Chapter Text
Damian immediately felt a curl of dislike for the man, and he silently crept closer to observe the scene.
He was still too far to hear what the pair were saying, but Pennyworth gestured towards the man’s neck, who in turn pulled out a thin band of black cloth from his pocket, which - upon closer inspection - seemed to be an unknotted bow tie.
Pennyworth shook his head, though not in disappointment, as his expression was far too… fond for that, and Damian’s temper sizzled higher as the butler took the tie from the man’s hand, their fingertips brushing.
And then Damian’s universe felt as though it’d been tipped on its axis as Pennyworth outstretched his arms, cloth still in hand, and carefully wound it around the collar of the man’s shirt in a gesture of such intimacy that it had Damian’s stomach writhing and his palms sweating with an entirely unexpected amount of childish upset. He could not prevent the stutter in his breath nor the way his heart clenched uncomfortably tight as Pennyworth proceeded to slowly, caringly tie the young man’s bow tie for him, going so far as to step closer to ease the strain on own his arms, forming a bubble of space in which the two seemed to be in their own world.
The only thing Damian could think of in that moment as his eyes burned traitorously and his fists clenched themselves into his neatly pressed shirt, was that Pennyworth had never done the same for him.
-
No, Damian would not stand for it.
He would not allow this - this interloper to so flagrantly steal away Pennyworth as if he held any right to the butler's attentions over the Wayne family - over Damian.
Perhaps a more reasonable plan would be to allow this fraud to fall into a false sense of security over his 'position,' but Damian could hardly even stomach the thought. No, he would end this now.
-
Harry blinked as he heard the sound of rapid footsteps stomping towards himself and Alfred. His gentleman’s hands smoothly removed themselves from Harry’s now perfectly knotted bow tie as the man himself took a neat step back to greet their guest, and it was as Harry turned to do the same that he belatedly recognized the rather substantial - if quite wry - amount of resignation that had flashed across Alfred's eyes.
Upon finally taking note of their guest, Harry's breath stuttered, and he immediately understood.
This must be Alfred’s grandchild.
The youth looked positively charming, wearing a formal school uniform in navy blue that complimented Alfred’s suit in both its color and style, and his dark - black - hair was neatly slicked back in a perfect replica of his grandfather’s own. Harry resisted the urge to place his hand over his suddenly tremulous heart, if only because of the obvious upset he quickly saw to be lining the child's regal features.
Covertly, Harry schooled his features away from the jubilation they wished to contort themselves into over the chance meeting, as he was quick to realize that such a reaction would not be taken positively by the youngling, who looked as suspiciously angry as one could possibly be. Of course, this was not an unreasonable reaction. After all, Alfred had informed Harry that he had thus far kept his relationship private from his family, so now Harry must look like quite the invasive oddity in the clearly protective youth's eyes.
And privately, Harry was absolutely delighted by the undeniable, ostensibly unshakable confidence that was now clearly displayed in Alfred's grandchild's posture and mien, as the youngling held himself with an air of authority Harry had never seen before in one so young. Although, truly, Harry should not have expected anything less from one of his gentleman's progeny.
As if to further this perspective, the proud little fledgling did not wait for Harry to speak before doing so himself. “And who might you be?” the youth questioned in a tone undoubtedly meant to be scathing, and Harry could no longer resist the urge to bring his hand to his own warm cheek, though he did manage to swiftly shift the motion so that it seemed as though he had only been brushing past to push away his own wild locks of hair. What a commanding air he had!
However, the child's features were quickly contorting themselves into an even deeper scowl than before (which was an impressive feat in and of itself), and Harry started, realizing he had yet to reply. "Ah, my name is Harry Potter, young sir - I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” he greeted, dipping into a modest yet respectful bow and folding his right arm over his chest with the motion. He fought the smile that threatened to twitch upon his lips, instead keeping his expression formal and polite. Woe be it for Harry to accidentally offend the young man should he take Harry's unexplained elation poorly.
The youth's jade green eyes (a darker shade than Harry’s own) narrowed, and he sniffed sharply, chin raising a notch higher. “Damian Wayne-al Ghul,” he introduced himself stiffly, not returning the gesture nor making any move to offer his hand.
Harry did not mind in the slightest, and he carefully placed a hand against Alfred’s elbow to prevent the chance - though unlikely - that his gentleman would make a reprimand. Harry wouldn't wish the child to modulate himself for Harry's sake, after all!
Unfortunately, however, the youngling - Damian - tracked the movement Harry had made, and his scowl deepened harshly enough for his boyishly expressive brows to practically meet in the middle. Merlin, it was positively adorable. “Why have you insinuated yourself with Pennyworth?” Damian questioned sharply.
Harry blinked twice - once for the unique phrasing young Damian had chosen to refer to Harry’s relationship with Alfred, twice for his reference to his grandfather. After a moment, Harry dismissed the latter notion; it was quite immediately clear that Damian was a rather formal young man; perhaps it was not unusual for him to refer to others, even family members, by their last names. As for the former remark… well. Harry truly could not help the light blush that rose to his cheeks, nor could he resist glancing to Alfred for assistance, unsure what would be permissible to say. He did not wish to oust their relationship before his gentleman was ready, though Harry could privately admit that he would prefer not to begin his introduction to the first of Alfred's relatives with an outright lie. Ultimately, however, it was Alfred's decision, and Harry would not begrudge him for whatever choice he made.
His gentleman seemed to understand all of Harry's thoughts with just a quick passing glance, and Harry allowed himself to feel a measure of relief that the decision would be left in Alfred's capable hands.
Only to nearly choke on his inhale as Alfred calmly - if quite... bluntly - informed his grandson, “Harry and I are in a romantic relationship, Master Damian."
Harry’s blush darkened twofold. Well, he had most certainly not been expecting that!
Young Damian clearly hadn't either, though he was definitely far less pleased by it, a fact made clear as he regained both of their attentions by spluttering in a manner that Harry would wager was entirely unlike himself before rallying to boldly confront Harry less than a hairsbreadth of a moment later: “You believe that you at your pathetic age could be worthy of Alfred Pennyworth?”
At his side, Alfred released a sound not unlike Harry's earlier choking. Having privately expected an unfavorable remark himself, Harry was not entirely at a loss for words, but he was still enough so that it took him a moment to even begin to formulate a proper reply. ‘At his age?’ What ever could that possibly - Ah. It would seem that Alfred had informed his grandchildren - or, at the very least Damian alone - of Harry’s age being much greater than his physical appearance. Harry had said that it was ultimately Alfred’s decision whether to do so, though he could admit he was surprised that his gentleman had not at least informed him after the fact. As for being worthy… Well. Harry has been doing his utmost to prove himself as such to the object of the entirety of his affections, and he hoped that one day he would fully achieve this goal.
Realizing he had likely taken too long once again to reply, Harry quickly decided to first acknowledge the former part of young Damian's question, abashedly replying, “I admit Alfred is perhaps… younger than my typical range.”
He was not expecting his gentleman’s grandson to immediately turn wide, horrified eyes to Alfred himself (who's thin moustache was now trembling as if under some considerable amount of strain) in order to incredulously demand, “You have allowed this - this gerontophile to use you?”
To the side, Harry subtly winced at the notion that he was 'using' Alred in any way, and he could not help but befuddledly murmur, “Gerento…?” for he had never heard the word used before. By its suffix, however, he had a rather dreadful feeling he would not appreciate the connotations.
Unfortunately, he was quickly proven correct. Young Damian’s head swung back around to glare at him viciously, baring his teeth in a likely intended to be aggressive display. Harry could see one tooth just past his canine to be missing, but Harry was self-aware enough to realize that now would be a poor time to point out the darling little gap or to do anything that could potentially be seen as belittling - like coo. Valiantly, Harry swallowed the urge to do just that, just in time for Damian to snarl, “A pervert attracted to the elderly.”
Harry nearly swallowed his tongue in shock, and he hardly even noticed the smug expression smoothing out Damian's taut features, blinking rapidly as he tried and failed to process the statement.
Wide-eyed, Harry turned helplessly to Alfred, his own alarm undoubtedly clear in his features with how utterly at a loss he was as to what to say to such an overt accusation, completely untrue as it was. Alfred’s own expression was wry, along with very, very carefully tucked away amusement.
Unfortunately, Harry did not take note of the latter sentiment in his gentleman's eyes, as two sudden realizations landed heavily upon him:
Firstly, Damian clearly was not actually aware of Harry’s old age. Secondly, Harry himself could not inform him of as much.
If Damian had truly assumed Harry to indeed be in his mid-twenties (which Harry was now quite sure was what had occurred) and had reacted so viciously to this fact, then Harry could not tell him otherwise. To do so would be to reveal that it was Alfred who was the much younger between them, which would mean that Damian would realize he had unknowingly insulted his grandfather in Harry’s place by misinterpreting the situation. By the way the youth dressed and the subtle mannerisms he emulated from Alfred, it was undeniable to Harry that he idolized his grandfather, and Harry positively dreaded the thought of any potential self-recriminations the child would make against himself should the truth come to light. Equally as bad would be if the child instead took his anger out on Alfred if he so strongly felt that the younger partner of the pair must be in the wrong.
Harry's panic renewed, he blurted out, “Age is of no consequence in matters of the heart,” which was really the first thing he could think to say, and a dark blush immediately bloomed across his cheeks.
By his side, Alfred released a quiet, nearly imperceptible huff (the sentiment behind which Harry was too flustered to take note), and Damian - despite hardly cusping five feet in height - managed to peer down his nose as he glared at Harry with an entirely impressive amount of scorn.
“I suppose I should not be surprised your views would be in line with those of pedophiles.” Damian remarked acerbically, and Harry’s hands immediately clasped together as if in prayer as an overwhelming amount of horrified mortification quickly swept its way through his system over the absolutely, astoundingly monumental misunderstanding that had just taken place. Dazedly, he had enough awareness left aside to be amazed at the child’s continued wit. Definitely Alfred’s grandson, this one was.
His gentleman took that moment to step in once more, his expression shifting to something sterner. “Master Damian, that was very inappropriate,” he firmly rebuked. There was something almost... tremulous, in his tone, however, as he said the last word.
Regardless, his grandson remained stubbornly fuming, his arms crossing defiantly over his chest and his head tilting endearingly obstinately. “I am not incorrect.”
Alfred clicked his tongue, shaking his head in forthright disagreement. “Seeing as to how both Harry and I are consenting adults, you very much are, Master Damian,” he replied frankly, and Harry colored once more at the implications despite being well aware that that had not been what Alfred had intended.
Thankfully, his gentleman’s grandson did not take note of Harry’s lapse, instead gesturing sharply between the two while flounderingly retorting, “But your ages!”
For a moment, Alfred paused himself from his automatic reply. Instead, he turned to meet Harry’s eyes, and Harry immediately recognized what the question within them was asking. Briefly, he worried over his previous line of thinking - that Damian would take the reversal in their age difference poorly either on himself or on Alfred - but... as long as Alfred seemed confident that it would be alright, then Harry would simply trust it to be so. That in mind, Harry gave a small, subtle nod of his head, and Alfred’s eyes curved slightly in acknowledgement. The silent communication took less than a second, after which his gentleman returned his focus to his grandson as if it had never left. “Master Damian,” he began mindfully, a revelation clear on his tongue, “Harry… he is older than I.”
Silence.
Damian stared at his grandfather uncomprehendingly, the air seeming to still around them. That is, until all at once the youth came alight with enough rage that he visibly shook with it, turning his ire upon Harry. “How old are you?” he demanded, fingers twitching as if he wished to reach out and shake Harry by the lapels of his suit.
Harry wisely did not dismiss the child's boiling anger nor his question, promptly responding, “I am around four hundred years of age,” and sheepishly ducking head to avoid Alfred’s eyes. He was aware that his gentleman had likely suspected as much, but that did not mean that Harry was not nervous of the chance that he would find displeasure over such a large number finally being revealed.
As it was, Harry’s attention needn’t have been diverted to his gentleman’s potential reaction, as Damian’s actual one was more than overt for the both of them.
The child let loose a sound of near animalistic rage, and when Alfred moved to put a calming hand on his shoulder, his grandson’s hand snapped out to tightly take hold of his grandfather’s own, his grip firm and possessive. It was absolutely precious, really, but Harry’s heart still twinged at the sight; he hadn’t meant to make young Damian feel as if Harry was unwelcomely encroaching upon his territory within the family.
“You cannot have Pennyworth,” Damian childishly refuted, his lip jutting out - likely without his notice. Harry parted his lips to reply, an apology and an assurance together on his tongue, when the youth's eyes suddenly lit up as though in transcendent realization and he vociferously proclaimed, “Take my other grandfather!”
Harry vaguely took note of Alfred’s hand whipping up to cover his own mouth, his shoulders subtly shaking as he turned his head to the side. Unfortunately, the vast majority of Harry’s attention was currently consumed by a sense of dumbfounded shock. “I… beg your pardon?” he dazedly replied.
In any other situation (oh, who was Harry attempting to fool - in this situation too) Damian’s expression would have been utterly adorable. He looked as proud as a peacock with his hands on his hips and a self-satisfied, superior smile stretching his lips below his crescented eyes. “My other grandfather,” he repeated. Thankfully, Harry did not have to attempt to formulate any more words in a harried hope to have him elaborate, for he did so on his own. “You would be a much better match for him, with your clear lack of moral compunctions and having lived far more centuries than you deserve!”
Harry... well. Harry was admittedly quite... lost. Utterly so.
Almost as if he were in a trance, he felt adrift, his mind seemingly unmooring itself from his immortal form as it tried and failed to piece together the order disguised as a request that his gentleman's young grandson had so suddenly thrust upon him with all the delicacy of a bludger to the head.
At the very least, the offer was a sign of young Damian's deep care for Alfred as well as a commendable - if still rather budding - ability to negotiate. Harry knew, distantly, that his musings were definitely not the message intended to be received by such a declaration; however, he currently did not have the wits about him to come up with much else at all.
Finally, though, he managed to gather himself just enough to piece together an admittedly bewildered reply of, "Ah. Thank... you?"
At his side, Alfred had nearly doubled over, still shaking, as faint wheezing sounds escaped from between his fingers from where they were still desperately clasped over his lips.
