Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was his fault. 

Sirius was dead, and it was all his fault. 

He hadn't been able to occlude, and Voldemort had tricked him. And Sirius was dead, and it was his fault. 

His friends could have died too. They had been hurt. More of them would be. More of them would die.

What good was he? 

How am I supposed to—

Stop. 

No. 

Harry forced himself away from the thought and went back to staring at the ceiling.

His breath hitched, but he refused to let himself cry. He didn't deserve to. Not after it was his failure that caused Sirius’ death. He had to get stronger anyway. He needed to, because…

His breath hitched again. 

Why hadn't Dumbledore just told him sooner? He could have been getting ready! He could have fought him, really fought him at the graveyard! Maybe then Cedric wouldn't have—

Harry yanked himself back from that thought, too, just as the bars on his window rattled ominously. The door rattled too, and he forced himself to take a deep breath. Then he closed his eyes and took another for good measure. 

The outbursts had been happening more frequently over the summer since the large one in Dumbledore’s office, and he was just lucky he hadn't broken anything yet. Uncle Vernon would kill him if he did. Or make him wish he was dead. Make him wish he'd been allowed to go after Sirius.

More than he already did. 

A loud pop sounded outside, and Harry froze. Was that— Had someone—

He swallowed and sat up. He inched toward the window, wishing he had his wand on him, but it was locked away with his school things like always. The wards on the house should keep him safe from an attack, but…

A shadow moved in the yard, but Harry couldn't make out much because of the bars on the windows. They made it to the front door, though, and then he heard the creek of the door opening. 

He sucked in a shuddering breath and returned to his bed. There was a wizard in the house, and there wasn't anything he could do about it. 

Whoever it was made it up the stairs without being stopped, and then they were outside Harry's door. There was a long moment where Harry heard nothing, then there was a low, infuriated and animalistic snarl, and Harry went boneless in relief. He knew that sound, though he'd never heard him so angry before. 

“Professor?” he called. 

“Just Remus, Harry,” the werewolf answered. “Or Moony, if you'd like. Stand back from the door, please.”

“I'm not near the door.” He wasn't. He always stayed away from the door. Uncle Vernon was too fond of barging in and grabbing him if he was too loud, or if he'd had a bad day, or…

Harry always stayed away from the door. 

The door didn't blast open, but it did dissolve, like it had been eaten away by acid. Harry watched it happen with wide eyes, his lips parted with surprise. The Dursleys weren't going to like that. When he came back next summer, he was going to get it for sure. 

Assuming he was leaving already— it was earlier than he'd thought. Maybe. He hadn't exactly been keeping track of time. 

Remus stepped into his room, thin and careworn, his amber eyes tired and kind. “Hello Harry,” he said, the words soft and gentle. His clothing was muggle and slightly outdated, but nothing too outlandish, and if it was in rough shape, well, at least it fit him better than Dudley's old clothes fit Harry. 

“Hi Moony,” Harry said. He tried a smile, but it didn't really feel like it fit on his face. “Come to take me to headquarters? Aren't you early?”

Remus sighed. He raked a hand over his face and looked around Harry's room. “This is where Petunia raised you, huh?” His eyes lingered on the bars on the windows and the bare walls, on the barely serviceable bed with the threadbare blanket. 

Harry shrugged. “It's better than my cupboard was.” He picked at one of the loose threads on said blanket and looked away from Remus.

“Your what?” There was a growl in Remus’ words. What phase of the moon were they in, anyway? How close to the surface was Moony?

“Before I got my Hogwarts letter, I was in the cupboard under the stairs. This was Dudley's spare room where he kept all his broken toys.” Harry shrugged again. “Now that's just where they lock away all my school things until I leave each year.”

Remus let out another growl, this one far more animalistic, and Harry’s eyes darted up to him. His amber eyes were almost glowing, and his face had half-contorted into something other that Harry had only ever seen once before. Then it rippled, and Remus took a deep breath, and then another, and Moony was back below the surface. 

“Mind if I have a seat?” he asked, like he hadn't just nearly transformed even though Harry was certain it wasn't a full moon. 

“Sure,” he said. He nodded to the rickety chair at the desk and also patted the bed beside him. “Wherever you'd like.”

Remus took the chair and dragged it closer to Harry. He settled gingerly and only relaxed when the chair didn't give out beneath him. “I'm not here to bring you back to Grimmauld.”

Harry glanced at his missing door. “You're not?” He swallowed at the sudden ghost sensation of Uncle Vernon's meaty hands grabbing his upper arms, bruising, of a belt taken to his back. He'd be lucky if that's all he got. 

“I don't—” Remus dragged his hand over his face again. “Merlin,” he muttered. “Harry, Sirius and I, before he— before he died, we were talking about you, and about the war.”

Harry flinched and closed his eyes. His hands clenched in the fabric of his shirt and he took a shaky breath as the bars on the window rattled at him. “Sorry,” he said quickly. 

“Oh Harry.” A gentle hand touched his head, and Harry flinched back. 

His window shattered. 

“Sorry!” Harry's eyes flew open and he stared at Remus, stricken. People didn't… they didn't touch him. Not gently, not kindly. He just— he hadn't expected it, and—

But Remus' hand was still on his head, and he was smiling even though his eyes looked like he was hurting. “It's okay,” Remus said, his voice soft. “You've been through so much, Harry, and you're still so young. And now you have the weight of two legacies pressing down on you. Sirius wanted to get you out of the country before he died, and I agree. So that's what I've come to do.”

Out of the country? “What?” They couldn't just take him out of the country. He had to— Dumbledore had said—

“I would imagine that Lily and Prongs would have told you about all of this when you were old enough to understand it,” Remus said, not quite meeting Harry's eyes. “But since they're not here, and Sirius didn't have the chance, I'm going to do it, and then we're going to leave, okay?”

“I can't just leave,” Harry started. “Dumbledore said there's—”

“A prophecy, right,” Remus agreed with a nod. “That he thinks applies to you. He finally told some of us what it said after the damned thing got Sirius killed. But it can't.”

Harry froze. “I meet all the requirements,” he said through a roaring in his ears. His heart was pounding, and the bars on the window were rattling again. “Born at the end of July, marked by him, my parents defied him three times—”

“Lily did,” Remus agreed. “But James wasn't your biological father.”

The world spun around Harry, and if he hadn't been sitting, he would have passed out. And he didn't think it had to do with a lack of food. “What?” The word was quiet, weak, and the magic around Harry went still. 

Remus’ hand shifted to his shoulder, and his other hand landed on Harry's opposite one. He leaned forward, catching Harry's eyes. “James and Sirius both knew, and they both still loved you so much, Harry, but James Potter wasn't your biological father. He's a very wealthy Muggle in America, and I'm taking you to him.”

The magic exploded from Harry like a storm, ripping through the room and shredding anything in its path. Remus didn't flinch from it, but instead he moved closer to Harry and took him into his arms, holding him close and rocking him. “I know,” he said, the words achingly gentle. “I know, Harry.”

“I can't,” Harry managed, his magic still swirling around them in a maelstrom of destruction. The desk and bed were both destroyed. The bars from the window, too. If he could focus, he was pretty sure he'd see bits of plaster and wallpaper. “He— even if it isn't me,” he said hoarsely. “He wants me. He'll come for me.”

Remus’ arms tightened around Harry so much that they were almost painful. It ached, but there was something small inside of him that never wanted Remus to let go. Harry found himself relaxing into the hold, his head coming to rest against Remus' shoulder. His breath hitched. The storm of magic around them was easing off, but Remus didn't let him go. 

“Maybe he will keep coming for you,” Remus said, his voice soft. “But I'm not leaving you, Harry. I'm going to stay with you and your father and keep you safe. He never had an American following, so he'll have a hell of a time getting to you. Let me do this, and leave him to adults here. Just say the word.”

And there were so many reasons why Harry should keep arguing— his friends, Hogwarts, his duty in the war; but in the end, Harry was tired. He'd been hurt. He'd done more in his five years in the magical world than most ever would. So, feeling like the worst kind of coward, he looked up at the last of his father's friends and the first he'd met and said, “Okay.”

***

Dudley knew that he was an arsehole.

He'd been one since he was a kid, and it had taken him too long to realize that the way his family acted about his tiny cousin wasn't normal. Hell, too long to realize that how tiny his cousin was wasn't normal. Smeltings taught him that, but only after the attack and the nightmares started. Only after Harry saved his life. That's when he finally started getting counseling, getting help. 

And bloody hell, the things he was learning…

He was an arsehole, his parents were monsters for encouraging it, and his cousin was a wreck who needed therapy more than he did. So yeah, when he heard all that stuff start breaking in Harry's room while everyone was supposed to be asleep, he wasn't exactly ashamed of listening in. He might not be able to do anything to help, but he could at least tell someone what was going on, right? If he had to? 

And then he heard them talking about running away. About keeping Harry safe, about getting him to his bio dad. And Dudley wasn't the brightest, but he wasn't stupid. Kids weren't supposed to come back from school looking like they'd been through a war, and every year Harry looked worse, not better. 

Plus, hadn't his parents said before that Dumbledore was the one to leave Harry with them in the first place? What kind of arsehole leaves a magic kid with people obsessed with being normal? 

There wasn't much he could do to make up for all that he'd put Harry through when they'd been kids, but maybe he could help him get out, even if his cousin would never know. He was very good at lying to authority figures when he had to. Maybe he could throw whoever came looking for his cousin off the trail a bit, and not even lie when he did it!

Dudley grinned.

***

Albus was not pleased to be called away from his hunt at such a late hour by a magical tempest in young Harry's summer residence. He understood that the boy was grieving his godfather and his childhood, but didn't the boy understand that he'd been given as much youth as Albus could spare? 

There was only so much he could do to coddle a child of prophecy. He'd needed testing and tempering to forge him into the blade to be used against Voldemort. He'd needed to be shaped in the right way so that, when the time came, he'd understand exactly what he needed to do. 

Albus had given him as much as he could! Harry's needs, as much as he loved the boy, could not be compared to the needs of the greater wizarding world as a whole. Tom had to be stopped, and Harry was an unfortunate and vital part of that.

But when he arrived in Surrey to have a conversation with Harry, to be sympathetic and yet stern about Harry's grief, the boy wasn't there, and neither were any of his things. The Dursleys were, and both adults were up in arms and in hysterics about the state of their house, which seemed to have survived a localized hurricane, but Harry was nowhere to be found. And the adults had heard nothing. 

The boy, ominously, would only smirk at Albus and say, “I think I heard him say he was going to join his father.”

***

Sirius had known something was going to happen to him before the end of the year, and Remus hadn't wanted to believe it. He'd told him to set the trip up for three people, and he'd thought Sirius had listened, but when he went to Gringotts to meet with the Black account manager, Grimstone, he'd found that Sirius had done nothing of the sort. The trip had always been for him and Harry only.

“Do you know why?” he'd asked the goblin, his voice hoarse. He hadn't stopped crying since Sirius' death, it felt like. 

Grimstone studied him. “I think it was a self-fulfilling suspicion,” he said finally. “The meeting with Mr. Wayne was always arranged just for you, Mr. Lupin, and the American accounts are all in your name.”

He'd left the bank with a horrible understanding that he'd never wanted, along with the two plane tickets and the two perfectly legal passports that he and Harry would use to get to America. Then, that very night, he'd gone for Harry, and he'd found a nightmare. He'd known the Dursleys weren't good to him, or at least had some idea after seeing him in his third year, but to see the fucking locks on his door, the cat flap, the bars on his window…

To feel the way he flinched when Remus touched him, like he didn't expect gentleness…

Moony wanted to kill them, damn the new moon. 

But his pup needed him. He was hurting, grieving, and he had the weight of the Black Legacy bearing down on him and he probably didn't even know it, because why would Albus have explained it to him? His pup looked exhausted, and devastated, and the magical storm he caused was a nightmare that said travel wouldn't be good, but they had to go. Their flight was that night.

Their luggage was easily shrunk into one suitcase, Hedwig set free to meet them in America, and then they were off. 

Even at such a late hour, the airport wasn't exactly empty, and Harry didn't seem to be up for navigating on his own. That was okay. Remus was there to handle it. 

“I've got this, Harry, you just stay by me,” he said quietly. He wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders and tugged him in close as they waited in the check-in line.

“It's busy,” Harry said. His eyes were fluttering from place to place, but he didn't really seem to be parsing anything.

He hadn't seemed to process much of anything since Remus had told him that James wasn't his father, and really, he didn't blame Harry. His poor pup was reeling from one hit after another. 

But it was going to be okay. They were going to get through this. 

He got them through the airport and onto the plane itself with little trouble. He'd flown once or twice before, having been dragged by James and Sirius both when they'd been younger and happier. Security in airports had gotten tighter, but things were basically the same otherwise. He made sure that he held onto Harry during the trip, because he wasn't entirely sure his pup wouldn't wander away. Harry was too out of it to really be able to promise that he'd stick close, or even to pay attention to where Remus was. 

But then they were on the plane, in their seats, and Remus could relax a little. Harry was safely in the window seat, him in the aisle, and it was going to be fine. 

He'd make it fine. For Harry.

***

Remus told him that Hedwig would find them in America, and Harry hated that he had to let his owl go before they reached the Muggle airport. On the other hand, he didn't know how easy it would be to try flying in an airplane with her, so maybe it was better to just let her fly. 

He was glad that Remus was coming with him, because he was still reeling over the fact that James wasn't his father. That some unknown American was. He didn't— what was—

“Does he know we're coming?” Harry asked once they were in their seats on the plane. He'd never ridden on one before, but their seats seemed very nice. Roomy, and close to the front of the plane.

“I don't have a way of contacting him,” Remus answered. He'd kept an arm around Harry through most of the boarding process, and even now, he was holding Harry close. 

It was… it was… Harry didn't need to be held. He wasn't a child. No one had ever done that before. But he didn't stop himself from leaning in to Remus, especially since they were settled on the plane. 

“So we're surprising him,” Harry muttered. “And he doesn't know I exist.”

“He'll probably want to do a Muggle test to verify that you're his,” Remus said.

“DNA,” Harry agreed. He nodded, slumping a little closer to Remus. His eyes drifted closed a bit. 

“Sir? Would your son like a blanket before takeoff?”

“You know, I think he'd like that, thanks.”

Remus shifted just a little, and something soft and warm draped over Harry. He hummed in response and didn't bother opening his eyes. He was safe with Remus. He'd promised to stay.

Exhaustion finally dragged him all the way under, and Harry didn't bother to fight it. He didn't have any fight left in him. Not anymore.

Chapter Text

Harry didn't want to wake up when the plane finally landed almost eight hours later in America. He hadn't really slept well since Cedric's death in fourth year, and Sirius' death had only made his nightmares worse, so spending the entire plane ride asleep was amazing. He mumbled a protest to Remus when he was jostled lightly, and he was rewarded with a quiet laugh. 

“Sorry, pup, but we're the only ones left on the plane,” Remus said. “And I'm strong, but I can't carry you and our luggage.”

“Could carry me to our luggage,” Harry muttered. He forced himself to sit up and stretch, wincing at the way his joints cracked at the motions. “No, I know. Thanks for letting me sleep. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable leaning.” He didn't quite look at Remus as he said it. 

“You never could, Harry.” Gentle fingers ruffled his already-messy hair, then the two of them exited the plane. 

What did that even mean? He couldn't make Remus uncomfortable? No one wanted a scrawny, freaky kid clinging to them all the time. Not like Harry. Besides, he was almost sixteen. He shouldn't need to cling like he had. He shouldn't— Merlin, how embarrassing had he been, snuggling with the other man all night? 

He swallowed down his humiliation and blinked away the tears that wanted to form. None of that. He'd done enough of that. 

“What now?” he asked after Remus collected their luggage and they started making their way to an exit. 

“Now we check into our hotel, and we recover from the time difference. Tomorrow, we have an afternoon meeting scheduled with your father.”

Harry's stomach churned with nerves. “And he has no idea what we're meeting about.”

“Not a clue.” Remus grinned, and Harry remembered that once upon a time, he'd been a Marauder too. “But I'm sure some surprise will be good for him!”

***

The phone was ringing, and Tim was pretty sure he'd only gone to bed about two hours ago thanks to the fact that someone had to stay and dismantle the last of the ‘jokes’ that the Joker had left behind on his most recent jaunt out of Arkham. B couldn't do it, since he and Black Bat were escorting Joker back, Robin did help, Hood didn't go near the Joker in the interest of preserving his no-kill streak, and Nightwing and Spoiler were dealing with another issue on the other side of town. So the night had been long and late, and his phone wasn't supposed to be ringing at him.

It was just being rude. 

“What's up, B?”

Tim stopped trying to smother himself with his pillow and sat up. “Kon,” he hissed. The Kryptonian knew Tim hated it when he answered his phone! 

He got a wink for his trouble. “Tim’s fine, just tired. Late night, y'know?”

Tim lunged for his boyfriend and the phone, only to get tangled in his bedsheet and catch air as Conner sped away. “I'll kill you!” 

Kon mouthed the words back at him, his eyes dancing with laughter. “Oh, yeah, I'm sure he'd love to meet that new sketchy investor with you, B! What time did you say?”

Tim started untangling himself and rolled his eyes. Three o'clock. The meeting with the enigmatic Mr. Moon was at three o'clock. And he actually wouldn't mind meeting the man— it wasn't often that millionaires came crawling out of the woodwork willing to invest hundreds of thousands in charity for no discernable reason. Something was up with the man, especially since Tim's research had found absolutely nothing on him.

If it was a fake identity, Mr. Moon wasn't exactly trying hard to hide it. 

“We'll be there!”

Tim got himself untangled just in time to get tackled back onto the bed. “We?” He tugged Conner into a kiss before he could answer. 

“Well, you know I don't like it when you go places as a civilian without your bodyguard.” Conner grinned down at him and kissed him again. 

“Uh-huh,” Tim said. “You're my personal assistant, not my bodyguard. And do we have time for you to be getting me all wound up, or am I going to have to kill my assistant?”

“Considering that it isn't even noon yet, I'd say that we have time for a nice good morning.” Conner punctuated the sentence with a kiss, then when he pulled back, he said, “Then we have time for a shower, and food, and then it'll be time for your meeting. It all works out perfectly! Aren't I such a good boyfriend and bodyguard?”

Tim shifted slightly, just enough to get the leverage he wanted, then he flipped them so that he was pinning Conner beneath him. “You are,” he said. He leaned in for another kiss, long and slow, nipping at Conner’s lower lip. His boyfriend's eyes fluttered closed and his lips parted for him, and Tim followed up on his advantage, grinning when he felt the evidence of Conner's enjoyment pressing against his stomach. 

Then he hopped nimbly off the bed and sauntered in the direction of the shower. “But if you wanted to fool around, you shouldn't have answered my phone,” he tossed over his shoulder, along with his sleep shirt. 

Conner's frustrated groan was like music, and Tim laughed as he got in the shower. 

***

Remus waited until after Harry had slept again, until after a light lunch, until just before they had to leave, really, before he cleared his throat. He couldn't put it off. “Once he's agreed to take custody of you, I'm going to tell him about magic right away.”

Harry blanched. He was already pale, and the blood draining from his face left him almost ghostly in appearance. “Remus,” he whispered. His voice was choked, and Remus didn't need to be a werewolf to tell that he was terrified. But smelling Harry's fear did help.

“We can't wait,” he said. He made sure to keep his motions smooth and steady as he reached out and placed careful hands on Harry's shoulders. Even so, his pup— so tiny, so fragile— flinched. “If he isn't going to take it well, I'll need a new plan quickly.”

Harry’s eyes watered, but he nodded once. “So I guess you'll tell him after he gets a DNA test, or whatever?”

“That's the Muggle test, right?” Remus sighed and scrunched up his nose. Hoping to make Harry laugh, he said in a tone filled with exaggerated despair, “That should work. But maybe I should have brushed up on Muggle technology before meeting with the head of such a fancy company, huh?”

And it wasn't a full laugh, but he did get a soft snicker out of Harry, and his eyes stopped watering. Remus had learned a long time ago to take whatever wins he could, and that certainly seemed like one.

***

The building was a massive monolith of steel and glass, and even though Harry had gone to school in a literal castle, he didn't think he'd ever seen a place quite so big. He swallowed hard as he stared up at it. 

“Our meeting is in there?” His voice shook. All of his Gryffindor courage, which had gotten him through so much… it was gone. 

“It's going to be okay, Harry,” Remus said. His hand was on Harry's back, in between his shoulders. “We are meeting him in there, but it's going to be fine.”

“What if—” Harry couldn't finish the sentence. What if he didn't want him? What if he did, but then he changed his mind after he knew about magic? What if Harry was too much for him? 

“Then I'll keep you,” Remus said, his voice firm. “You and I will figure it out together.”

Harry gnawed at his lower lip, then he nodded. He'd trusted Remus this far, and he wasn't going to stop just because the building was intimidating. 

They walked into the building together, and Harry almost turned right around and walked back out. It was worse inside— he didn't belong in a place with marble floors and stylish dark counters where everyone wore suits. Both he and Remus looked so out of place they were almost as bad as some of the wizards had been at the World Cup. But Remus kept moving towards one of the desks, and Harry followed, his eyes darting nervously from person to person. 

There weren't too many people, but at least three of the men in suits standing near the different entrances doors were watching him and Remus specifically. It made his fingers itch for his wand.

“Can I help you?” the woman at the desk— her bronze name tag read ‘Sam’— asked. Her voice was cold and professional, and she had a distant look on her face. 

Remus smiled at her and produced a wallet from his pocket, from which he pulled a Muggle ID. He offered it to Sam. “I have a three o'clock appointment with Mr. Wayne,” he said. 

Sam took the ID, then she blinked at Remus and then at the ID. “Mr. Moon,” she said, still blinking. She looked up again, then down at the ID, like she wasn't sure it was real. 

The other person at the desk— with a name tag of ‘Ray’— cleared his throat.

Sam shook her head and smiled brightly at Remus. “Mr. Moon, yes, we've been expecting you! Your generous donation to the Wayne Foundation certainly caught our attention. I'll let Mr. Wayne know you're here, if you and your guest would like to have a seat?” She gestured to a set of chairs just across from the counter. 

Harry couldn't decide if they looked comfortable or like they'd be torture. They were the same shade of black as the counters, and they had the same sleek, modern feel. He was leaning toward torture.

“Thanks,” Remus said. He smiled at her and steered Harry to the seats. “You okay, pup?”

“How did you get this meeting?” Harry asked instead of answering. Because if he tried to explain how not okay he was, he was going to bring the building down with the force of his panic.

“I'm sure you heard the receptionist reference a donation?” Remus nodded in the direction of Sam.

Harry glanced back towards her, then his lips twitched and he looked away. She was pretty clearly trying not to pay attention to them both. “Yeah.”

“That was Sirius' plan,” Remus said with a sad little smile. “Mr. Wayne is well known for his charitable foundation, and the Black family is very wealthy. He thought a donation of the right amount would get us a meeting, and he was right. He also liked the idea of giving his family's money away to a Muggle charity.”

Harry’s vision blurred, and he blinked rapidly to clear the sudden tears. “He would have loved that, wouldn't he?” He looked down at the marble floor.

“Sirius left most of the Black fortunes to you, Harry, but he’d set most of this up before he passed. We're doing exactly what he wanted us to do.” 

“I didn't want his money,” Harry said. He never wanted any of the money he had. Not his parents’, not Sirius', not any of it! Why didn't anyone ever understand that? His vision was still blurry, and his breathing was starting to pick up. 

But maybe Remus did. “I know, Harry.” He wrapped his arms around Harry and hugged him close, not seeming to care that they were in public. “It's going to be okay,” he said. 

Harry clenched his fingers in the back of Remus’ jumper and forced himself to breathe deeply, to relax as much as he could. It got easier as the minutes ticked past, but Harry found that he still didn't want to pull back. Moony was… safe. Maybe. Mostly. There weren't many adults he could say that about. 

But someone cleared their throat, and Remus drew back. “Mr. Moon?” The young man wore a suit and tie, and he had artfully disheveled shoulder-length black hair and bright blue eyes. He was smiling brightly at Remus.

There was another young man nearby, also black-haired and blue-eyed, but he'd locked eyes with Harry, and his jaw had dropped open. “Tim,” he said, his voice hushed.

“Con, please,” Tim, apparently, said. “You'll have to excuse my assistant, Mr. Moon,” he added, still beaming at Remus. 

“Not a problem,” Remus said. He was smiling too, and Harry recognized the Marauder's edge to the smile. 

“No, please don't excuse me,” Con said. “Mr. Moon, why don't you introduce Tim to your companion?”

And then Tim's eyes were locked on Harry, assessing him, and the hair on the back of Harry's neck stood up. Tim was dangerous, like he could be, like his friends, like some of the members of the DA. Maybe like the Death Eaters. 

Harry jerked to his feet and took several steps back.

“Harry!” Remus moved with him, standing to put himself between Harry and the other two, and he caught him by the shoulder. “It's okay,” he said. 

“Well fuck,” Tim said before Harry could respond. “I guess I can see why you may have gone to so much effort to get an in person meeting, Mr. Moon.”

Remus kept his hand on Harry's shoulder and turned back to Tim. “I don't think that's something to talk about in public, do you?”

Tim finally looked away from Harry. “No, of course not! Especially not when Dad's waiting for us upstairs. I suppose Harry's going to be joining us?”

“Absolutely.” Remus' hand was steady on his shoulder, and it was helping, at least a little. 

But still… Did he realize? Did Remus understand things the way that Harry did? Did he look at that smile and let things go, or did he see the way that those eyes focused and recognize the man now leading them to the lifts as the predator that he was? But Moony was a predator too, if it came down to it. And he was allowed to use his wand to defend them, if he needed to. 

Harry made himself relax as the lift they'd stepped into started to rise. 

Remus had promised that everything was going to be fine. That Harry was going to be safe. And he didn't know if he trusted that, but he was going to try.

***

The last thing Bruce wanted after dealing with the Joker was to meet with what was, realistically speaking, most likely an up and coming Rogue trying to get attention via a charitable donation. Honestly, Moon as a last name? Whoever he was, he put no effort into his backstory at all. It was laughable! But the funds were legitimate, and the Foundation could always use more support, so he didn't want to be rude. 

At least if he begged Tim to come to the meeting with him, he'd have company when things inevitably went south. And if it wasn't going to go badly, Tim was very good at schmoozing investors. Plus he'd get to spend time with one of his kids if they did get kidnapped together. 

Wins all around! 

He wasn't expecting the text as Tim escorted Moon and his guest up to their meeting which only read, ominously, Brace yourself. 

Thanks, Tim. 

What was he supposed to be bracing for? Was Moon already one of his Rogues in disguise? One of the Justice League? A reporter? Was there an attack coming? There were hundreds of options, and as he ran through every single one of them, the elevator announced its arrival with a cheery little ding.

Bruce stood to cross in front of his desk and lean on it. He hated the top floor office and how ostentatious it was, but given that they knew nothing about Moon, they'd decided on a show of power. The elevator that opened directly into the office that took up the entire floor, the desk dominating the space, the handful of small, uncomfortable chairs that didn't give anyone room to feel like they were really on the same side as Bruce, they had all seemed strategically sound when dealing with an unknown. 

But then Moon and his guest emerged from the elevator, and Bruce immediately hated almost every decision he'd made about the day. He raked a hand over his face as he stared at the boy behind Moon, already cataloging details— tiny, thirteen, maybe fourteen, and thin at that; scar on his forehead and on his hand, was that writing? and those eyes, were those Lazarus eyes?— but the boy's facial structure was all his, and Damian's too.

He had another son. 

“Hell,” he said, his voice already hoarse. 

The kid— his son— flinched. 

Moon frowned at him. “I'm sure he's just surprised, Harry,” he said. “Remember, he didn't know you existed until just now.”

“And I'm a hell of a surprise,” Harry said.

“You are,” Bruce agreed, because there was no point in lying. Not when he'd already given himself away like an amateur. “But that's not a bad thing, always. Except for the fact that I wish I'd known about you sooner.”

Harry's eyes darted up to his, and Bruce hated the wariness he read in the boy's expression. He'd seen that look before on street kids, on kids being removed from unfit homes, on Jason before he understood that Bruce would rather gut himself than hurt him. It was a look that spoke to a familiarity with being hurt— abused, he needed to call a spade a spade; dancing around painful subjects didn't always help, wasn't that what Dinah had taught him?— and it was always painful to see. 

Those bright eyes were still sharp on his. “You would have wanted me if you'd known?” 

Bruce didn't even have to hesitate. “Absolutely.”

Harry's lips trembled, and his eyes started to water. He took his glasses off and scrubbed at them with the sleeves of his far too oversized shirt. “Shit,” he muttered. 

Moon laughed, but it was quiet and gentle. “Harry,” he said. 

“I can't— Remus—” Harry turned towards his companion, hiding, and the older man allowed it. “Sorry,” Harry added, the word muffled from where he'd hidden his head.

“You don't have to apologize,” Bruce said. He wanted to offer them both a seat, but this office really wasn't the best space for it. “It's okay to be overwhelmed.”

“Why don't we head somewhere a little more comfortable?” Tim suggested, catching Bruce's eye as he slid his phone into his pocket. “I think we had a very different idea of what this meeting was going to be about, but now that we're all on the same page, maybe we could head to the Manor?”

So that meant his other children had already been alerted. Their group chats that they liked to pretend didn't exist had to be going insane. “I think that's a great idea! Did you drive yourself, Mr. Moon?”

“Oh, please call me Remus,” the other man said with an uncomfortable smile. “And I don't drive. Also, I thought that you'd want to— uhh—” He cleared his throat. “Harry, what did I think they would want to do?”

Harry let out an awkward little soggy laugh. “Test my DNA,” he said. He didn't move from Moon’s— Remus'— hold. 

Now that was interesting. Why wouldn't he know that they'd want to test Harry's DNA? And why wasn't Harry surprised by the question? 

Bruce didn't push. Now wasn't the time. “We can get the test started on the way out. It's quick to start, and the testing can be done discreetly here. But you look very similar to how I did at your age, and to Damian. I'd be stunned if you weren't a match.”

“Because I have siblings,” Harry said. There was an awe to his voice that Bruce didn't understand, but he didn't have to. 

“You do,” he agreed. “And Remus, why don't you and Harry ride with me, then? It's a bit far for most cabs.”

“That sounds great,” Remus said. 

Bruce caught Tim's eye as they all got back into the elevator. “Tim can go ahead of us and see who all is at the house, let Alfred know we're on the way.”

“Absolutely,” Tim said. Message received. Probably all of his children would be there waiting. 

That was fine. 

He was almost certain that this was his kid, and if there wasn't a biological relation, they were clearly looking for help of some kind. Bruce already knew he was going to wind up giving it.

***

Bruce hadn't been what Harry expected. 

He wasn't sure what he'd expected. Maybe somebody like Lucius Malfoy? Most rich people weren't like Sirius. And the office they arrived in definitely seemed like a Malfoy office at first. 

But then he'd met Bruce's eyes, and the man hadn't even hesitated to claim him even though he didn't know— couldn't know, not for sure— and Harry… What was he supposed to do with that?

Remus had said Bruce was kind, but people also told Harry he should be grateful for the Dursleys. Harry was pretty sure those people were either lying or didn't know what they were talking about. So it only stood to reason that Remus could have been wrong, too. But no, Bruce almost seemed eager to accept him. Like the DNA test was going to be just a formality. 

They hadn't even offered him any proof! 

Harry kept quiet as he and Remus were escorted through a sterile area, Bruce carrying an easy conversation with Remus that Harry could tune out. He followed the directions of the lab tech with a sort of detachment. He trusted Remus to have told the truth about Bruce being his biological father— there was no reason for him to have lied. This really was just a formality for him. He might have been interested in the process at another time, but everything was just so much, and he was too overwhelmed to care. 

It was a relief when they were done and in the car, headed for the house— Manor?— whatever. It was smaller and quieter, and neither Remus nor Bruce protested when he sat in the back seat, and he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window and let himself relax. 

Just until they hit their next destination.

Chapter Text

Was it an asshole move to snap a stealthy picture of the kid as they rode the elevator down and send it to all of his siblings in the group chat? Yeah, probably. Did Tim do it anyway? Absolutely.

Did he pay for his arrogance by having his phone nearly vibrate out of his hand the entire way out to the car as the chat went mad? Yes, yes he did. 

“You drive,” he said, tossing the keys to Kon. Then he steeled himself and hit the call button in the chat. His siblings— the ones that he claimed legally— picked up in record time, and over the clamor of their combined voices he said, “You all need to chill the fuck out.”

There was a moment of pure, blissful silence, and then Dick said, “We're all totally chill, Tim! Never been more chill in our lives! But that pic you sent—”

“Of Harry, who yes, is very likely our new brother,” Tim interrupted. 

“No.” Damian's voice was flat and irritated, not at all out of the norm for when he'd first arrived with them, but for these days? Practically a sign of an extinction event. 

Tim sighed and leaned back in his seat. “We don't really get a say in this, Damian. Bruce is starting a DNA test now, but you know how fast he imprints. Even if he's not Bruce's, he's probably Bruce's.”

“Yeah, but that picture you sent showed he came in with someone,” Jason said. “That guy not up to snuff?”

Tim shrugged even though they couldn't see him. “Harry seemed to trust him. Turned to him when he got overwhelmed. Cried on him, let him hold him. There's definitely something going on with him that we all know Bruce is going to dig into.” 

That he was going to dig into. He was already teasing at it. The scars on the kid's hand looked like writing, and he was almost gaunt. With the money Remus Moon dropped, it couldn't be starvation due to lack of funds, which led his mind down other paths. Then there was the way the boy had cried. Teenage boys didn't break down like that, not easily. Where was the bravado? No, something was there.

“Huh.” He got the same reaction from all five of his siblings on the call. Perplexed and curious. 

Poor kid had no idea what he was getting into, coming to live with a family of detectives like them. 

“But we need to be careful for these first few meetings,” Tim said. Like they didn't all know how to handle skittish kids. But dealing with them as vigilantes, as capes, was different than as themselves. 

“We can't push,” Dick said agreeably.

“Be careful with our new brother,” Cass said, her voice soft. 

“Obviously.” The eye roll in Damian's voice was clear. 

“Maybe I shouldn't be there today,” Jason muttered. 

“No,” Duke said. “You should. All of us should. It'll be overwhelming, but better in the long run. As the last permanent member of this madhouse, that's my take.”

“All of us,” Tim agreed. “Bruce wants us all there anyway. Just siblings for now though, no extras.” As much as he adored Steph and Babs, Kate and everyone else that came along with their entire circus, they could easily be too much all at once.

He secured their agreement and, that taken care of, disconnected the call and closed his eyes for the rest of the ride. 

He'd need the moment of peace before the insanity that was sure to come. 

***

As the car pulled into a garage, Harry tried to make himself start paying attention again. He'd zoned out entirely during the ride, losing himself to the motion of the car and the passing scenery, and he didn't want to zone back in. 

But he should. 

“Harry,” Remus called. His voice was soft and coaxing. “We're here.”

Harry sighed as the door moved away from him. Someone opened it. He forced himself to sit up and get out of the car. It was so difficult when his body felt like it had been weighed down with lead, but he managed it all the same. He blinked a few times to clear his eyes and bring them back into focus, then he stared at the different cars that surrounded them. He didn't know cars, didn't really care about them, but didn't most people only have one or two? 

“How many of these do you have?” he blurted, then he flushed. “Sorry.”

But Bruce just laughed, loud and bright. “I'm sure I could find room for a few more,” he said. “But it's definitely getting to be a tight fit in here! To be fair, some of these belong to what I'm pretty sure are going to turn out to be your siblings.”

Siblings. That was right. Harry wasn't an only child any more. “How many?”

“Of the cars? Well, let's see—”

“No!” Harry's cheeks burned; he hadn't meant to shout like that. It echoed in the garage. “I mean, I did ask that, but that wasn't what I meant. I meant, how many siblings?”

Bruce's expression softened even as his brow furrowed slightly. “I'm surprised you don't already know,” he said, the words almost idle. “But there's Dick, then Jason, then Tim— who you met—, then Cass, then Damian, and lastly Duke. Now that's in the order they came to stay with me. Cass is a few months older than Jason, we think, and Duke is older than Damian.”

Harry's breath caught. Six. Six siblings and a father. His lips curled up into a small, trembling smile that he couldn't have stopped if he'd tried. “I think that almost ties me with Ron,” he said. Maybe he was tied if Bruce was married.

If they— if even one of them wound up liking him more than the Dursleys had, maybe coming would have been worth it. Maybe— maybe—

It hurt, hoping. Harry was so tired of starting to hope and having it fall to pieces. But just maybe he could try once more.

The statement won him a laugh from Remus, and it got him a questioning hum from Bruce. “Is that a friend of yours?”

Harry nodded. “One of my two best friends,” he agreed. “He has six siblings as well. Plus a massive extended family that I've never met. But the ones I know are the best.” He wanted to tell Bruce about how they'd saved him so many times, but…

But he didn't know Bruce that well. And he'd have to explain magic, and the Dursleys, and he hadn't even explained the Dursleys to Moony. Though Moony had seen the padlocks and the cat flap, so maybe Moony knew. Maybe Harry wouldn't have to say much of anything. 

He let out a shaky sigh.

“Well, I'd love to meet them sometime,” Bruce said. He smiled warmly at Harry. It was…

Seriously. No adults ever looked at Harry like that. He bit his lip and glanced at Moony. “Yeah,” he said. 

“Who are your other friends?” Bruce asked. He gestured toward a discreet door and started herding them in that direction as he asked that question.

“Hermione is my other best friend,” Harry said. He swallowed hard. They'd been through so much together, and if Remus had his way, he wasn't going back to Hogwarts. Because it wasn't safe.

And he was right. Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd felt safe there. Maybe not since first year.

“It was just us for a while, but last year I started getting closer with some of the other students. We had a study group, since our…” Harry stopped. How to explain Umbridge to a Muggle? “One of our teachers was really bad, and we knew we wouldn't pass our end of year tests if we didn't do something.”

He bit his lip, gnawing until he tasted iron. That made sense, right? It wasn't a weird thing to say, was it? He glanced at Remus.

“I'm sure you and the others did fine,” Remus said with a small smile. 

Which, okay, that wasn't what he was worried about, but it was nice to hear.

“And what school do you attend?” Bruce asked. As they spoke, he'd led them through the halls of a very nice house— manor, practically a castle in its own right— and they entered a sitting room where…

Merlin, there were lots of people there. 

Harry took a step back and toward Remus, who put an arm around his shoulder and tugged him in for a half hug. “I—” He stopped in a squeak. He didn't want to say the name of the school the Dursleys used, and he couldn't say Hogwarts, could he? 

Bruce was his father, Remus promised, but all the other people in the room…

“It's a small boarding school in the UK that you probably haven't heard of,” Remus said. “Regardless of what the DNA test shows, we don't intend on Harry returning there next year.”

Harry relaxed a little. All true. 

Bruce was nodding along. “Understandable, if the kids had to teach themselves an entire subject.” But his eyes were on Harry, and there was something sharp there. Something like when he'd first seen Tim, something that made him think he was being assessed.

Harry pulled away from Remus and braced himself, meeting Bruce's eyes. If there was a threat, he was more than capable of meeting it. And he wanted to know sooner rather than later, because he didn't think his heart could take it if things didn't work out. 

But then Bruce blinked and his expression softened, and Harry didn't feel quite so much like he was under a microscope. “Well, why don't you and Remus have a seat, and I'll introduce you to your siblings?”

“Did you get the results already?” The question came from the youngest of them, who was still probably older than Harry. He looked like he would have been a seventh year at Hogwarts.

“Not yet,” Bruce said. 

The other boy scowled. “Father,” he said. His eyes cut toward Harry. Then he blinked, and Harry blinked back. Their eyes were almost the same shade. 

Everyone said he had his mum's eyes. Maybe his eyes were also his dad's? But… the other boy looked just as surprised. 

“Tt.” The other boy looked away and crossed his arms. 

“Don't mind Damian,” one of the older men— tall and slender, but well-muscled— said. “He's always a little cranky. I'm Dick. Oldest kid and chaos wrangler.” He reached out a hand for Harry to shake.

As Harry fought the impolite urge to react to the name and shook his hand, the other man near that age range laughed raucously. He was big, built more like a brawler. Just looking at him made Harry a little nervous, and maybe Remus sensed it, because he tugged Harry gently onto an empty couch with him. “Please, chaos wrangler. You cause as much as you wrangle!”

“Too loud,” the only girl in the room interjected. Her fingers flashed in silent motions. Harry recognized that she was signing, but he didn't know what it meant.

The big guy added, much more quietly, “I'm Jason. Good to meet you.”

“You probably don't have to worry about the test,” the last man added. He was a little older than Damian. “B'll adopt anyone who stands still long enough. I should know!”

“Sometimes he kidnaps people right off the streets,” Jason added. “We've tried to break him of the habit.”

“It's where he grabbed Jason,” Tim interjected. 

“That's Duke, by the way,” Jason continued as though Tim hadn't spoken, gesturing to the one who accused Bruce of adopting anyone who let him. “And Cass is the real quiet one.”

“I love all my children, but I do wish they wouldn't roast me,” Bruce said to Remus, laughing. His phone made a sound and he fished it out of his pocket. Then he smiled. “And there it is. Harry, as Mr. Moon told us, you're my son with 99.9 percent certainty.”

“Which is as close as it gets,” Harry said for Remus, just in case he didn't realize. “That was faster than I thought.”

“The ride out here took a bit,” Bruce said with a shrug. “And my labs are very fast. But they were right about the adoptions. Damian is my only biological child. I thought, anyway. Who was your mother, Harry?”

“Her name was Lily,” Remus interjected. “And I believe you spent the evening with both her and James. Though from what I recall of the night, you might not remember that much. You were all three pretty wasted.”

“I feel like this isn't something I want to know,” Harry said. He'd learned a lot about James that he didn't want to, particularly about his school days, and it felt like this might be one more thing. 

Remus laughed at him. “Don't want to hear about James and your mother partying with Bruce? Sirius might have been there as well, now that I think about it.”

Harry grimaced. “Please,” he begged, wrinkling his nose. 

“Wait, I do remember her,” Bruce said. He leaned back in his chair. “And James. They were…” He smiled, his eyes going distant and fond. “They were… quite athletic.”

“Father!”

“Bruce!”

“B!”

The chorus of yells that joined Harry's groan was perhaps the best thing he'd ever heard, and the thing that went the furthest in getting him to relax. It was easier to pretend these were kids just like him, even though they definitely weren't. The one closest in age to him was Damian, and he was at least a year or two older. The others were all adults. Would they want a new fifteen year old brother with all of his problems? 

A freak like him? 

“Okay, that's awful. Bruce, why don't you and Mr. Moon go handle adult things, while we get to know our new baby brother here?” Dick suggested. He hopped to his feet and settled on the other side of Harry, close enough that he was almost touching him, but not close enough that Harry couldn't get away if he wanted to.

“We could do that,” Bruce agreed. “If Harry's okay with that. We'd discussed having dinner together tonight, but maybe Remus and I should have dinner together while we discuss things while you kids get to know each other.”

“I bet Alfred could be convinced to make us pizza,” Dick said in what was probably supposed to be a coaxing voice. 

Harry just blinked at him. “I've never had pizza,” he said. The Dursleys would never waste their money on takeout for him, and it wasn't served at Hogwarts. 

A low growl from his other side startled him, and he nudged Remus. 

“Certainly I could prepare pizza for dinner for the young masters,” an older man said from the doorway, making Harry jump. He had a tray with several cups on it, which he settled on the coffee table in the center of the room. “What can I bring you to drink, Master Harry, Master Moon?”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Oh, I'm okay,” he said quickly. 

The man, maybe a butler? raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you'd like a nice cup of tea?”

“Harry and I would both love that, thank you,” Remus said. “And you should get to know your siblings, Harry, while I talk to Bruce.”

Harry very much didn't want to be separated from Moony, not yet. He wasn't ready. What if something happened? What if Remus got hurt? What if—

“Harry,” Moony said. His voice was soft and warm. Harry only then realized that the cups were rattling slightly on the tray. He flinched and sucked in a breath. It hurt to pull his magic back in, to force it down, but he managed. 

The rattling stopped. 

Bruce was staring down at the cups. He smiled at Harry when they stopped moving. “Let's go talk, Moon. Kids, be nice to your brother. Don't push him.”

“We would never,” Jason said, raising a hand over his heart. “It's like you don't even know us, old man!”

“It's going to be okay, Harry,” Moony said as he stood. “Remember what we discussed. They're your family; it's been confirmed now.” He ruffled Harry's hair, and then Harry was alone with his six new older siblings, and he was terrified. 

The older man— Alfred— came back with a cup of tea for Harry, and holding it at least gave him something to do with his hands. It helped Harry relax just a little. 

“So, you'll be staying with us?” Damian, Harry remembered. His question was short and sharp. “Clearly your former guardians were inadequate.”

“Damian!” Dick snapped as Harry's eyes shot up to stare at the other teen.

Tim had his head in his hands. “Tact,” he muttered. “I swear we've worked on this.”

“I—” Harry swallowed. “Remus wants me to,” he said. He raised his cup to his lips, trying to ignore the way it shook, and took a small sip.

“But you don't have any problems with him,” Jason pointed out. “He's not your guardian?”

Harry shook his head. “Pretty sure he kind of kidnapped me,” he admitted. “But my aunt and uncle won't care, so it doesn't really matter. Dumbledore will, but—”

“Dumbledore?” four voices asked in confused stereo.

To be fair, it was an odd name. But which of his siblings had recognized it? 

Then the quiet girl, Cass, asked, “Albus Dumbledore?” Her nose was scrunched up in consideration, and her eyes were locked on his scar. 

Harry swallowed hard once more. She knew. 

He nodded.

But to his surprise, Damian made a disgusted noise as well. “Wizards,” he said, his nose wrinkled. His eyes had found their way to the scar too. “Of course you'd be a wizard.”

Oh. That was— two of them knew. And neither of them looked thrilled. That was just—

Harry's eyes burned, and he blinked rapidly and looked down. Just his luck, right? 

***

“Really, Baby Bat?” Dick sighed theatrically, hoping that his formerly-youngest sibling understood how very disappointed he was, and he tried to catch his new youngest brother's eye. 

It wasn't working. The kid wasn't panicking, which was great given that he was pretty sure Harry had made the cups rattle earlier, but his eyes were watery and unfocused. Disassociating? A trauma response, definitely. Just what had the kid been through? 

“My apologies,” Damian said. “I meant only to express my displeasure about how difficult it is to defend against wizards.”

Jason’s eyes darted from Damian to Harry. “What kind of wizards? Like abra ka—”

“Don't!” Harry bit the word out, and the cups definitely rattled again. 

Great. Right! Time for de-escalation. “Why don't we change the subject?” Dick suggested. “You're our new brother, and we want to get to know you. Magic won't change that.” He wanted to give the kid a hug, but they were basically strangers. It probably wouldn't go over well.

“Yeah, magic isn't the weirdest thing we've ever seen in Gotham,” Tim said, rallying with him. 

“It basically makes you a fancy meta, right?” Duke shrugged. “Not like I can say anything about that. And B won't mind— he's all about meta rights.”

It was working, thankfully. Harry was relaxing, his hands unclenching around his cup. But his brow furrowed and he glanced up at them all. “What's a meta?”

And that's how Dick started to get the idea that his newest brother, like Damian, had probably been raised in something like a cult. 

Well. 

At least he was less stabby?

And now they had a whole new topic to explore! He could absolutely keep this under control. No question!

Chapter Text

Remus very much did not want to leave his pup alone with his new siblings, not with the way that his instincts were screaming at him, but he had to do it. Harry couldn't be there for the conversation he needed to have with Bruce, not with how nervous he was, and there was no doubt in his mind that the conversation had to happen. The magic settling on Harry was too powerful to be pushed away, and it was only going to get worse. 

The Black and Potter legacies were going to hit Harry like bricks to the head. He needed to be somewhere safe where he could be trained in managing them before that happened, or there was a chance that the magic would tear him apart. His family could provide that place. Especially given the size of the house they were in. There were probably a few rooms that could be sacrificed to Harry's inheritance if needed. 

But first he had to get through the explanation of magic to who was— judging by the way the family reeked of blood and death— probably a mobster.

Whatever. Maybe it was for the best. If he was a mobster who cared about his family, maybe he'd be able to keep Harry safe.

Because for all that he'd told Harry that Voldemort had never had an American following, for as true as that was, it probably wasn't going to stop him from following Harry here. It would just take him longer to do it. And there was no force in the world strong enough that would keep Dumbledore away if he was determined to pursue Harry.

Bruce led him to an office close to where they'd left Harry and the others, close enough that Remus could certainly get there quickly enough in an emergency. Then he invited Remus in with a nod and a smile, his expression entirely too affable. Remus had read that the man was kind, but this was defying belief. 

Still, he smiled back and took a seat on a very comfortable couch. This office, for all that it still screamed money, was much less ostentatious than the first he'd seen. And Bruce didn't go anywhere near the massive desk, but instead took a seat in the armchair closest to the couch. 

“Okay, Remus,” he said, still smiling that genial smile that— once he'd thought of it— was far too reminiscent of Dumbledore's. “You need to tell me about something that doesn't make my son happy. Let's talk.”

Now that the moment had come, Remus found himself hesitating. He'd never been in this position. “You might have an idea,” he said after a pause to consider. “You saw how the cups rattled when Harry got nervous, didn't you?”

The smile faded, finally. “I did see. Is this where you tell me that my son is a meta?”

Remus blinked. “A what?” What was that? He'd never heard the term before. 

“What do you mean, a what?” Bruce blinked back at him. “Do you—” He let out an uneasy little chuckle, the kind that rich people used when others weren't playing the game correctly. “Do you not know what metas are?”

“Never heard of them.” Remus shrugged. “I grew up a bit isolated.”

“A bit isolated,” Bruce echoed. He rubbed at his forehead. “Okay. So you weren't— we'll come back to the subject of metas. What were you going to tell me about my son?”

“There are lots of things you'll need to know about Harry, but the most important of this is that he's magic.” It probably would have been better to contribute trying to ease Bruce into it somehow, but Remus had no idea how he could do that given that he didn't know what a meta was. 

And Bruce was relaxing a little, anyway, tension easing from his shoulders. “Magic,” he said. “Okay. I can work with that. I have friends who deal in the occult.”

Remus’ nose wrinkled entirely without his permission. “Respectfully, Mr. Wayne, Muggles who meddle in the occult rarely get anything close to correct. They certainly don't manage real magic.”

Bruce's lips twitched. “No?” He leaned back in his chair. “If rattling teacups is your idea of real magic, Moon, I have to tell you that I have friends who can do that and more, and they aren't what you'd call magic.”

Was this just an issue of vocabularies not matching up? “I don't mean to be condescending, Mr. Wayne,” Remus started.

“As long as you aren't meaning to,” Bruce said. 

Remus tipped his head in acknowledgement. “I'm wondering if perhaps we're speaking of similar things with different words,” he suggested. He drew his wand and searched Bruce's face for a hint of recognition. 

He didn't get one. 

He did get incredulity. “Sorry, do you have an actual magic wand?” Bruce let out a little chuckle filled with polite disbelief. 

“So it's not a matter of vocabulary, then,” Remus said with a sigh. “Yes this is an actual magic wand. Yes, I can use it to do all kinds of magic. Wingardium leviosa!” He flicked his wand and Bruce's lovely desk began to rise into the air.

“Huh.” Bruce stood and approached the desk, eyes narrowed. “Can I—”

“Poke at it, whatever you'd like,” Remus said. “It takes little effort to maintain. But please don't document it anywhere. My people have laws about secrecy we maintain.”

Bruce's eyes cut towards him, and then he nodded once. He prodded at the desk a few times, waved his hand both under and over it, then he returned to his seat. “Well, that's a fascinating trick you have, Moon. And my son can do it, too?”

“Please,” Remus said, grimacing. “Call me Remus. Or, if you're not comfortable, my actual last name is Lupin. We were being… somewhat stealthy in our attempt to arrive here.”

Not that it would fool anyone long, if anyone even thought to check Muggle transportation. Remus’ only hope was that any Order member who did check wouldn't be familiar enough with who Moony was to connect him to Remus Moon. It hadn't been his best plan, but he wasn't exactly thinking clearly when he'd finalized it. He'd just known Sirius would have wanted him to finish it. He had to do it for Harry.

“And the reason for that is because of magic.” Bruce's eyes had chilled slightly, and Remus was reminded of Harry's moment of panic in the lobby of Wayne Enterprises. 

He hadn't understood at the time, but now he saw it. Harry had seen something that frightened him in Timothy Drake-Wayne, and now Remus saw something similar in Bruce. More evidence pointing to his theory of mobster, he supposed. 

“Not exactly.” Remus sighed. He let his spell end, carefully resettling the desk on the ground. “Listen. Clearly you can tell that Harry isn't…” How did he want to phrase it? There were so many different ways to say it, and Harry's situation was so delicate. 

“Well?” Bruce interjected, his eyes still flinty. “I did notice. He's always on the edge of a panic attack. Easily overwhelmed, far too thin, doesn't seem like he's sleeping.”

Remus nodded along with the list, because all of it was true. “Yes,” he agreed. “He's dealt with a lot of trauma in his life, connected to the society we both come from, starting with the murder of his parents when he was just a baby.”

“The survivor of a family annihilator,” Bruce murmured, his eyes distant. 

“And the only known survivor of what we call the Killing Curse,” Remus said. He smiled thinly when Bruce's eyes focused on him. “The backlash was believed to have killed the man who murdered his parents, and it left Harry with the scar on his forehead. It also left him unfortunately famous. His story only gets worse from there.”

Bruce stood again, stretched, and went behind his desk. He fiddled with one of the drawers for a moment before crouching down and pulling something from what was likely a hidden drawer. When he stood, he held a heavy cut glass bottle more than three quarters filled with a dark amber liquid and two small glasses. “I feel like we're going to need this, Remus,” he said, offering him an empty glass.

“I can't get drunk, but I won't say no.” He did enjoy a glass on occasion, for all that Moony made drunken revelry impossible.

“Oh, I won't be getting drunk,” Bruce muttered. “In fact, I feel like I should start taking notes on people I should be preparing to sue. Maybe we should jump right to the worst of it?”

Remus laughed. He took a sip from what was poured and savored the smooth burn of it. “You sure?”

“I can't help you protect him if I don't know what we're working against.” Bruce settled back down, this time sitting next to him on the couch. “So yes, I'm sure.”

“When Harry was fourteen, he was kidnapped by a follower of the man who murdered James and Lily and forced to participate in a ritual that led to the man's resurrection. He watched another student die in front of him. Over the past year, between then and now, people in our society have been calling him mad and a liar, including one of his teachers, who was forcing him to carve lines into his own hand for detention. Then he watched his godfather die trying to save him.”

***

Bruce wanted to stop Remus from speaking, because every word the man spoke was like acid down his spine. Every time he thought it couldn't get worse, there it was, getting worse again. His son had survived all of that? And was apparently at least fifteen, which, given his size, spoke to severe nutritional deficits, which was an entire other level of concerning.

On top of how hard it was for Bruce to be hearing everything, it was clearly difficult for Remus to speak of. The man's voice had clogged up with tears, and he raised one hand to cover his eyes as he pressed doggedly forward. “Our world went to war the minute Voldemort returned from the dead, and neither side is willing to leave Harry alone. Voldemort wants Harry dead, and Dumbledore— his opposition and Harry's headmaster— wants a soldier. I'm convinced he's maneuvered things so that Harry grew up exactly the way Dumbledore needed him to, and I don't think he intends Harry to survive beyond defeating Voldemort.” 

This wasn't just one or two wizards that Remus was talking about. This was an entire society at war somewhere in England. Did the JL Dark know about them? Was this society aware that they fell under meta protections if they'd been hiding for so long? How could they be, if Remus didn't even know what a meta was? 

Which begged the question, given all of the technology in the world, how exactly was this large of a society hiding?

“What a mess,” Bruce muttered, rubbing at his forehead.

“We can set up wards around the manor, making it so that wixen can't get in,” Remus started. “And I'm something of a decent fighter. I fought in the first war, and I'll fight for Harry as well. And, frankly, judging by the blood I can smell in this place, you lot here know a fair bit about fighting yourselves.”

Bruce went still as he studied Remus again. Scarred, more than he should be given his mild personality, amber eyes in a not quite natural color, unable to get drunk, but likely not a quirk of all wixen given that he'd mentioned it. He'd chosen the alias of Moon, and given the predilections of his Rogues, his general luck, and Remus’ names…

He couldn't help the small, disbelieving little laugh that escaped him. “Sorry,” he said, holding up a hand. “I just— forgive me if this is an offensive question, but are you a werewolf?”

He was rewarded for his guess with a flinch, and with Remus immediately drawing in on himself. “I can assure you that there is a potion I take on nights of the full moon that renders me docile,” he said, his voice small. “I only ever slipped once, and I'll never make the mistake again. I've never bitten anyone.”

“I see.” Apparently lycanthropy was poorly regarded among wixen. Another thing to watch for. “Then we'll handle that as we approach the full moon. As I see it, we have enough to deal with getting you and Harry settled here without borrowing trouble that won't arise for two weeks.”

“Harry and I have a hotel room that we can stay in if your family isn't ready,” Remus said. 

A hotel room? In Gotham? The thought of what fear gas or the Hatter could do with either Harry or Remus was enough to make him shudder. They had a spell they called the Killing Curse, for God's sake. Absolutely not. 

“I don't know if you looked into the city before coming,” Bruce said, smiling a little, “but there's a significant amount of crime here. I'd much prefer that you and Harry were safe in the Manor as quickly as possible, just in case.”

“Is that why you and the family reeked of blood and death?” Remus’ brow furrowed. 

Bruce smiled thinly, not at all willing to give away any of their secrets yet. “Something like that.”

***

By the time Alfred summoned them to the dining room for pizza, Harry's head was spinning. He no longer had the mental capacity for panic, because all of his brainpower was taken up by the fact that he knew nothing about the world he'd left behind five years ago. He hadn't known much about it when he'd left, either, but he'd only been eleven then, and it wasn't like the Dursleys had cared about educating him. 

“So there are aliens just—” Harry waved vaguely towards the ceiling, ignoring the pizza on his plate. “Just out there? And the whole world knows it?”

“Sure are,” Tim answered. He took a huge bite of his own pizza, his eyes locked on Harry's. After he swallowed, he said, “And if your magic can be traced to a gene, maybe even if it can't, you probably fall under meta protection laws.”

Harry looked down at the table. “Huh.” His stomach churned, and he didn't know why. That was… If those laws protected people, wasn't that a good thing? 

Why did he feel so strange about it? 

“I wonder if the Wizengamot knows,” he said. If they did, why would they have put him on trial for defending himself last summer? Or was that just more to do with the fighting between the Ministry and Dumbledore?

Harry glanced down at his scarred hand.

“What's the Wizengamot?” Duke asked. 

“Part of our government,” Harry said absently. “They put me on trial last summer for saving mine and Dudley's life. Nearly snapped my wand.”

“That's fucked up,” Jason muttered. “Shit.”

Harry jerked himself out of his reverie and found all of his siblings staring at him, each of them with that same laser focus he'd gotten from both Tim and Bruce before. It was unnerving, and he needed to calm them down before things escalated. “I mean, I think it was all politics? They didn't want to expel me, but Fudge and Umbridge were definitely pressuring them to do it because they were mad at Dumbledore. And they didn't go through with it anyway, which is all that matters in the end, right?”

Damian's scowl, impossibly, deepened. “No,” he said, the word short and sharp. “You are a child. You should not be used as a pawn in adult games.”

Harry went still, even his breath stopping. He should not be used as a pawn in adult games? Said who? Wasn't that all he was good for? Wasn't that his only reason for existing, to be a pawn for Dumbledore and a target for Voldemort? 

Wasn't that essentially what the prophecy said? That it was his duty to fight in a war he hadn't chosen? That was what Remus thought Dumbledore was grooming him for, right? 

Was that why last year no one had helped with Umbridge? Because he was supposed to be able to stand alone? Because he had to be ready to lead his own fighters against the Dark? Hadn't he done just that in his ill-fated rescue mission?

Harry turned away from the table and vomited when his stomach rebelled with no warning. He was so fucking stupid! He was playing right into Dumbledore's hand, doing exactly what he wanted, and he'd gotten Sirius and Cedric killed, and he'd started an army, and—

—and Tim's friend, employee, assistant? from before was in front of him, in the midst of the swirling chaos that Harry hadn't even noticed as his magic went haywire. He didn't seem bothered by the whirlwind of destruction that surrounded them, but instead was just standing in front of Harry, his blue eyes calm and patient. He was speaking, but Harry couldn't make out the words he was saying.

Harry tried to take a deep breath, to settle his magic the way he'd done before, but it wasn't working like it had. His whole body ached, and his scar was on fire, and the man in front of him was frowning fiercely at him. His eyes were still gentle, though, still kind. Then he moved forward, and he pressed two gentle fingers to either side of Harry's neck, to his rabbiting pulse points, his head cocked to one side like he was listening, and he pushed just so, and the world went black.

***

“Master Bruce,” the elderly butler, Alfred, began, sounding far too calm for the panicked fear that he almost reeked of. 

Remus shifted, gathering himself. Something was wrong. 

“Alfred?” Bruce lowered his fork.

“I believe that your newest, young Master Harry, is having a panic attack. The children can't get through to him, and he's rather destroyed the room they're in.”

Bruce stood. “Shall we?” He offered a hand to Remus.

Remus took it and let himself be pulled to his feet, though he didn't need the help. “Take me to him,” he said. Hopefully he could get through to Harry.

Given Harry's volatile power, it was no surprise to find the utter destruction that awaited them in what had probably once been a dining room. It now looked similar to how Harry's bedroom at the Dursley residence had looked, with most of the furnishings obliterated and whirling through the room. Each of the young adults hovering near the entrance to the room had some small injuries, showing that they'd clearly tried getting through to Harry. 

Remus wasn't surprised they hadn't succeeded. “What happened?”

“We were talking about…” Duke stopped. 

“It was my fault,” Damian said. His brow was furrowed. “I was not trying to upset him, but something I said about political games involving children struck him poorly. Which, given his title, I should have expected.”

Remus blinked at the youngest of Bruce's other children. “You know who Harry is?”

“Cassandra and I do,” Damian said. “I will take more care with my words in the future.”

“And that's great, but in the meantime, any thoughts on stopping this before he hears Wayne Manor down?” Tim gestured widely at the chaos still wrecking the room. 

Remus drew his wand, but he shook his head before firing a spell. The debris was dense, and while he probably could take enough of it out if he had the time, but maybe Apparition to Harry might work better? Then again, was that safe? It would have to be a precision jump, and without being able to see Harry through the wall of debris—

“Ask Kon to knock him out,” Bruce said suddenly. 

Tim startled. “You sure?”

“I think it's our quickest option that doesn't end with someone getting hurt, unless Remus has a better thought?” Bruce cocked an eyebrow at him.

“No, I—” Remus shook his head and swallowed hard. “Nothing I can think of. Nothing safe.” It hurt to admit it out loud. 

“Don't worry,” Tim said, and there was a sudden rush of wind just past Remus that nearly blew him off his feet, followed by a terrible noise as the debris field was disrupted. “Kon won't hurt him.”

“No, he'll remember that Harry may have magic, but he's just a normal kid. It won't take much pressure to render him unconscious. Just a bit on his carotids should do it,” Bruce said, his voice light and calm.

“Just like we've practiced,” Tim agreed. 

The debris dropped, and there was Harry, unconscious in Tim’s friend's arms. Even as Remus rushed forward to make sure that Harry was okay, a small part of him had absolutely catalogued the just like we practiced that Tim had said. 

Yes, Remus had brought Harry to this family because he knew that the wealth would be an asset in keeping Harry safe, but there was absolutely something dangerous about the family he'd brought his pup to. Something that gave each of them a familiarity with violence that left the scent of it soaked into their pores, and for all that Remus and Harry needed them, he would be damned if he'd brought his pup from one warzone to another.

Chapter Text

Remus let them settle Harry in a bed, because Harry did need the rest, and he didn't want his cub to be jolted awake after such a bad panic attack. Then he planted himself by Harry's side and glowered until everyone except Bruce left the room. While he might strive every day to be kind, he did have a fearsome scowl when he wanted to, and he could snarl with the best of werewolves. 

“I would like to think that I've been quite open with you in these past few hours,” he said to Bruce once they were alone.

“You have,” Bruce agreed. He was seated on the other side of Harry's bed, watching Harry's chest rise and fall.

“I'm not stupid,” Remus continued. “And as a werewolf, I have enhanced senses. Your entire family reeks of danger. I brought Harry to you to keep him safe, but—”

Bruce's eyes snapped up to meet his. “But you fear that you've only brought him to someplace with new dangers?”

Remus nodded. “You and Tim, you said that Kon had practice rendering others unconscious.”

“Yes.” Bruce leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He seemed as though he was weighing something, his eyes dark. “Gotham is one of the most dangerous cities in the world, Remus. Our criminals are like no others, and my family is always at risk. Harry would be in danger just by acknowledging that he's a Wayne, yes, but I would do anything and everything in my power to protect him.”

“You aren't telling me everything.” Remus wasn't an idiot. Bruce was hiding something— he just couldn't figure out what.

He got a smile, a flash of one that was there and gone, for the trouble of his accusation. “No,” he agreed. “But it's nothing evil. And it's nothing I intend to let Harry get involved in.”

Remus let one lip curl up, baring his teeth. “But your other children are very much involved.”

He watched as Bruce seemed to age before him, his shoulders slumping. “Yes,” he agreed. “Even though I wish they weren't.”

Remus considered the man sitting across from him. He could let this go. He could trust that Harry's father really had his best interests in mind and wouldn't hurt him. 

But he'd trusted far too many of the wrong people with his cub before, and look at where they'd wound up.

“You need to tell me,” Remus said. “I can't—” He stopped and shook his head. “I won't trust you without knowing. Not with everything that Harry's been through already.”

Bruce stared back at him, and for a moment, it was like someone else was looking out of his eyes. A predator like Moony. “Normally we make people figure it out,” he said. “It's kind of tradition.”

“Then we can discuss honoring that with regards to Harry. But you will tell me.”

Bruce sighed. He glanced at Harry, then he nodded. “Very well. Come on then.”

He fired off a message on the very fancy phone that Remus still has trouble believing really was a phone, and as they left Harry's bedside, Dick took over the vigil. He found himself following Bruce back to the office they'd had their meeting in, which had him puzzled until Bruce crossed to an antique grandfather clock that didn't actually appear to work. 

Bruce shot him a small, grim smile. “I don't know if you know this, but everyone in Gotham is very aware that my parents were murdered in front of me when I was very young. I found it to be a rather formative experience, and I've devoted my life to trying to change this city for the better in a number of different ways. You've become familiar with the public ways that I work due to your research into me.” He turned the hands of the clock and it swung open into a doorway.

“Secret passage,” Remus murmured. He entered when Bruce gestured for him to do so. “And where does it lead?” He started down the steps without waiting for an answer. 

Bruce followed. “To the answer to a question most people in Gotham have,” he said. 

“Cryptic.” Remus rolled his eyes. Bruce could apparently be right up there with Dumbledore when it came to dramatic half answers.

They were clearly headed underground, judging by the length of the staircase, and if Remus wasn't mistaken, he was reasonably certain he could hear bats. 

“We survive by being cryptic.” There was just a hint of laughter in Bruce's voice. 

“And ominous, too,” Remus muttered. Then the stairway opened up, and he found himself standing in a massive cave, filled with things that didn't make all that much sense to him. Maybe they would to a Muggle? Although what use a giant coin or a giant skeleton had…

And the costumes were…

“Oh shit, you brought Lupin down.” The office chair in front of a massive screen spun around, revealing Tim with a mug of coffee clutched in both hands. “Not making him figure things out?”

“With the way Harry's life has been, he has good reason to want to know what we do down here.” Bruce's tone had shifted, flattening and darkening. 

It had the hair on Remus' neck rising. He shifted slightly, making sure that he could keep an eye on both men. “And what do you do down here?”

“Fight our own war,” Bruce said. “Tim, display our usual culprits.”

Tim spun back around in the chair and clacked on something, and the screen divided into several pictures of strange people in even stranger costumes. Many of them were… unsettling, to say the least. 

Remus swallowed hard, his eyes locked on the leering white face of a green-haired clown with violence in his mad eyes. “What the fuck?” Normally, he would have tried to be a little more polite, but the words just seemed appropriate as he stared at the people on the screen.

“Gotham’s very own Rogues,” Bruce said. “Joker just went away again last night.”

“This morning,” Tim muttered. He spun around in the chair again and yawned. 

“Yes, and you should be napping if Red Robin is going out tonight.” Bruce's eyes were narrowed as he stared at Tim.

Tim slurped at his mug of coffee and let his chair continue spinning. “Just doing some reports before I go nap. What's your excuse?”

“Batman isn't going out tonight,” Bruce said. “I thought maybe I should try to get to know Harry better.”

“And also he broke three ribs last night,” someone added behind Remus, making him jump and spin. It was a girl he hadn't met yet, blonde haired with a bright grin. “We bringing boyfriends to the cave now, B?”

“Only when they're the other guardian of my new son, Steph,” Bruce said with a sigh. 

“You have broken ribs?” The man didn't move like he was injured at all. 

“He got thrown off a building last night,” Steph said. She bounced a little on the balls of her feet. “This morning? When was that?”

“I didn't see it. Why didn't I see that?” The pictures on the screen disappeared as Tim started clacking away at something again.

“You were dismantling the clown’s shit,” Jason said. He approached from… somewhere, Remus was facing trouble tracking all the people in the massive cavern. 

He was also alarmed to see that the young man was cleaning a Muggle gun. It was… impressively sized, although Remus didn't know much about the weapons in question. “Are all of your children involved in… this?”

“Much as I wish they weren't,” Bruce said. “Why is Damian the only one actually napping?”

“Why would you believe that I'm napping, father?” Damian dropped down from… the ceiling? When Remus looked up he did find that there appeared to be wires up there. For practice, maybe? “Cassandra and I were briefing our siblings on the incongruities of wixen society when you asked Richard to sit with Hadrian.”

“Hadrian,” Bruce echoed. 

“His birth name,” Cassandra answered from a dark corner somewhere. 

Remus' heart ached at a sudden thought. “Harry might not even know,” he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “That his full name is Hadrian. I don't think it ever came up.” He raked a hand over his face.

Suddenly, whatever was happening in this cave didn't seem nearly as important to Remus as what Harry had already suffered. Who cared about their crusade against crime in the face of Harry's neglect and grooming for whatever Albus had intended? As long as they weren't going to let Harry get involved…

His eyes jerked to meet Bruce’s, and his lips curled into a snarl. “Harry won't get involved.”

Bruce… hesitated. “That would be my preference,” he said, the words careful.

They also weren't a promise, and Remus refused to settle for less. “You misunderstand,” he said. “I'll take Harry and run if you try to get him involved in whatever this is. You won't even remember we exist. You promise me that you won't let him, or we're gone.” His fingers twitched and he rolled his head, shifting ever so slightly into something like a dueling stance. Just in case.

Jason, who had the gun, would be the first threat to take down, but there were far too many of them with too many unknown capabilities to think the fight would be easy. 

“B never asked any of us to get involved,” Tim said from behind him. “We all pretty much forced our way into this. If Harry doesn't want into the nightlife, we're all happy to have him uninvolved.”

“More than happy,” Bruce said. “Truly.”

Remus searched his face, but he didn't sound like he was lying. The man looked exhausted, lines of stress on his face and shadows under his eyes that hadn't been evident before entering the cave, but he did seem truthful. “If you're lying,” he started. 

“I'm not,” Bruce said. He stepped forward and rested a steady hand on Remus' shoulder. “I'd like nothing more than to keep all of my children safe at home. These ones won't let me, and it's too late to force the issue. We'll make it work with Harry.”

Remus finally let himself relax. “Okay,” he said. Then he paused, biting his lip. “There's a chance that he might feel as though he needs to be involved.” Albus’ manipulations would have run deep, and Remus was certain that he didn't know half of what Harry had been through. 

What he did was enough to give him even more gray hairs than he already had. 

The blonde girl, Steph, shrugged. “We can burn that bridge if we need to cross it!”

Remus' eyes widened. “That's not how that—”

Jason, who had somehow gotten close enough to him to nudge his shoulder without Remus noticing, did so and laughed. “It's a joke! She knows how the saying goes. Chill.”

Once upon a time, when his pack had been intact, he probably would have gotten the joke and found it more entertaining. Now, with all of his bridges thoroughly burned and his cub in mortal danger, he failed to see the humor. Still, he managed a thin smile and a nod in her direction. “Got it.”

“Okay,” Bruce said, the word sudden and loud. “Remus, I don't imagine it would matter much to you if I said that I was Batman, but that is my vigilante identity. It's a well kept secret that you'll be expected to keep. Everyone going on patrol tonight needs to nap. Yes, Tim, that does include you. Remus, if you have further questions about what we do down here, you'd be best served observing while we're working.”

“Without giving the secret away to our new brother.” Tim grinned at him. 

On the screen behind him, instead of the unsettling variety of strange individuals, a video played of a man dressed as an anthropomorphic bat with a cape getting bull rushed by a large man in neon colors with garish, peeling clown paint on his face. Both of them went over the edge of the building, one of the two letting out a high shriek that quickly cut off. The other person let out a stoic grunt. The footage almost immediately looped when a woman started snickering. 

Bruce sighed, and he sounded genuinely exhausted. “Really Tim?”

“I had to clean up those damn traps,” Tim shot back. “Let me have this.” Then he spun around to watch the video again.

“I don't know why I ever try to pretend like I have any control here.” Bruce shook his head and turned around, starting back in the direction that they'd come from. “I'm going to go sit with the one child who might actually still listen to me.”

Well, that was… not likely, but Remus didn't exactly want to disabuse Bruce of the notion after he'd been so kind as to take them in. And after he'd told Remus what was apparently some deep secret, although he couldn't imagine that many people would care about a man dressing up as a bat and getting thrown off of buildings. 

Muggles were weird, but they weren't that weird.

***

Bruce had millions of questions for the wizard sitting at his son's bedside with him, but he restrained himself from asking them. There had been no hint of a lie in Lupin’s voice when he'd threatened to disappear with Harry, when he'd sworn that none of them would remember he existed. 

Until he knew exactly what kind of threat the other man was, Bruce wasn't planning on pushing him for anything. It was unfortunate that he'd already revealed his identity to the man, but Lupin would hardly be the first dangerous person to know who he was. It was all a matter of having the proper contingencies in place, and he couldn't do that until he had more information. Which he couldn't get without spooking Lupin, not until he could speak with Zatanna, Captain Marvel, or… well, Constantine, if he had to. 

Of course, as he watched Lupin slump further over on the couch he'd chosen, perhaps he'd managed to soothe most of Lupin's fears. If the other man cared as much for his son as he seemed to, then he would need to give Bruce the details of his capabilities sooner rather than later so that they could work together to keep Harry safe. And Lupin clearly felt safe enough to sleep in his presence. 

Or believed himself to be enough of a threat that he didn't see Bruce as a danger, which, given the way he'd spoken of Muggles earlier, wasn't entirely unbelievable. 

What a mess.

Harry abruptly jerked on the bed and sat up, his hand scrambling for something at his side that wasn't there. Based on where Lupin had pulled his wand from, Bruce would bet that was what Harry was going for. His green eyes, unfocused and hazy, darted around the room before settling on Bruce. “What happened?” His voice was hoarse, likely from the way he'd thrown up before his magic went haywire. 

“You had a panic attack,” Bruce answered. “Your magic was rather reactive to that.” He kept his voice calm and gentle, as he would for any civilian coming down from a panic attack. 

Harry let out a soft sound and hid his face behind his hands. “How bad was the damage?” The words were muffled by his fingers. “And did I hurt anyone? I remember seeing your son's assistant, I think?”

“Your brother's boyfriend rendered you unconscious, as he was the only one able to get through the debris,” Bruce said. He considered his options, studying Harry's closed off body language and the shame and fright he was practically radiating. 

He wanted to hug his son, to tell him that it was fine and he wasn't upset. 

Harry wouldn't tolerate his touch at the moment. It would only make things worse, and it might spark another panic attack.

“Nobody was hurt beyond minor cuts and bruises from debris, and the damage to the house can be repaired,” he said finally. Lying about the damage wouldn't be the right move. “I'm mostly concerned about you, but I don't want to overwhelm you. What can I do to make you and Remus comfortable for right now while we get you two moved into the Manor?”

His son peeked out at him from between his fingers. His glasses were on the nightstand by the bed, and Bruce leaned over to hand them to Harry. He hated to find that his son flinched when their fingers brushed. 

“You still want us to move in?” Harry's voice was small, and his lips were pressed tightly together when he finally lowered his hands from his face. “I've— these attacks, they're new, but they're getting worse, not better. I'm going to hurt someone, whether I mean to or not.”

“Then we'll work together to figure out a solution,” Bruce said. “You aren't the only one of my children who's dangerous, Harry, and I won't abandon you because of it.”

“Just like that?” Harry's eyes darted over his face, searching for something, studying him. 

Bruce kept his own expression as open and honest as he could, which admittedly was a struggle. “Just like that,” he agreed. “You're my son. There's not a thing you can do that could make me turn away from you.”

“That's not how it works,” Harry muttered, dropping his gaze. “Not for me.”

“It is now.” Bruce reached out, carefully making sure that his movements were slow enough that Harry could pull away if he wanted, and took Harry's hands in his.

Harry stared down at their joined hands, his thin fingers trembling against Bruce's. “I don't think I can trust that yet.”

“Can you try?” His arms still ached to hug his kid, but he knew that it was still the wrong move. 

It didn't change the fact that he really wanted to. And, barring that, he very much wanted to bring the wrath of the entire Justice League down on anyone who'd ever hurt him, as impractical as that might be. Child abuse wasn't generally a Justice League level threat.

But God did he wish it was, sometimes. 

Harry’s lips twitched slightly, a hint of light and mischief that he hadn't yet seen in the boy's eyes. “I guess trying to trust you can't be any harder than outflying a dragon, and I managed that, didn't I?”

Had Lupin mentioned anything about that? “You what?”

And then Lupin, his voice tired and hoarse, chimed in with, “We should see if we can't get a Pensieve somewhere. I'm sure there are quite a few memories we'd all love to see from your time at Hogwarts.”

Harry laughed, quiet and strained, but the sentiment seemed genuine. “If we can get one, I'm happy to share memories with everyone,” he said, his eyes crinkled up around a tired smile. 

“While everyone would love to see memories of… Hogwarts…” Bruce fought not to make a face at the odd name. Was that the name of Harry's school? “Right now, what we really need to focus on is getting both of you secure here.” 

Lupin sat up and raked his hand through his hair. “I think that Harry should stay here and rest while I return to the hotel and grab our things. If crime is really that much of a concern, I don't want Harry becoming a target for Muggles when he can't legally defend himself.”

“What does that mean?” 

“I'm not allowed to cast magic outside of school,” Harry said. “Not until I'm of age. Or I pass my NEWTs. Moony, how are we—”

“Homeschool is an option, and we'll get you set up for it,” Lupin said. He stood and stretched. “Will you stay here where I know you're safe so I can get our things?”

Harry nodded. “I will.” He swallowed hard. “I guess that's part of the whole trying to trust thing, right?” He glanced at Bruce out of the corner of his eye, then he dropped his gaze. 

“This place is going to be good for you, pup,” Lupin said. 

“For both of you,” Bruce said. “You're a package deal, right?”

That won him another smile, small but bright from Harry. “Yeah,” he said. “Me and Moony come together.”

“I'll have Alfred drive you to your hotel to get your things,” Bruce said to Lupin, sending Alfred a text as he did so. “That way you won't be gone long and don't have to worry about a taxi there and back.”

“I could have Apparated,” Lupin said. Then he sighed. “Muggles.”

“Like teleportation,” Harry added. 

Bruce's breath left him in a soft sigh. “Is there a way to block against that?” If people looking for Harry could just teleport onto Manor grounds…

“Yes,” Lupin said. “And I'll handle it as soon as I start warding the property. We'll get this place as locked down as we can, and then we can ask the goblins to lock it down further.”

Bruce had the feeling that every sentence Lupin said was always going to leave him with more questions, because his next one was, “Goblins?”

“Oh, they handle the banking,” Harry said. The words were slower, now, and Harry's eyes were getting hazy again. It was clear that he was losing steam. The poor kid was probably exhausted.

“Of course they do.” Its own system of government and banking. Laws and school systems and…

Just how big of a society was living parallel to their own? 

No. 

He wasn't dealing with this at the moment. He was focusing on his child, who was already lying back down, his brow furrowed. “‘m tired,” he muttered. 

“Stay here and rest,” Lupin said. “Bruce will stay with you, and I'll get our things. I'll bring Hedwig when I come back.”

Harry's lips twitched. “Okay,” he said. “I'll probably sleep all night. Or most of it. Unless…” He stopped. 

Lupin leaned in and brushed Harry's hair away from his forehead, revealing the lightning scar that had been hidden. “I know,” he said. 

Bruce didn't, but he didn't pry even if it took all of his self control. He would find out eventually, he was sure. There was, however, one question he did need to ask. “Who is Hedwig?”

Harry smiled. “She's my owl,” he said. The words were blurry and tired.

Bruce's eyebrows rose. “Okay.” While Lupin picked up their things with Alfred, perhaps he would investigate whether or not they needed a license to own an owl. 

***

Since they'd only arrived the night before, it was the work of minutes to get their trunks and shrink them down. More concerning, however, was the fact that Remus couldn't find Hedwig in their room. She'd been there when they'd left, and the window hadn't been open, so where…

She was a very clever owl, though, so she would undoubtedly find her way to them at the Manor. He just didn't like that he couldn't find her where they'd left her. 

He checked them out of the hotel, and he was about to return to the car, and Alfred— who had turned out to be a bit reminiscent of Minerva in temperament— when he caught sight of Hedwig balanced on a young… person's… arm.

Remus stopped and turned to stare, his lips curling into a small snarl. 

The person, their eyes a smoky gray and not quite right, winked at him and offered Hedwig to him. Their immaculate suit didn't appear to be wrinkled in the least. 

“You didn't bring Harry,” they said. Their voice was just as androgynous as the rest of them, light and playful. “I can't wait to meet him!”

Remus took Hedwig carefully, keeping his wand hand free. He didn't know what the being in front of him was, but they were unsettling and dangerous. “Harry's resting,” he said. 

“He needs it,” they said, nodding. “That's okay; I'll find him soon. He's mine now.” They grinned, revealing teeth that were far too sharp and jagged, and then they disappeared. 

They left nothing behind, not even a scent. 

Remus returned hastily to the car. Wards. He needed to get Harry behind them immediately.

Chapter Text

Harry couldn't have said whether it was exhaustion or that he felt safe, or if it was a combination of the two, but for the first time since Sirius’ death, he managed to sleep all the way through the night. He didn't know what it was about Wayne Manor that felt that way, but there had to be something there that let him sleep. 

It couldn't just be that Bruce— his father, who was willing to accept him in spite of his magic acting up, which kept making him think he had to be losing his mind, because how could he not care?— had stayed with him while he slept. Because Moony had done that too, and he'd still had dreams. 

Nightmares, not dreams. And really, were they nightmares if they were memories? Because sometimes they were memories and not just awful scenarios his brain conjured to torment him. 

Thankfully there hadn't been any visions yet. What would he do when he had one? He and Moony hadn't talked about— god.

Harry scrubbed at his eyes and tried not to look as lost as he felt as he followed Bruce to breakfast the following morning. Nothing was making sense. Nothing had made sense in years, really, and most of the time he managed to stay above water as best he could, but lately it ended like his best wasn't enough. It hadn't been enough for Cedric or Sirius.

He had to do better for the next time Voldemort came, even though Moony was hoping he wouldn't. 

Harry wasn't stupid. Even if Moony was right and the prophecy didn't have to mean him, Voldemort still thought it did. He was still obsessed. He still hated him. 

He still deliberately went after Harry whenever he had to. That ritual in the graveyard hadn't said anything about a worst or most dangerous enemy, after all. It could have been any enemy he'd used to resurrect himself, and Voldemort had chosen to come for Harry anyway in spite of whatever threat he posed.

So Voldemort would still be a danger in America, and now that Harry had finally slept, he realized that. Dumbledore would also be a problem once he realized Harry was missing, if he hadn't already. And he'd left without even thinking about telling Ron and Hermione. Would they hate him when they realized?

But those thoughts were swept away when they arrived in a dining room— a different one than the one he'd accidentally destroyed— and found Moony sitting with Hedwig perched on his shoulder. Damian was the only other member of the family in attendance, it looked like, and the smaller table was set for four.

“Most of your older siblings are already out on their own most of the time,” Bruce was saying. “Damian lives here full time, though, and he will be starting his last year of high school in the fall.”

Damian, who had been staring at Hedwig, glanced at them both. “Finally,” he said with a huffed out sigh. “I've been ready to be done with school for years.”

“I'm going to miss parts of Hogwarts,” Harry admitted quietly. His friends, quidditch, the castle itself, but not the danger. 

At the sound of his voice, Hedwig let out a bright hoot and abandoned Remus to fly to him and perch on Harry's head, where she began to preen her way through his hair. Harry laughed as he reached up to pat her lightly, carefully. “Hey girl,” he said. “I missed you too.”

She caught his finger in her beak and nibbled it gently. An icy sensation spread out from the small bite, one that he didn't recognize but felt vaguely magical. It was strange, alien, but it didn't hurt. It wasn't alarming at all. It was unimportant. He didn't need to worry about it. He was safe. 

What had he been thinking about? 

Hedwig barked at him and flew to the table, next to one of the empty seats. 

That was right, it was time for breakfast!

***

It had been a few days since his arrival at the manor, and Harry's magic had thankfully not acted up since that first night. Moony was around a lot of the time, which helped, and the Dursleys weren't there forcing him into empty rooms with locks on the doors, and nobody got mad at him for waking up screaming at night. 

Maybe it wasn't such a surprise that his magic wasn't being so reactive. 

Also, it turned out that his older brother had an obsession for animals and had a small zoo that he kept, and he didn't mind if Harry hung out with his animals. Being around Hedwig had always helped Harry calm down in the past, and Damian’s animals helped too. Even if Hedwig was out on the grounds of the manor, hunting or just flying, one of Damian's pets was bound to be there to keep Harry company whenever he needed it. They were much friendlier than Crookshanks, too. And Titus didn't look anything like Padfoot, which helped Harry not to get lost in grief.

“You should ask Father about an animal of your own,” Damian said when he discovered Harry out in the barn with the cow. 

Harry still wasn't entirely sure why her name was Batcow, but she was docile and didn't mind it when he read while leaning up against her sometimes in the middle of the day. He was taking advantage of what was apparently a rare sunny day in Gotham to do just that.

“You mean other than Hedwig?” Harry marked his place and closed the book to focus on his… his older brother. 

His thoughts still stumbled there sometimes, even after being around Damian for several days. 

“She is beautiful, and majestic, but she cannot exactly cuddle with you.” Damian settled next to him, a pad of paper and pencil in hand. “And it might be beneficial for you to have an animal that could be certified to keep with you for when you start school.”

Harry blinked. “Moony’s going to tutor me,” he said. He didn't want to ask about the other thing. Certified for what? 

Damian flipped the pad of paper open and started to sketch something, not looking at Harry. “In magic,” he agreed. “But Father will likely want you to attend Gotham Academy like all the rest of us had to.”

Harry's hands clenched tight on his book and his magic twisted inside with anxiety. He could feel it curling and writhing in him, and he pressed himself back against Batcow and forced himself to take several deep breaths. As his magic settled, he let himself open his eyes. To his relief, Damian was still there, sketching like Harry hadn't almost lost control of himself again. 

“That would probably be a terrible idea,” he managed to say. “Since I haven't had any education in Muggle subjects since I was eleven years old. I'd have too much to catch up on to just dive back in to secondary school.”

At that, Damian's pencil stilled, though he didn't look up from his sketchbook. “No education in mundane subjects?”

“Hogwarts only teaches magic,” Harry confirmed. “My education in Potions, Charms, Transfigurations, Astronomy, and Herbology are fairly solid. I excel in Defense in spite of most of my teachers, and our History of Magic professor was a ghost who only taught about goblin wars. Divinations was a joke, and as much as I like him, I don't actually know if Hagrid should have been teaching Care of Magical Creatures or not.”

“And what if you wished to leave the magical world and work among the mundane after graduation?”

Harry started to say that he wouldn't want that, but then he stopped and swallowed. Because maybe he would, actually, especially since he had family now that seemed to actually want to be around him. And it would be nice to not be stuck in a world where he was trapped by the fame of being the Boy Who Lived. “I don't know,” he admitted. 

“Maybe you can get caught up,” Damian said. He returned to his sketches, and Harry returned to reading, and the silence between them still felt comfortable, even if Harry had things to think about.

***

Having Harry and Lupin with him over the past week had been something of an adjustment. Harry was jumpier than any of his children had ever been, and given that two of his children had been raised in the League of Shadows, that said a great deal about his mental state. Bruce was… to say that he was deeply concerned about Harry was an understatement. 

But Lupin handled Harry well, and Harry seemed like he was bonding with Damian at least, which spoke well to his ability to bond with his other siblings. If he could bond with Bruce's most difficult child— a title that Damian occasionally competed with Jason over— then surely he'd get along well with the others once he got to know them? 

Bruce was optimistic in a way he wasn't often. 

Of course, today would be a test. “You really think they'll be okay?” Lupin was asking for the thousandth time as Alfred pulled up to their destination. 

“Well, it's a bit late to go back if they won't,” Bruce answered. “Since we're already in New York. But I think Dick will do just fine with the boys. Besides, Harry and Damian have been getting along okay while you and I have been discussing security measures on our own, and Harry hasn't had an outburst all week.”

Lupin raked a hand through his already-disshevelled hair. “Right,” he said. “No, of course you're right. Harry's been doing very well. And we need supplies if we want to ward the manor, or we need to hire someone.”

Bruce paused, he then continued getting out of the car. He waited until Lupin joined him on the sidewalk, then he said, “You didn't mention that second option before.” He kept his voice mild and non-accusatory.

Lupin started walking, leading him toward a rather innocuous storefront whose name Bruce couldn't quite make out. “I suppose it didn't occur to me. Hiring a professional for a building as big as your home would be…” He laughed, the sound more nervous than amused, and his shoulders hunched inwards. “Lots of people would balk at that kind of expense.”

“I'm not lots of people,” Bruce said. “If it's to protect my family, my kids, I'm willing to spend a significant amount of money.”

Lupin let out a weak sound of denial. “There's a difference between significant and impossible figures,” he muttered. “But maybe I'll let a goblin explain that to you.”

Bruce's lips twitched. “A goblin?”

“They run Gringotts, which is our bank. They also have the best warders and cursebreakers available.” Lupin sighed. “We'll want to start there if you're serious about getting it done professionally, but I think you're underestimating the price. Warding a family manor is a generational undertaking, not something people do on a whim.”

Bruce hummed. “We'll see.” Maybe Lupin was right, but there were very few things in the world that he genuinely couldn't afford, and he couldn't imagine this was one of them.

It was significantly more likely that the werewolf had no concept of how much money Bruce had to his name, given that he barely seemed to understand most things about muggles. It wasn't a surprise, given what Damian had told him about his conversation with Harry. No mundane subjects taught past age eleven? That certainly played well with the spirit of isolationism the wixen seemed to be fostering. It didn't bode well for any potential attempts at integrating with the rest of the universe. 

Not that they had to— they had the right to stay separate, but taking children without leaving them options to return didn't sit well with Bruce. 

“Now, I've never been to New York's magical district, but I'm sure it's comparable to London’s Diagon Alley. That means we ought to be able to find their Gringotts branch with no problem, even if it looks a bit different than I'm used to,” Lupin was saying. He steered them into the unknown store, and then through to the back. 

Bruce followed, a bit bemused, as they stepped into what appeared to be a closet together. Then Lupin tapped on each of the coathooks on the wall with his wand in a pattern Bruce memorized automatically, and the wall in question opened into a bustling street. If he weren't already familiar with aliens, other types of magic, and even stranger things, the magical shopping area might be more impressive than it was. As it stood, he was only mildly impressed, and he was more concerned about being there in his civilian persona. But Lupin had assured him that most wizards didn't pay attention to Muggles, and Bruce was hoping that was true enough that his hat would be a sufficient disguise.

“Oh, good,” Lupin said. His shoulders dropped in relief. “That building over there will be the bank.”

It did cut an imposing figure, Bruce supposed, if one wasn't used to Gotham architecture. Given that he was, the rest of the street just looked a bit out of place when up against the dark columns and gothic architecture. Bruce grinned. “Just like home,” he said. 

Lupin blinked. “I…suppose,” he managed. 

Bruce headed to the building with sure feet, leaving Lupin scrambling after him. He might not know much about these wixen, not yet, but he was reasonably sure that he could understand bankers well enough. They were the same in every society, and he hadn't met one yet that wouldn't work with him. 

The guards armed with visible swords and shields were new, but they'd be easier to dodge then guns if it came down to it. The ominous warning in verse was also new, but since he wasn't planning on defrauding anyone, or otherwise committing any crimes, he discarded it as irrelevant.

There was a short line once they were inside, but it moved quickly, and Bruce found himself standing before a goblin writing with a quill in short order. “Key?” The goblin didn't look at him, nor did he stop writing. 

Bruce grinned. “Oh, I'm not an account holder yet, though I believe I'll need to rectify that.”

The goblin looked up. One eyebrow raised. “Name?” He didn't stop writing.

“Bruce Wayne.”

The goblin’s other eyebrow joined the first, and his quill finally stopped. “No relation.”

“Oh no, every relation.” Bruce leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter. “I'm here to open an account and discuss security options for Wayne Manor. I hear Gringotts is the best.”

The goblin smiled at him, his grin all teeth. “You are well-informed for a No-Maj.”

In the end, Bruce left with an account manager by the name of Taknok, who struck him as more bloodthirsty than Luthor on one of his rampages, and a full team of warders headed to the manor to start securing it against wixen incursion. By the time they were done, it would be as safe as Hogwarts, Taknok had assured him. Given that Bruce was paying literally tens of millions of dollars, he certainly hoped so. In fact, given what little he'd heard about Hogwarts this far, he hoped his manor would be safer, but he wasn't about to point that out and cost himself even more money.

Especially not when Lupin already looked lightheaded at the numbers he and Taknok were throwing around. As he'd thought, the werewolf had no concept of his level of wealth, which was understandable. He'd learn.

***

Albus fought the urge to slam his head down on the table, and instead he gave into the competing urge to slam his healthy fist down, silencing the din of arguing Order members. They'd been bickering ever since they'd all seated themselves, and he'd been waiting, but apparently they were all going to act like children. 

Fine. He could treat them like children if they wanted that. 

“We do not have time for this,” he said quietly into the silence left behind. “Harry is still missing, and unless any of you have something to report, we have found no trace of him.”

Severus was the first to speak. “The Dark Lord has not spoken of capturing him,” he said. “I maintain that the boy has simply fled due to an over abundance of guilt from getting that flea bitten mutt murdered.”

“Perhaps that is the case,” Albus allowed, though Harry's sense of duty shouldn't have allowed for such a thing. He'd worked so hard to make sure that the boy felt too responsible to just run away! “But I find it difficult to believe he could hide from all of us. Anyone else?”

“He hasn't been spotted on Diagon or Knockturn,” Tonks said. She shrugged a little. “But he's smart enough not to be if he's really running.”

“And he wouldn't go anywhere near Hogwarts or Hogsmeade in that case,” Molly added. “None of the children have heard anything from him, either, which really isn't like him. Last summer he wrote to them even when they weren't writing back. Maybe we should risk disturbing Lupin— bless him, I know he's in mourning— to see if he has any ideas?”

“There are other communities he could go to,” Alastor pointed out. “Godric’s Hollow, maybe?”

Albus cleared his throat. “Harry's never been,” he said. “And I haven't mentioned it to him. He's been kept sheltered from the world at large for a reason, remember. For his own safety.”

And to keep things like this nightmare from happening. Harry didn't even have a Muggle passport, as far as he knew! The Dursleys would never have taken him anywhere, so where the hell would he have gone?

“We'll find him, Albus,” Arthur said. He reached out and patted his arm, and Albus had to fight not to flinch.

Of course it would be his cursed arm that Arthur would get. Not that the man knew, not that anyone but Severus did— he had to keep it hidden. He couldn't let anyone know, not while they were in such a vulnerable state. 

They absolutely had to find Harry, before it was too late.

***

“For his safety,” Hermione echoed, a mean and mocking tone to her voice. She had to hang halfway out the window of Grimmauld, given all the ambient magic in the place, but her laptop and solar charger were working, and the house next door had an unsecured WiFi connection that she was exploiting for everything it was worth. 

As much as she hated everyone down in that damn meeting, they were right. Harry didn't have anywhere to run in the wixen world. If he'd run, he'd done it in the Muggle world, and she was going to find him. 

“Like those bloody bastards care about his safety,” Ron muttered. He was passing his wand from hand to hand, watching the door. The extendable ears were well hidden, and nobody was really paying attention to what they were doing, but still. 

“I'm not convinced that there's a single adult around who knows the definition of safety,” she almost sang. Because she was right. She'd found it. 

America. A Mr. Moon had taken a Harry to Gotham, New Jersey, in America, just before the Order had started frantically looking for their Harry. And of course Lupin had disappeared to mourn the loss of Sirius and was out of contact for several months while he recovered. Coincidence? Of course not. “Got him.”

Ron’s hands stilled, and he turned to her. “Yeah?”

“Want to go to him?” Hermione hadn't really expected herself to ask that, but once she'd said it, she realized that she wasn't going to have it any other way. 

If Harry couldn't be in England anymore, then she and Ron would just have to go with him. Who else was going to watch his back? Lupin wasn't bad, as far as adults went, but even he'd accidentally almost killed Harry once.

Ron’s slow smile was almost feral. “Hell yes!”

Chapter Text

On the one hand, Dick was reasonably sure that both Damian and Harry were old enough to be left on their own for a few hours, regardless of the trauma that Harry was dealing with. On the other hand, Dick was delighted to be given the opportunity to get to know his newest little brother without having to contrive his own excuses for visiting the manor. 

He just had to remember not to be too enthusiastic. Maybe treat the kid like a baby Damian. 

Or not. Now Dick kinda wanted to pinch his cheeks, and that probably wasn't the best idea.

“So,” he said brightly, trying to distract himself from the urge. His new brother was adorable, and he really wanted to hug him, but he was also skittish and he knew it was a bad idea! “Harry, what kind of games do you like to play?”

Harry blinked at him. “What, like quidditch?”

Dick glanced at the game room he'd been thinking of steering them towards, then at Damian. Who just raised an eyebrow at him, as though waiting to follow his lead. Not helpful. “Not familiar,” he admitted. “Want to tell us about it?”

And oh, that was definitely the right move, because his new little brother absolutely lit up! He hadn't known the kid long, but he’d have been willing to bet all of his inheritance— the one he still couldn't convince Bruce he didn't need, but whatever— that it would take months before Harry would genuinely babble at him. A wixen sport played on broomsticks, though, got him going like Damian and animals or Jason and literature. 

Of course, then he slowed down, and the joy faded from his face. “But I don't imagine there are many places to fly around here,” he said. He swallowed hard. “And I know that… that Hogwarts isn't… isn't safe, but there are so many good things, good friends, and quidditch, and—” Harry looked away. 

Damian's scowl was fierce. “Fix this,” he hissed at Dick.

“I can't do anything about a broomstick,” Dick said slowly, the idea hitting him. Yeah, he was gonna roll with it. “But I can teach you how to fly without one if you're willing to put in a lot of hard work.”

“You can't fly without a broom,” Harry said, frowning at him. 

Dick grinned. “Wanna bet?”

***

Harry hadn't had the chance to spend much time with his new siblings aside from Damian, or to explore much of the manor, so he'd had no idea what to expect when Dick offered to teach him how to fly. Other than to be disappointed, because muggles can't fly without planes, unless it had to do with being a meta, which he was still learning about. 

But he was really glad that he hadn't been too skeptical out loud, because Dick would have proven him very wrong. 

He really could fly. 

“Bloody hell,” Harry breathed, watching him soar from one side of the room to the other, using gymnastics equipment. He didn't even know what it all was called, but it was really cool.

He'd never seen anyone flip through the sky like that before! 

Damian, next to him, laughed, but it wasn't a mean or mocking sound. “Richard is very good,” he said. “He's shown us all some tricks, but none of us are as enamored with it as he is. I'm sure he'd love to teach you some of his skills.”

“Where did he learn?” Harry didn't know much about what he was watching, but he knew that he wasn't seeing something that Dick had picked up casually. It looked like years of hard work to get that kind of skill. 

If Harry picked it up at his age, he'd probably never be that good, but it sure would be fun to try. 

“Richard grew up in the circus,” Damian told him. “His parents taught him, and they were two of the best at this art, apparently. When they died, and Father adopted him, he maintained the skill.”

Dick finished his show and landed in front of them with a bow and a flourish, and Harry clapped for him. “Well?” Dick asked, not even sounding very out of breath. “You interested in learning to fly the muggle way?”

Harry couldn't help but smile at him. “I'm sure it'll take a long time before I actually get to go up there, but yeah, I'm interested!”

In fact, he was almost excited for it. He just wished that it didn't feel like a betrayal of all the things he was going to miss about Hogwarts, or a betrayal of Sirius’ memory. Was he moving on too fast? Was he—

But then Dick and Damian were talking him through some basic stretches, and he had to focus on what he was doing. He'd never tried anything like it before, and he wanted to do well, so he shoved his worries to the side.

They would still be there later.

***

Harry's week had settled into something of a rhythm. In the morning, he worked with Dick on stretching, and sometimes he got to hang from one of the trapeze bars and sway a little, but only when it was lowered very close to the ground. Moony almost passed out when he watched them do it the first time, which Harry admittedly found to be very funny. 

It wasn't even as dangerous as flying in a quidditch match with a cursed broomstick, not that anyone appreciated the comparison. 

Then, in the afternoon, after he did a bit of reading from some of his textbooks, he spent some time with Bruce. His father. Which was…

Harry still didn't…

“I thought maybe we'd watch the warding happening on the grounds today,” Bruce said. He was always calm with Harry. He hadn't raised his voice once, not even when Harry's magic lashed out. 

He was nothing like Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon.

And Harry had sort of known that, but now, having started to really spend time with him, he was really getting to know it. Other than academically. 

“Yeah,” he said belatedly. “I'd like that. I've never seen anything like that before.”

Bruce smiled at him. “Me neither,” he said. “I paid to have one of their warders explain exactly what they'd be doing while we're observing, so I'm glad you're interested.”

Harry blinked. That was… “What would you have done if I hadn't wanted to?” He followed after Bruce as they started walking to wherever they'd be meeting the goblins. He didn't know his way around the manor too well yet.

The place was as big as Hogwarts, and even though it didn't rearrange itself with magic, that didn't make it any less confusing! He still wasn't sure why any one family needed a house as big as this one, but he was starting to adjust to it at least. And Bruce and his kids— Harry's siblings, which was still just as strange as thinking of Bruce as his father— did seem to make good use of the space. 

“I suppose the money would have been used to simply endear me to Gringotts that much faster,” Bruce said, grinning.

Harry frowned as he turned that thought over in his mind. “You mean it would have been wasted.”

“Oh, I wouldn't say that!” Bruce winked at him. “Here's your first ever business lesson, Harry. There's no such thing as wasted money, unless you let yourself believe it's been wasted. Anything can be an opportunity. If you hadn't wanted to learn about warding, then I'd find a way to use the money spent to ingratiate myself with the bank. It's always good to be on the good side of the people who handle your money.”

Harry wasn't sure that everything in that statement was exactly correct, but he didn't know enough about having money to say for sure. He also wasn't anywhere near confident enough in his standing with Bruce to disagree, so he just nodded along with him.

By the time Bruce was done, they'd reached the far borders of the grounds, where a group of goblins awaited them. One approached and bowed to Bruce, his arm clasped over his heart. “Mr. Wayne, I am Atovox. Taknok arranged to have me explain what we're doing here over the next few days.”

“Excellent!” Bruce's hand landed gently on Harry's shoulder, and Harry jumped a little. “I trust, of course, that I can rely on Gringotts’ discretion regarding the presence of my minor son as we get everything settled between us?”

Atovox barely glanced at Harry. “Of course,” he said. “Gringotts would never endanger a child.”

“I'm very glad to hear that.” Bruce stepped forward, steering Harry with his hand on his shoulder. “Now, Atovox, you've brought quite a few different stones with you. Why is that?”

And just like that, Harry started to learn about warding, and the process of picking a central anchor and boundary stones. He learned a bit about carving runes and that there was much more that went into all of it, and nothing at all was said about the fact that he was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. 

It was the most free he'd ever felt when dealing with anyone in the magical world before, and Harry found himself wondering…

If he could just be Harry Wayne instead of Harry Potter, could it be like that all the time? Would that be okay? Would Bruce and Moony both be okay with that? 

Harry shoved those thoughts aside so that he could pay attention to the warding conversation. It really was interesting. 

More interesting than fighting Voldemort all the time. Maybe he could do something like that in the future instead of being an Auror.

There were so many things to think about now. But he had time. Moony made sure of it.

***

“Take Harry and run!”

Harry didn't need anyone to carry him; he was old enough to fight, but Lily still grabbed him and fled up the stairs. She still trapped herself. He tried to stop Voldemort, but the Dark Lord still came, still murdered her where she stood. 

Then it was the graveyard, and he was laughing and telling Pettigrew to, “Kill the spare!” 

And Cedric! The curse! 

Harry knew it was coming and he still wasn't fast enough! 

But when he turned to catch Cedric’s body, it wasn't Cedric there at all. It was Sirius he caught, staring up at him accusingly.

“Why did you fall for it?” Sirius asked. “Didn't you know it was a trap? Why'd you get me killed?”

“Why didn't you save me?” Cedric asked from behind him. 

“Why did we die for you?” James and Lily asked in unison behind him. 

Harry woke up sobbing, his face buried in his pillow. Nobody burst into his room, so he supposed he was lucky. He hadn't been loud enough to disturb anyone, and his magic wasn't acting up and destroying things. 

It was just a terrible nightmare. 

A really bad one.

A true one.

One that he couldn't argue with. 

He hadn't killed anyone himself, but he was responsible for their deaths. He'd insisted on Cedric taking the cup with him. He'd fallen for Voldemort's trap at the Ministry. Voldemort had been coming for him when he'd taken out his parents. Everything was his fault. 

If he just… if he wasn't around anymore, then people wouldn't get killed in his name, right? He wouldn't be responsible for any more deaths, right?

Harry stumbled out of bed and out of his bedroom, his eyesight blurry with tears. He wasn't quite awake, not quite all there, but he was pretty sure that wasn't a great thought he'd just had. Moony wouldn't want him thinking like that. Sirius wouldn't want him thinking that way, either. 

He knew that, really. He was just tired and sad.

The bad thing about living in a house the size of the manor was that Harry got turned around quickly, especially when he was upset and tired. In the daylight, it wasn't so bad, but at night, when he was barely paying attention? It wasn't great. He wandered a bit before realizing he was helplessly lost, and then he sank down into a corner of a random hallway and let himself cry a little longer. 

It wasn't like anyone was going to stop him. 

“Did you get lost, Harry?” Damian asked, startling him out of his tears.

“No,” Harry said. He scrubbed at his eyes and cheeks, trying to erase the evidence of crying. “I could have made my way back to the main house any time I wanted.”

Damian's lips twitched. “Given that we're only two halls from the kitchen, I'd hope so.” He offered Harry a hand, and when Harry took it, he hauled Harry to his feet. His older brother was startlingly strong. “Rough night?”

“Really bad dream,” Harry made himself admit. “I don't want to talk about it.”

Damian hummed. “Richard introduced me to something that can help with bad dreams. A sweet, warm drink. Care to try?”

Harry blinked. “Sure?” A warm drink? 

“He always says hot chocolate can fix many things.” Damian shrugged. “He may not be correct, but it certainly doesn't hurt.”

Harry managed a slightly soggy smile as he followed Damian. “Chocolate helps with dementor exposure, so he might be right.”

“Do I want to know what dementors are?” Damian's voice was filled with doubt as they arrived in the kitchen. 

Alfred, despite the odd time, was already there with two steaming mugs. How he knew, Harry couldn't begin to guess. Maybe Damian had sent him a message? Either way, he sat at the table with Damian and wrapped his hands around the mug. 

“I'll tell you about them some other time,” he offered. When he wasn't already tired and sad. 

Damian nodded. “Agreed.” 

Silence fell between them, but Harry already felt a little better just for having company. Better enough to wonder what his older brother was doing wide awake at two o'clock in the morning to find him wandering in the house. 

It seemed strange, but Harry couldn't quite put his finger on why, and he was too tired to poke at it. So he enjoyed his hot chocolate and the novelty of hanging out with an older brother.

***

The portkey deposited Ron and Hermione in an empty room in a muggle airport, whatever that was. Hermione had tried to explain it to him, but honestly, Ron found the whole idea kind of unbelievable. 

Machines that flew in the air without magic? Really? 

From there, she got them a ‘cab’ into the city. It seemed a bit like summoning the Knight Bus, but the drive was much less chaotic. If Ron had to pick between the two, he'd probably pick the cab. Much less likely to make him throw up.

“You two are sure you want to get out here? It's an awfully expensive hotel,” the driver said to Hermione as they approached the address she'd given him. 

She'd found it on her computer somehow. Probably the same way she'd figured out where Harry had disappeared to. She really was just the smartest!

“Yes, quite certain, thank you.” Hermione smiled thinly at the driver and got out as soon as the cab stopped.

Ron moved a little slower. “She's just worried about our friend,” he said. “Doesn't mean to be rude, sorry.”

“Ron! Move it!”

Ron grimaced apologetically as he closed the door. “Where to from here? Think he's still in there?” If he were Lupin, he wouldn't be. He'd have run pretty quick. But he also wouldn't forget to take a potion that would keep him from turning into a mindless beast and murdering students, so… 

Hermione scoffed. “If they are, we'll have to discuss operational security with Mr. Moon.” She rolled her eyes. “Not sure how we're going to find out, though. I only found the records for the cab company getting here, but I couldn't actually get into the hotel records.”

“Do the girl thing,” Ron suggested. 

Hermione whirled to glower at him. “I beg your pardon?” Her fingers twitched toward her wand.

Ron stepped back. “You know! The thing! Gin does it sometimes! Where you fake cry and look sympathetic and get out of whatever trouble you're in or get what you're asking for! The girl thing!”

“I don't cry on command,” she said, looking offended at the very idea. “You try it!”

Ron had the feeling it would be significantly less effective if he tried it, but he was also game to give it a whirl if it made Hermione stop scowling at him like that. “If you insist,” he said mildly. How was he supposed to make himself cry, anyway? He could think sad thoughts, like about how alone Harry had to have felt when he'd been sent back to the Dursleys again after Sirius died. Like how sad he must've been. 

Oh look, he was starting to tear up a bit. 

“Or the two of you could check out that alley just over there.” 

The voice came from just beside them, and came from an androgynous being who stared at Ron and Hermione from smoky eyes. They wore an old-fashioned, black, sparkling evening gown, but Ron didn't think they were a woman. A lit cigarette dangled from gloved fingers, and they raised it to painted red lips and took a drag of it. 

“That one,” they said. They pointed to the alley they meant with their cigarette. 

Their voice was rough, like they'd been smoking for decades, even though they looked to be about the same age as Ron and Hermione. It gave them a strange, ageless quality that went well with the rest of their eerieness. They were making the hairs on the back of Ron's neck stand up the way that very few things managed. He didn't know what they were, but they weren't human, and they were dangerous.

They felt like the entirety of the Department of Mysteries.

Beside him, Hermione swallowed hard. “What are you?” Her voice shook, and that was more unnerving than anything else. 

They grinned, baring sharp teeth that would devour them. “You'll see.” Then they were gone. 

“Has to be Harry's fault,” Ron said, his own voice shaking. “That was definitely something to do with him.”

Hermione laughed. It was just on the wrong side of too high. “But do we take the advice?”

“What? You want to follow the creepy eldritch being’s advice and go into a creepy alley in a city we don't know?” Ron sighed even as he started toward the alley in question. “There's no way that could go wrong, right?”

“At least it's not a talking diary?” Hermione offered, falling into step with him. Her second laugh was lighter, less hysterical. 

“Probably not following any spiders this time,” Ron said brightly.

“No insane visions taking us straight into what might be a trap,” Hermione agreed. 

“No voices in the walls that only one of us can hear,” Ron continued. At that point, they were well into the alley, and there was a large group of people up ahead, wearing clothes that Dumbledore himself would likely consider too garish. 

Neon green and purple? It was too much. And what was with the question marks? 

Honestly, it was almost a relief when they knocked Ron out.

***

“Tell me I'm on the last one,” Jason almost begged, not that he would admit it to anyone that overheard him. Not that anyone could overhear him with his helmet on, thank fuck. 

“Should be,” Babs said, her voice a little frazzled. “There haven't been any other sightings of his goons anywhere else tonight. That said, it looks like he has two hostages he pulled out of an alley in the Diamond District, so be careful.”

“Always with the hostages,” he muttered. “Y'know, any of the others could have been tapped for this shit. Why me?”

“He started in Crime Alley and someone throws a fit whenever the others are there without permission,” Babs shot back without missing a beat. “Are you done whining yet? Ready to solve your last puzzle?”

“I've been doing these for hours,” Jason muttered. He'd started at ten. It was sometime around dawn. He was exhausted. He was hungry. His trigger finger was getting itchy. 

If this puzzle was anything like the last two, he was just gonna shoot Nygma, and B could just be mad about it. 

He made it into the warehouse, fully expecting to be greeted by one of Nygma's ridiculous puzzles like the ones he'd handled all night. Instead, he found that it was all but dismantled. A redheaded teenager was disassembling pieces of it, humming quietly. Nygma was tied to a chair, his mouth taped shut, and a teenage girl with frizzy brown hair paced back and forth in front of him, ranting. 

“And furthermore, setting aside how rude it is to simply abduct people, since we've established you simply don't care about manners, don't think for a moment that I don't understand the temptation to use a superior intellect for pursuing a life outside the law! Of course the lure of proving oneself against the mettle of law enforcement will always be there, but you must realize that—”

“Not sure how smart he can be with fashion choices like that,” the redhead muttered. “Worst color combo ever.”

“There are worse,” Jason told him, stepping out of the shadows. 

Nygma spotted him and immediately began making muffled noises, squirming against the ropes. 

The redhead got on his feet and backed away from Jason with impressive speed for a civilian, getting back to the girl, who had spun around to face him. She fell silent, her lips pursed.

Then, one of her eyebrows went up. “Perhaps it isn't law enforcement you're testing yourself against. Does everyone in this city wear costumes outside of fancy dress parties?” She ripped the tape off Nygma's mouth, still not quite taking her eyes off Jason. 

Good instincts, honestly. On both civilians. It was a little alarming. Why did two teenage civilians have such good instincts? 

“Lots of us do. Hood, please take me in so I don't have to get anymore lectures on the nature of manners and morality from Socrates here!” Nygma’s eyes were very wide, almost pleading.

Jason had to admit, this was a new one. It wasn't often he got begged to take someone back to Arkham. “I mean, I was gonna, but now I don't want to do it,” he admitted. 

“You're the one who kidnapped us,” the boy protested. “We were minding our own business, walking down a sketchy alley, trying to find our friend, and you and your fashion disasters kidnapped us! Now we've been in town for however many hours and we're no closer to finding Harry!”

Jason froze. Harry? No. But they did sound British. On the other hand, Harry was a very common name. It couldn't be, could it? 

“And it's not like Lupin's going to keep him safe,” the girl said. She had her arms crossed, her lips tugged down in a frown. 

Lupin wasn't. “By any chance,” Jason said, his voice just a little distant. “You two wouldn't happen to be Ron and Hermione, would you?”

Both teenagers jumped and stared at him, their eyes going wide. “How did you—” Ron cut off and swallowed. “The creepy thing,” he muttered. 

“Doesn't matter,” Jason said. “But I can get you in touch with someone who should know where Harry is, I believe. Just hold tight while we get the Riddler secure.”

“The Riddler,” Hermione echoed, like she was tasting the words and judging them at the same time. “Of all the names! It's not even creative!” Then she was off again.

Jason did his best to tune her out as he got ready to deal with the police and tried to ignore Babs laughing on the comms.

***

Bruce's phone ringing at far too early in the morning wasn't really that much of a surprise, although it always filled him with a bit of dread to hear Jim's ringtone. It was a shame— Jim was a great guy. 

“Commissioner,” he answered, letting himself sound like the sleepy billionaire he was. It was only just past seven in the morning, after all. 

“I've got two teenagers here, apparently helped catch the Riddler, and Hood seems to think you'll know them?” Jim sounded exhausted. Poor guy; Gotham wasn't easy on any of them, and the city really did seem to be wearing on Jim in particular. He was getting up there in years. 

“I'll be right there. Send me the address?” His phone pinged with a notification. “Got it, thanks.”

Now why did Jason think he knew the kids? Were they unmasked heroes, maybe? If they were, they were in trouble. Any of them should know better than to be in Gotham. His city was too dangerous for anyone not trained in its peculiarities.

Then he got another text, this one from Jason. 

Bring Harry, was all that it said. 

Well. That was intriguing.

Two teenagers at a crime scene who helped catch the Riddler that might know Harry? Bruce's lips twitched. Hadn't his son mentioned two best friends? What were the odds? 

He threw on something presentable and knocked on Lupin's door. The man answered, his amber eyes shadowed, but awake. “What are the odds that Harry's friends from England followed him here somehow?”

Those eyes widened and Lupin swore softly. “If anyone would do it, Granger and Weasley would,” he said. He raked a hand through his sandy brown hair. “Why?”

“My son thinks they helped him catch a Rogue, it sounds like. The Commissioner asked me to swing by the crime scene, and Jason told me to bring Harry. I figured you'd like to come.” He grinned at Lupin, his smile broadening when the man's eyes closed, as though pained.

“Hell,” he said. “Yes, I'll join you.”

Bruce had to admit, he didn't see what the problem was. He was decent with kids, and he was doing just fine with Harry. Yes, he knew he hadn't even begun to scrape the surface of Harry's traumas, and he was sure he had lots of unsettling things to uncover, but it was going to be fine.

Having Harry's friends with him was going to be great! For Harry. Assuming he could sort out the legality of it, but that's what lawyers were for. 

Although the fact that they were able to make it all the way to another country did raise questions about their home life as well…