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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 fath

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.