her unwavering gaze.

"Clark, I know. You lost so much time with him, and now you want to make up for every second. Right now, you see Damian as an intruder—someone who's come to take your son away from you. But it's time to let him live. To have moments that belong to him. Harry is still young—he's only fourteen." Lois gently squeezed his hand again. "If you keep him trapped inside an overprotective bubble, eventually it's going to burst. And when it does, he won't feel safe. He'll feel suffocated. Clark... let Harry live."

Clark nodded in surrender.

His son was simply following in his footsteps—the same footsteps Clark himself had taken years ago when he fell in love with the fearless reporter sitting across from him.

In the back of his mind, he could still hear the distant murmur of magic within Wayne Manor and the heartbeat of every person inside it. But for Lois's sake, and out of respect for his son's growth, he decided that, for a few hours, he would simply be Clark Kent, enjoying a romantic dinner.

A dinner that his dear, manipulative friend Bruce Wayne had insisted on paying for—simply to keep the two of them strategically occupied for several hours.

"You're right, Lois..."

"I always am." She winked before taking another sip of her wine.

Lois Lane would make a wonderful mother.

Maybe that was why she was always so protective and caring toward Harry. Or perhaps it was because of the light in Harry's eyes whenever he talked about her—and the matching warmth in hers whenever she spoke about him.

Little by little, Lois had already become a mother figure in Harry's life.

Clark Kent made a decision.

That night, he did not return to Wayne Manor.

He came back the following morning.

A week and a half later, Harry and Clark were on their way to Kansas, where they would spend the rest of the week—and Christmas—with Harry's grandparents.