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Chapter Text

Dear Mr Pennyworth, 

He stopped and rubbed a shaking hand over his aching face. Vernon had slammed him into a wall a mere handful of hours earlier, and the room was still spinning.

Chapter Text

Alfred Pennyworth, longtime butler and mentor, and dare he say it, friend to Bruce Wayne, opened his mail carefully.  Anything from England was to be treated with caution, especially when the last name sparked recognition, despite his better efforts.

Dear Mr Pennyworth . . .

Chapter Text

He didn't put Harry down after they left the house.  He held him in the car, and then on the hired private plane, as he and Alfred stared in silence at one another as it took off.  The little boy in his lap seemed unwilling to let go, head plastered on Bruce's shoulder, little fingers tangled in his sweater, utterly still except the rise and fall of his tiny chest.

"Harry?" Alfred finally asked, going and sitting down next to Bruce after the plane had reaching its cruising altitude.

He reached for Harry, and the boy went easily, switching to resting his head on Alfred's shoulder just as comfortably as he had on Bruce's.

Bruce and Alfred went back to staring at one another, both looking perturbed.  

"Do you want something to eat?" Bruce asked, already reaching for the plane's provided snacks.

A silent nod.  

Alfred rearranged Harry so that he was sitting sideways on him, rather than sprawled.  Harry put his tiny hands in his lap, pressed them between his bony knees, and watched as Bruce unwrapped some sort of sandwich wrapped in plastic.  He didn't take it when it was offered, looking at Alfred and then at Bruce with such uncertainty that it was palatable.

"Here, sweetheart," Bruce rumbled, placing half of the sandwich into Harry's lap.  

"Please, eat," Alfred added, picking up the sandwich half and bringing it to Harry's mouth.  

Harry ate.

He inhaled it.  It was gone in less than a minute, and then Bruce gave him the rest, and that was done for as well. 

Instead of going back to staring at one another, Bruce started talking.

"I'm Bruce Wayne, and the man you're sitting on is Alfred Pennyworth, your great-uncle," Bruce said, still feeling incredibly wrongfooted.

He reached for a bottle of water and handed it over, Alfred steadying the bottle as Harry drank.  And drank.  And drank until it was empty, and he was left holding the empty bottle.

"When's the last time you had something to eat, little one?" Bruce asked, voice purposely soft.

He had glanced at Alfred, but the man's jaw was clenched, his eyes ablaze as he watched his tiny great-nephew eat and drink as if he were starving.  Which certainly had to be the truth, given the letter, but seeing it was so much worse than reading it.  

Harry looked back with wide eyes.  He looked confused and bewildered, and it was with a sinking heart that Bruce realised Harry didn't seem to know how to answer the question.

"Did you eat today? Or yesterday?" Alfred asked, having found his voice.  

His eyes still blazed, but his face was gentle when Harry looked at him.

"No sir," Harry whispered, looking at them and then back at the floor.

"This week?" Bruce tried. 

Harry shook his head in the negative.

And just when Bruce opened his mouth to say something else, Harry spoke.

"My uncle said that he wasn't going to feed me anymore. Since I kept doing freaky stuff."

Bruce froze.  

"Like what?" Alfred asked, voice remarkably even.

"Kept getting better," Harry murmured.

"What do you mean by that?" Alfred asked, looking relaxed, even though the looks that he traded with Bruce said that he was very much not.

"Uncle Vernon would punish me.  Because I was bad.  But I--," Harry gulped loudly.  "I kept waking up the next morning and they were gone."

"They?" Bruce managed to ask, his voice sounding slightly strangled.

"My marks.  It's not a punishment unless the marks stay," Harry explained slowly, looking Bruce in the eye.  

"What sorts of marks?  Do you still have them?" Alfred asked, sounding terribly cheery.  

Pleasant, even.

Bruce fought the urge to back away slowly.

Harry frowned at Alfred.  

"After Uncle Vernon stopped feeding me, the marks stayed more. But they're still better than they ought to be.  It's because I'm a freak," Harry stated in a matter of fact voice.  

"May we see?"  Bruce asked when Alfred didn't.

Harry shrugged and then pulled off his overlarge t-shirt.

"They're not so bad now," Harry's voice was unusually tiny as he stared uncertainly at Bruce and Alfred.

--

If this was "not so bad," then Alfred would hate to see what "bad" might look like.  Harry's skinny little back was one solid bruise.  It was a kaleidoscope of different shades of brown, yellow, purple and everything in-between.  Most of the marks had been made with a belt, if Alfred were to take a guess, and it was shocking that Harry could stand to lean against him with his back in such a state.

"Bruce," Alfred barely managed to grind out.  

He handed Harry to Bruce and then stood up.  

"If you will excuse me for a moment, Harry.  I find myself in need of my bag," he said, turning around and heading for the storage compartment at the far end of the plane.  

He went into the lavatory and took a breath deep enough to make himself see stars, and then let it out very slowly.  He sat down on the closed seat and put his hands over his mouth and closed his eyes, and let himself be for several seconds.  He didn't make a sound.  At the end, he stood up and washed his hands and went and retrieved his bag.  He opened it up and went straight for the first aid kit he had stashed inside.  He grabbed the arnica gel, silently cursing to himself that he hadn't brought the bigger tube.  That, of all things, was what made tears threaten to spill from his eyes. 

--

As Alfred walked away, Harry looked up at Bruce in concern.

"Is he okay?"  He asked, feeling like he already knew the answer.

"He will be in a minute," Bruce croaked out.  

Bruce's hands were warm on his shoulders, and he shivered as the rest of him felt the chill of the air conditioning.  

"Are you cold, little one?" Bruce asked, reaching back behind them and pulling out a dark green blanket. 

It was soft to the touch, but heavy like a duvet, though nowhere near the same size.  He put it over their legs, and wrapped a warm arm over Harry's bare chest.  Harry felt himself relax for what felt like the first time in forever, slumping backward against Bruce's chest.  

He still didn't exactly know who Bruce was, but he and Alfred had taken Harry from the Dursleys, and that deserved some trust.  Between that and the food, it was the most anyone had ever done for him outside of Ms. Engelbrecht.

The thought made him jolt a little.  

"What is it?" Bruce asked, turning him so they were chest to chest, and pulling the blanket up higher.

"I need to tell my teacher where I've gone.  She'll worry."

"What's her name?"  Bruce asked.

He put his head back on Bruce's shoulder, relaxing further when the man didn't push him away.  He was impressed over Bruce's size.  He'd never met someone bigger than Vernon, but where Vernon was mostly fat, Bruce seemed to be the opposite.  And yet.

And yet he was so gentle.  

"Ms. Engelbrecht.  She's tried to help me, but no one would listen," Harry yawned, burying his face in Bruce's shoulder.  "She was the one who tol' me to take a chance with writing you."

"I'm glad she did," Alfred's voice sounded from behind him. 

He nodded, only flinching a little.  Bruce's hand was on the back of his head, and he wanted to argue that the man shouldn't touch him because he was dirty, but he was too tired to do so.  

"I'm going to put some ointment on your back, Harry.  All right with you?" Alfred said, sitting back down beside them and uncapping something.

He really didn't care.  He was quickly losing the battle to stay awake.

"Okay," he said distantly. 

Alfred's hand was warm and calloused, and it kind of tickled, but he bore it silently, only squirming when it hurt too much.  Alfred--Uncle Alfred apologised each time, and something loosened in Harry's chest every time it happened.  He was asleep before Alfred finished.

--

Bruce felt Harry's body relax into sleep and then made eye contact with his mentor.  Alfred's eyes were a little red rimmed, and the sight was jarring.  For Alfred to be anything other than perfectly coiffed was in and of itself a sign.  

"I knew that Lily had gotten married, and I knew that she had given birth, but that's the last I had heard from her.  Petunia never told me she was married, and I wouldn't have learned, except for when her mother contacted me and let me know."

Bruce nodded.  Alfred capped the arnica and put it in his pocket, before going back to wash his hands in the lavatory.  In the meantime, Bruce, pulled the blanket up around Harry's shoulders and lightly tucked the sides of it in around his small body. 

"Six years, his letter said, right?" Bruce asked when Alfred returned, his voice soft.  "You still have the letter, right?" 

His mind was already on the case they were going to be building against the Dursleys.

"Oh, yes.  And I contacted Leslie before we took off.  She is going to be waiting for us."  

"Do you want to take pictures now?"  Bruce asked, reaching for the blanket.

"We'd best do it soon, hadn't we," Alfred sighed, pulling out his phone.  "Let's be quick about it then; I don't want him to get cold.  He doesn't have any fat.  Not whatsoever--," Alfred broke off, looking away in order to regain his composure.

Bruce didn't look at him until Alfred cleared his throat.  

"Pull down the blanket.  I'll be quick about it."

After Alfred had taken the pictures, and Bruce had bundled the little boy up again, Alfred came and sat next to them, shoulders slumping briefly as they took a moment to themselves.

Chapter Text

As it turned out, it was a good thing they took pictures before Harry went to sleep, because when he awoke, the bruises were almost gone.  Harry was able to tell almost immediately, and he burst into tears as he realised his marks had gone again.  

"See?  I tol' you I was a freak!" Harry cried, burying his face in his hands as Alfred and Bruce tried to soothe him.

"You are not a freak," Alfred told him firmly, taking Harry's chin in his hand and making him look at him.  "You are a wonderful little boy," Alfred added.  "And furthermore, you're our wonderful little boy, and we won't let you speak poorly of yourself in such a fashion."

"But-But, they're gone again!" Harry whimpered, curling into himself (and Bruce).

"They are, but there has to be a reason for it, and we're going to help you figure it out," Bruce said softly, wrapping his arms around the boy's small frame, hugging him gently as he did.

Harry's sniffles slowly died down, leaving him feeling acutely embarrassed for his outburst.

"'M'sorry," he whispered as the plane began to descend.

"Whatever for, lad?" Alfred asked, reaching over to hold Harry's hand.

"For makin' such a big fuss.  I don't.  I've never.  I'm sorry," a clearly overwhelmed Harry babbled.

Alfred and Bruce shared another look over his head, both feeling particularly murderous toward Harry's former "guardians."

"You're allowed to have big feelings.  You've been through a lot, especially today," Alfred pointed out, trying to keep his composure.

"You're a child," Bruce said, watching his mentor struggle for words.  "Children cry and it's perfectly normal."

Harry shook his head in the negative.  

"My aunt and uncle didn't think so," he whispered.

"As it happens," Alfred managed in a strained voice, "I don't care whatsoever about what your relatives thought about you.  They are . . ." he fought with himself to keep his words acceptable for a child.  "They are the worst examples that humanity has to offer, and I'm very sorry that you had to experience them."

Bruce, with a smile for Harry, reached over and put his arm around Alfred's shoulder, briefly pulling him into their hug.  Harry wrapped an arm around Alfred from the other side, and when Bruce let go, Harry didn't.  Bruce helped him to transfer from his lap to Alfred's, and then reached over and kissed his forehead.

"You shouldn't kiss me, 'm dirty," Harry said, voice muffled from where it was pressed into Alfred's shoulder.

"Nothing a little soap and water won't fix, little one," Bruce said, watching the windows as the plane touched the landing strip.  

He automatically reached out to steady Harry as the plane lurched upon landing.  

"Welcome to America, sweetheart," Bruce added, reaching over and wiping away some of Harry's leftover tear tracks.

--

They stopped at a Target on the way to Dr Thompson's clinic.  Luckily, Harry had known his sizes, and it was thanks to Ms Engelbrecht that he did.  She had bought him a winter coat and shoes and a plethora of other things that past year, and he had dutifully paid attention to what she bought him.  Armed with that knowledge, Alfred had offered to buy a few things for Harry to wear until they had a chance to officially expand his wardrobe.  Before Alfred went in, though, he stopped and asked Harry a question.

"Do you have a favorite color, Harry?" 

Harry looked at him in surprise and a little bit of confusion.

"I-I've never.  I don't know," Harry answered, dropping his head, red suffusing his pale little cheeks.

"Well," Alfred said, feeling as if he were swallowing down around a particularly sharp stone, "I'll just have to get a little of each color that I see, and then you'll have a better idea of your preferences."

Harry nodded rapidly, tears shining again in his eyes.  

Alfred left Bruce and Harry in the car and walked briskly into the store, taking deep breaths as he did to calm himself from following Harry's example.  He mentally did the conversions from the UK sizes that Harry had quoted, and was reasonably certain that he had the right sizes when he finally went to check out.  He got Harry five t-shirts, in five different colors, as well a long-sleeved t-shirt that was up a size.  Harry hadn't indicated what kind of underwear he wore, so he chose boxer briefs, modelling his choices after what he and Bruce both wore.  He got them and some socks in plain colors, not wanting to overwhelm the boy anymore than necessary.  He also bought overalls, some khaki shorts, and some little jeans.  All except the overalls had elastic in the waist, and they all came with adjustable waists, which he thought rather ingenious.  It being August, he opted to get some lightweight pajamas, knowing that they could always get heavier ones if Harry needed them.  He had a feeling that Harry would likely be cold for a while until they got his weight up to a more normal range, but he also didn't want to only buy the cheap options.  Harry had clearly had too much experience with that already.  

It burned deeply in his gut that any child had been treated as such, but that anger was amplified when he remembered that it had been Lily's child that had been treated so poorly.  It was unconscionable.  

He finished the trip by getting Harry some cheap knockoff Chuck Taylors that were Batman themed, and then, with a thought toward Dick, he bought the boy a soft blue elephant plushie.  It was wearing glasses and looked rather cute, he thought.

All in all, the trip only lasted fifteen minutes, but it was fifteen minutes without his nephew, or his ward, and he was a little anxious to get back to them when he finally exited the store.  

--

Harry watched Alfred as he went into the store, and then he leaned back against Bruce's arm when he couldn't see him anymore.

"What's gonna happen now?" He asked in a little voice that Bruce had to strain to hear.

He wasn't certain if Harry meant for him to answer, but he did anyway.

"We're going to go see a friend of ours who is a doctor, and she's going to check you over.  I think we'll probably ask her to run the test that checks to see if you have the meta gene, given your remarkable healing abilities," Bruce said, watching Harry closely. 

"Meta gene?"

"Yes.  Sometimes people are born with an extra gene that allows them to do extra things, like healing faster or even flying," Bruce explained.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise at this, little mouth falling open slightly as he took in what Bruce had said.

"What if it's not that?" He asked after a moment.

Bruce shrugged and put his arm around Harry's smaller frame.

"Then we'll look at other possibilities.  There's almost certain to be an answer, but finding it may not be easy."

Harry silently absorbed that, rubbing his face on Bruce's shoulder in a contemplative manner, kind of like a cat.

Bruce thought it was terribly sweet.  

In the silence, Bruce decided to talk some more, not certain how much Harry was absorbing, but needing to do something since he wanted to put on a calm façade for him.  

"I have a son, he's . . . he's mostly grown," Bruce said with a rueful smile.  "He's moved out recently, but we'll see if we can't get him to visit now that you'll be living with us.  Officially, your uncle Alfred is my butler, but as you may have surmised, he's more than that behind the scenes."

He noted that Harry was watching him now, paying close attention to what he was saying, so he kept talking.

"In reality, Alfred is something of a surrogate father to me.  My own parents died when I was young, just a little older than you," he said, voice cracking a little.  

"I'm sorry," Harry said, little face crumpling up in a sad little moue.

"Thank you."

"Alfred is also something of a bodyguard to me.  I'm a bit of a famous figure in Gotham.  That's where we are now, at least the outskirts of it.  I'll tell you more about that later," Bruce said when he spotted Alfred heading in their direction.  

Alfred climbed into the driver's seat and then handed two bags back to Bruce.  

"What's that?" Harry asked, before adding.  "I'm sorry to be asking so many questions. I'm not trying to bother you."

"No, we want you to ask questions.  How are you supposed to learn if you don't?" Bruce responded, smiling at Harry even as his stomach clenched angrily at the fear in Harry's voice.  "In the meantime, let's see what Alfred got you."

"Is that all for me?" Harry asked in a wondering voice. 

"Yes," Alfred answered, looking backward at them in the rearview mirror.  "Please buckle up though.  Bruce can still show things to you as we drive, but I want you to be safe.  We'll have to get you a booster seat before long, but first we need to find out what you weigh."

Bruce carefully showed Harry each of the t-shirts in the bag, and then let Harry pick one to wear to Leslie's.  It was a pink shirt with the supposed schematics of the Batmobile outlined in black on the front."

"What's the Batmobile?" Harry asked, tracing a thin finger over the lines of his shirt.  

It was a very soft shirt.  

"That's the car that Gotham's hero drives," Alfred explained when Bruce didn't answer.  "His name is Batman."

"I've heard of Batman!" Harry offered, eyes wide in surprise.  "He's a hero here?  Do you think I could meet him?"

Beside him, Bruce coughed, getting Alfred's side-eye in response.  

"It's distinctly possible," Bruce managed after a moment.  "He's pretty cool, you think?"

"I like him the best," Harry said quietly.  "He's smart.  Ms Engelbrecht said that Batman has to be smart, since he doesn't have any superpowers.  She said it's better to be smart than just muscles, 'cause you can work stuff out with your brain more often than not."

"Well then," Alfred responded, smiling at Bruce this time.  "Ms Engelbrecht sounds very wise."

Harry nodded, shyly looking down at his shirt again.  

"She's my favorite person."

Mentally, Bruce made a note to himself to track her down.  It seemed like they had a lot of reasons to talk to her.

--

With Alfred leading the way, Bruce carried Harry into Leslie's clinic.  Since Alfred had called ahead, she was waiting for them by the front desk, and she waved them into the back with her as they arrived.  She looked at Harry with sad compassion, but she didn't say anything until they were ensconced in a room, and she turned on a white noise machine by the door to help insure their secrecy.  

Alfred sat in the chair next to the exam table, while Bruce sat on top of it with Harry still on his hip.  He slid backward until his back touched the wall, then put Harry in his lap, facing outward.  Harry squirmed until Bruce brought an arm down around his stomach, bracketing him in like a safety bar on a rollercoaster.  Harry gripped Bruce's sleeve with his hands and pulled his legs up, with his feet on Bruce's thigh.  

"Leslie," Alfred said, looking at her with an immeasurable amount of sorrow in his gaze, "Let me introduce you to Harry Potter, my great-nephew."

"It's very nice to meet you, Harry.  My name is Dr Thompkins, but you can just call me Leslie," she said, smiling warmly.  

Harry nodded, looking uncertain as he bit his lip.  

"Have you ever been in a doctor's office before?" She asked him.

He shook his head in the negative, looking over at Alfred until he stood up and went and sat beside Bruce on the exam table.  It creaked a bit, but held.  Harry reached his hand out blindly for Alfred, and he took it, holding his hand tightly.  

"Are you cold?" Alfred asked, looking at Harry in concern.  

His hands certainly were.

Harry shook his head in the negative once more.  

"Scared?" Leslie asked, intuitively.

Harry hesitated and then nodded, before closing his eyes and turning his face into Bruce's shoulder, toward where Alfred was sitting.

"I know that a lot has happened to you lately, but we're going to do our best to help you adjust, and that means making sure you're as healthy as you can be," Leslie said softly, grabbing a stool and pulling it over to sit on.  

Harry nodded again, but didn't say anything.

"Can you tell me how old you are?" Leslie asked.

Harry let go of Bruce's arm and Alfred's hand and held up six fingers, before clamping his fingers back down on Bruce and Alfred.  

Leslie nodded, frowning briefly before looking at Alfred.

"I want to get his weight and height for starters, and then we'll go from there.  Sound okay?"

"That's fine," Alfred responded, already knowing he wasn't going to like the answers.

Chapter Text

Alfred wasn't surprised that he didn't like the results of Leslie's tests.  He had known he wouldn't, but he hadn't been aware of how bad it actually would be.  At three foot nothing, Harry was the size of a three year old, and at thirty pounds, he was at the bottom of the range for a four year old boy.  If he'd actually been three or four, that'd have been one thing, but he wasn't, he was six, and he should be at least half a foot taller, and at least six pounds heavier, if not more.  Later, in the privacy of the hallway, Leslie had told Alfred that if she had seen these numbers on another child, she would have been forced to call CPS.  As it was, it was still very serious, but at least Harry was away from the monsters who had caused the situation to begin with.

She drew blood for her tests, a process that Harry did not like in the least, pressing his face into Bruce's shoulder and shuddering as she filled up her vials.  He didn't scream or cry, but perhaps more importantly, he didn't talk in front of her at all.  They got through the exam by him nodding or shaking his head as needed, Harry making very little eye contact with her until the ordeal was over.  

They also got x-rays of his bones for their records, the results of which caused Leslie to frown over.  It seemed that he had broken three fingers on his right hand, all of which had healed correctly, and also his right arm, which had not.  But they would need to wait a bit until he was more stable to rebreak it.  She also wanted them to get an MRI of his head, but that would also have to wait until later, as they would have to do it at a different facility (or at home, but that would be an unofficial result . . .).  

At the end, after she promised to call them with the results, he buried his head in Bruce's neck and asked, very quietly, if they could leave.

He never used the word, "home" and that probably bothered Alfred the most.

She saw them out the clinic, and quietly reminded Alfred that Harry would need to be kept on soft and easily digestible foods for the time being to combat his starvation.  She had already lambasted him for feeding Harry a sandwich, and told him that they'd gotten very lucky on that front.

Alfred could have kicked himself.  He had known better, and though he had fed him that sandwich out of ignorance, it wouldn't have been a valid excuse if the boy had suffered because of it.

She also suggested they take him to get his eyes checked, as she had noticed that he seemed fairly nearsighted.  Alfred had mentally added it to the ever growing checklist in his mind.

--

After they left the clinic, Bruce pulled the second Target bag out of the space between his feet and presented the blue elephant stuffie to Harry.  

"This is for me?" Harry asked from where he was pressed in close against Bruce's arm.

"Yes, baby.  It is," Bruce said, handing the plushie over.  

"I thought you might like it," Alfred offered from the front seat, glancing back in the rearview mirror at them.

It was bigger than Harry.  

"It's really really mine?" Harry asked, his face smushed into the plushie's trunk.

Bruce and Alfred eyed each other again.  

"Yes, it's really yours," Alfred agreed, blinking hard.

"I've never gotten presents before today," Harry whispered.  "And now I've gotten a whole bunch!"

Bruce suddenly found it necessary to look outside at the scenery going past as he blinked furiously after hearing Harry's statement.

"There's also a new pair of shoes in there for you, Harry," Alfred added.  "They're just for play, but we'll get you some other shoes later."

Harry looked over the side of his plushie, his eyes wide in disbelief as Bruce held out his new shoes.  They were black, yellow and white and had little capes on the backs, above the heels.  

"Just like Batman," Harry whispered, reverently.

"Yes, baby.  Just like," Bruce said.  "Want me to help you put them on?"

Harry nodded rapidly.

--

Back in Scotland, Albus Dumbledore was dismayed over the report he was hearing from his spy, Arabella Figg.  Two apparent muggles had stormed into #4 Privet Drive and stolen Harry Potter out from their very noses.  As if that weren't bad enough, both of the Dursley adults had been physically assaulted, and Vernon had declared that the boy would never be allowed back in their home ever again.  The man might not have magic, but his words had been issued with such veracity that the blood wards had fallen shortly thereafter.  

"Ah, Severus," Albus said, greeting the man as he came into the room, a scowl already fixed upon his dour face.  "I need your help."

"I had surmised as much, given that it's August," Severus spat, throwing himself angrily into an overly squashy armchair.

"Just yesterday, I got word that Harry Potter was abducted from his home in Surrey."

"And what was he doing in Surrey?"

"That's where he has lived for the past five years, with his aunt and uncle and cousin," Albus explained in a placid voice.  

"Aunt?" Severus hissed, sitting up and staring unpleasantly back at his employer.  

"Petunia nee Evans.  I believe you had a passing acquaintance with her?"

Severus scowled back at him.  

"You know plenty well that I knew her better than that, Albus.  And she was hardly fit to raise a hamster then, I can't imagine she got better at pretending to be a functioning human being since," Severus added derisively.  

"Oh, Severus.  She's a mother now, herself.  She's his only remaining blood family."

"And?  Please tell me you had eyes on the old bat," Severus asked, dark eyes glaring holes into Albus's beard.

"Arabella Figg, a squib, has helped keep me appraised of their activities over these past five years.  She hasn't had much to report, if you must know."

"I'll believe that when I talk to her," Severus announced, standing up with a scowl.  "Since you're asking me to track him down, correct?"

"If you can, Severus," Albus asked, still smiling benignly back at him.

"And what should I do if he seems happy wherever he is?"

"Away from all and everyone he has always known?"  Albus asked, looking at him in disbelief.

Severus didn't say anything, just stared heatedly back at him.

--

Back at the manor, Alfred encouraged both Bruce and Harry to take a nap.  He showed Harry where Bruce's room was and then directed him to a room just across the hall.  

"If you'll give me a moment, I'll put fresh sheets on it," Alfred said, walking briskly down the hallway to retrieve said items. 

Harry looked at Bruce over his plushie.

"Where's Uncle Alfred's room?"

"Your Uncle Alfred sleeps on a different floor.  I've tried to get him up on the family wing for years now," Bruce said, raising his voice enough that Alfred scowled at him from down the hallway.

It was only after Alfred had returned and remade the bed that Harry dropped the next bombshell on them.

"I've never slept in a bed before," Harry said, eyeing the bed in his room with a frown.

For a moment, Bruce and Alfred froze in shock at his words.  Bruce managed to recover first.

"Where," Bruce cleared his throat.  "Where did you sleep when you lived with . . . those people?"

Alfred slowly clenched and unclenched his fists next to him, out of sight of Harry.  

"I slept in my cupboard," Harry whispered, peering around Bruce's large form to glance at Alfred.

"Your what?" Alfred's voice was clipped.

"My cupboard.  It's under the stairs, but it was all mine.  No one went in there except me and the spiders!"

"The-The what?" 

"The spiders.  They lived in my cupboard with me, but it was okay.  They were really nice.  I looked them all up and none of them were poisonous."

"Venomous," Bruce corrected faintly.

"Yeah.  That," Harry nodded, hugging his plushie tighter.  "Sometimes my aunt and uncle would lock me in, but I usually kept extra food in there, and I always had a couple of water bottles hidden too.  It's only during the summer that things got harder, food-wise," he clarified.  

They walked into his room and watched as Harry skirted around the bed, never touching it. 

"Do you want to try it out?" Bruce asked, still eyeing Alfred as if he expected him to spontaneously explode. 

"I'm not allowed on the furniture," Harry said, frowning down at the new shoes covering his feet.  

He wiggled his toes in them, and missed the silent furious conversation happening over his head between Alfred and Bruce.

"I think it would be safe to say that the rules from your old family are no longer in effect," Alfred stated.

"Wha-Beg pardon?" Harry asked, staring back up at him.

"What Alfred means, is that you most certainly are allowed on the furniture now.  You are a member of the family, and family is allowed on the furniture," Bruce explained, kneeling down beside Harry.  

Behind him, Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered darkly to himself under his breath.

Harry still looked dubiously at the bed until Bruce asked again if he wanted to try it out.

"Nice clean sheets just for you, little one," Bruce said, sitting on the edge of the bed and patting the spot beside him.  

The duvet was pulled back, and Bruce helped him clamber onto the mattress, and snuggle in under the sheets.  

"It feels like I'm on a cloud, Bruce," Harry whispered.  

Neither one of them noticed Alfred leaving the room.  

--

Down a floor, Alfred pulled a burner phone out of his bag and made a phone call to a number he had memorized many years ago.

"Eh?" Asked the man on the other side.  

"I want to cash in my favor," Alfred said in a tightly controlled voice.  

"How?" 

"I want you to do some mild harassment of the family at #4 Privet Drive, Surrey, England," Alfred said.

"What kinds?"

"Make them think they're being watched?  Phone calls that don't have anyone on the other end, minor automobile accidents, misplacements of their post, that sort of thing.  Don't harm the child, but you can hurt the adults.  No maiming."

"What'd they do ta piss you off, old man?"

"They hurt a child under my protection," Alfred explained, his voice devolving into a growl.  

"Child abusers? Eh?"

"Yes."

"I'll do it for free.  Keep your favor, old man."

"Thank you, C.  I'll talk to you later, perhaps."

"Perhaps."

When he went back upstairs, he found both his nephew and his ward in the same bed, Harry using Bruce as a pillow.  Bruce opened his eyes when Alfred walked in.

"He slept on an old crib mattress back in Surrey, Alfred.  He didn't even have a blanket until Ms. Engelbrecht came into his life," Bruce tells him, eyes bright with barely controlled emotions.

Any guilt he might have been feeling for his plan evaporated just like that.  Alfred closed his eyes and counted to ten and then did it again in another language.  

"Do you want to stay here with him, or do you think you can make it to your own bed, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked.

"I think I'll stay here.  I don't want him to think we abandoned him.  You'll wake us up in a few hours for dinner?" 

"Indeed, I shall."

"Will you rest, Alfred?" Bruce asked as Alfred closed the room's curtains, making it significantly darker.

"Perhaps after I call Master Dick."

"Let me know how he reacts?"

"If I think you can handle it," Alfred quipped.

"Spoilsport," Bruce grumbled with a smile.

Chapter Text

Alfred woke Bruce up first.  

"We need to get Harry into a bath before dinner," Alfred said after Bruce had gotten his eyes open.

"Right," Bruce muttered, turning to the boy smooshed up against his side.

"Harry?" 

Harry jerked awake, flinching as he tensed up all over.  

Bruce scowled, but let it fade from his face by the time Harry looked up at him.  Beside them, Alfred made an effort to smile down at his great-nephew.

"Harry?" 

Harry shot upright, green eyes wide as he tried to figure out where he was.

"Shh, you're all right," Bruce said, sitting up with him.

They sat in tense silence until Harry relaxed, shoulders dropping as he abruptly slumped in relief.

"Hey.  Back with us?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah," Harry muttered, rubbing his eyes with his tiny fists, still trembling slightly.

Beside them, Alfred frowned briefly.

"I'm going to go draw his bath in your bathroom, Master Bruce," Alfred murmured, walking briskly out of the room.

"Your Uncle Alfred wants you to take a bath before dinner," Bruce said.

Harry jerked and his trembling got worse.  Bruce stared at him in concern, before finally reaching for him and cradling his tiny body close.  Harry let him.  

"It's okay.  I'll be with you the whole time," Bruce soothed, standing up with the small boy on his hip and walking across the hallway. 

Alfred was waiting in the bathroom as they got there. He looked up in concern as Bruce walked in, eyes on Harry's tense expression.  

Harry looked at where Alfred was checking the water, perched on the edge of the admittedly gigantic tub.  

"Do I have to?" Harry whispered, voice barely audible over the sound of the water.

Both Alfred and Bruce turned to look at him.

Harry's face was scrunched up, lower lip wobbling as he bravely tried to keep from crying.

Bruce sat down on the side of the tub next to Alfred, not missing how Harry's hands clenched tighter down on his shirt as they got closer to the water.

"Would you rather take a shower?" Bruce tried, rubbing Harry's back as he watched his face.

If anything, Harry tensed up more at that suggestion.

Bruce and Alfred stared at one another, briefly nonplussed as to how to proceed.  

"Alfred," Bruce finally said, handing Harry to him.  

Bruce stood up and started stripping, a determined expression appearing on his face as he did.

"Master Bruce--?" Alfred asked, still frowning.  

Harry's ear was pressed tightly against Alfred's chest, small arms squeezing weakly around the man.

"I've had a thought," Bruce muttered.

He stripped down to his boxer briefs (black, because of course they were), and climbed in the bathtub while Harry watched carefully from his perch in Alfred's lap.

"See?" Bruce murmured, smiling brightly at Harry as he sat in the slowly filling bathtub.

Harry picked his head up from Alfred's chest, a frown on his face as his sharp eyes roamed over Bruce's face.  

"It's okay?" Harry whispered at length.  

"It's perfect.  I promise," Bruce said with another smile, warm blue eyes never leaving Harry's face.

They stared at one another for another long drawn out moment, before Harry shuddered and let go of Alfred, slowly sliding to the floor.

"Okay," Harry said, still shuddering a bit, his breath hitching in his throat as he slowly undressed.

He took his pink shirt off carefully and then his baggy pants.  He wasn't wearing underwear.  He leaned over and pulled his old threadbare socks and then stood back up, naked.

Alfred and Bruce looked over his body, both men unhappy at the state of it.  Harry's ribs and collarbone stuck out in his chest.  His stomach was shrunken and his legs were sticklike, knees knobby and sticking out.  

Alfred looked away and caught his breath, flexing his fingers for a moment before leaning over and turning the water off; while Bruce leaned forward and reached for Harry, face blank even though his eyes silently blazed.

Harry lifted his arms and let himself be scooped up and pulled into the bathtub, tensing as he got closer to the water.  Bruce settled him into the water slowly, giving him plenty of chances to ask for more time.  Harry closed his eyes and curled into himself as Bruce settled him in front of him, Harry facing outward.  He wrapped his arms carefully around Harry's midsection and then turned and eyed Alfred, a somber expression on his face making him look older than he was.

Alfred clenched his jaw very briefly and then reached for a washcloth.  He eyed Bruce for a moment, but the man's focus was entirely on Harry, so Alfred sighed and reached for the soap himself.  He kneeled beside the tub and slowly reached toward Harry.  Harry didn't react, so he kept going.  Between the two of them, they slowly got Harry clean.  Alfred washed him while Bruce remained a steady presence at Harry's back, murmuring reassurances and readjusting the boy as needed per Alfred's requests.  Alfred washed his hair last, using the pitcher that lived on the far corner of the tub.  On the occasion that Bruce was too out of it to wash himself, sometimes Alfred would bathe him there just like this.  

They had to wash his hair three times to get the matted dirt out of it.  Alfred used Bruce's shampoo, the one with the conditioner already mixed in.  At the end, the water was grayish brown, and Bruce stood up with Harry in his arms as Alfred wrapped him in a large towel.  Once Harry was covered, Alfred reached for another towel and wrapped it around Bruce's shoulders, getting a small grim smile from the man.  

--

After his bath, Alfred took Harry back to his room to get dressed.  During his nap, Alfred had washed Harry's new pajamas and a few pairs of his new socks on the rapid setting, and they were folded up and put away in his closet.  He pulled them out along with a pair of boxer briefs that were very similar to what Bruce had worn in the bath with Harry.  Harry obediently pulled them up and then let Alfred dress him, the boy tiredly slumped against him.  Alfred had a feeling that Harry wouldn't be awake much longer, so he hurried him through dressing to get to dinner.  He gave Harry a choice of sock colors to wear, and the boy had surprised him when he'd picked two different colors (yellow and blue), looking up at Alfred with a look of trepidation as he did so.  Alfred had smiled at him, and put them on his little feet, before scooping him back up and carrying him to the dining room.  

Bruce met them a few minutes later, in a clean t-shirt and sweatpants, freshly shaved.  

Harry was already yawning when they got to the table; so instead of putting him down, Alfred placed him on his lap and fed him like that.  After Bruce got there, Alfred handed Harry over and went to get more food from the kitchen.  While in the kitchen, Alfred was hit with a wave of impotent fury and he had to bow his head over the sink and breathe deeply while he waited for it to pass.  He couldn't go back out there with his anger boiling over, so he waited until he was back in control of himself before returning.  

"He's asleep," Bruce said softly when Alfred returned.

Harry was slumped backward against Bruce's strong chest, breathing slowly and deeply in his lap.  

Alfred set his pot of stew on the table and then slumped in the chair he had recently vacated.  He put his head in his hands for a brief moment before taking a deep breath and sitting back up.  He could do this.  He would do this, for Harry.

"Do you want me to put him in his bed?" Alfred asked.

Bruce frowned and reached for the serving spoon, ladling stew into his bowl with the hand not wrapped around Harry.

"I think I'd rather hang onto him for a bit longer," Bruce admitted in a rough voice.  

"Christ," Alfred muttered, rubbing his eyes.  "I never thought that woman could be capable of this." 

He pulled his handkerchief out and rubbed his eyes carefully, Bruce's eyes watching him as he did so.  

"What happened to his mother and father?" Bruce asked, eating steadily.

Alfred would bet real money on the man not even noticing what he was eating.

"I don't know.  I know they died when he was a baby, but I don't know how," Alfred admitted, wiping a hand over his own face.  

He had shaved while Bruce and Harry had slept, but he still felt grimy.  He needed to take a shower and then hopefully sleep.  He was exhausted, and Bruce knew it too, judging from the careful looks he kept receiving.

"Were you able to get ahold of Dick?" Bruce asked, pulling Harry up and turning him around slowly until his head rested on Bruce's shoulder, his stomach against Bruce's chest.

"No," Alfred admitted.  "I left a voicemail asking him to call me back."

Bruce nodded.  

"I'm going to stay in tonight.  I don't think--," Bruce exhaled slowly.  "I don't want to leave you two tonight.  Do you think he'd be okay if he slept with me in my room?"

I don't want to leave him alone.

Alfred could read between the lines.  He was grateful that Bruce was already attached to his little nephew.  He wondered if Bruce would end up trying to adopt him.  

He wondered if he would stop him if he tried.

--

The results had started coming back in for Leslie's blood tests.  Harry came up negative for the meta gene, but his results pinged in the system for something else she wasn't even aware of.  Within minutes, they were silently sent to another organization, one referred to as MACUSA for those in the know.  The report wandered across the desk of one of the operatives within Gotham, causing that man to scowl when he realized there was no address attached to the document.  He'd have to go the clinic itself.  

He looked up the clinic's address, frowning when he saw the name attached.  He'd had to deal with Dr. Thompkins in the past.  She made him feel young and wet behind the ears, despite having a good twenty years on the woman.  On the other hand, she was a fantastic advocate for her patients.  He sighed and rolled his eyes.  It looked like he didn't have a choice.  There was no doubt that the child's numbers were good enough to have him be trained.  They were some of the highest numbers he had seen in twenty years.  

He read the rest of her report, scowling when he saw the rest of her notes.  Child abuse made him angry.  Child abuse of magical children made him especially angry.  

He decided to wait until the morning to investigate.  It would be better for them all if he didn't go in immediately, especially since the child in question had already been removed from the situation.  

God help them if they failed to protect the boy.  Then, he'd let himself express that righteous anger a little more clearly.  It was his right, after all.

--

Dick called Alfred back that evening, after Bruce had taken Harry back to his room and collapsed into bed with him.  Alfred had checked on them briefly, long enough to make sure that Bruce was actually sleeping.  He pulled the covers up around Harry's thin little shoulders when he noticed him shivering.

He hadn't known that Harry had curly hair. It had finally dried sometime after Bruce and Harry had retired for the night, and it stuck up in a number of various directions when he went to check on them.

"Alfred, what's going on?" Dick asked.

Alfred was in his own room, having just emerged from his own much needed shower.  If he had scrubbed himself with a little more force than usual, then that was his own business.  He couldn't forget the look on Harry's face when they had bathed him.  He couldn't forget how he had whimpered and cried every time Alfred had touched him with the washcloth, every time he had rinsed his little head.  

He hoped to god that he never laid his eyes on Petunia and her bastard of a husband again, lest he wring their necks with his own hands.

"Roughly thirty-six hours ago, I discovered that I had a great-nephew," Alfred said, his tired brain fighting against the math needed for that statement.

"Congratulations," Dick said, bright voice cheerful.

"Yes, well," Alfred trailed off.

"What's wrong?"

"He wrote me a letter," Alfred stated slowly.  "Asking for help."

A brief silence met his words.

"How old is he?" Dick asked, bright voice fading into open concern.

"He's six.  His name is Harry."

A quick intake of breath.

"What kind of help?" Dick asked, voice taking on the tone of one he'd use when working with young victims out on the streets of Gotham.

"He . . ." Alfred took a deep breath.  "He asked me to rescue him.  He was afraid that his family was going to kill him."

"Where is he?" Dick asked sharply, sounding on edge.

"He is here with us now."

"Thank God," Dick muttered.  "Where was he?"

"Surrey, England.  With my niece and her bloody oaf of a husband," Alfred spat, hunching over as the anger made his stomach clench all over again. "Bruce and I flew over yesterday.  We came back earlier today with Harry in tow."

"Was there any . . . do you think he was telling . . ." Dick growled.  "How much danger was he in?"

"A great deal," Alfred said somberly.  "He weighs the same as a three-year-old, and is the size of a four-year-old."

He hears Dick put the phone down to swear expansively before getting back on the line.

"He's very smart, and very traumatized," Alfred added, massaging his temples with the hand not holding the phone.

"What can I do?" Dick asked, sounding very young.

"Would you be willing to put aside your differences with Master Bruce and come and meet him?  He won't respond to anger very well.  If you can't be civil, then I don't want you around him.  He doesn't need it."

"I can do it if Bruce is willing to," Dick said with a determined lilt to his words.  "I didn't want to fight with Bruce anyway."

"I know you didn't, sweetheart," Alfred murmurs, feeling a thousand years old.  "Listen, I need to try and sleep.  Bruce is even spending the evening in tonight."

Dick whistles lowly over the phone.  

"I can come for breakfast?" Dick says, managing to sound tentative.

"You are always welcome, my dear boy.  Bruce misses you almost as much as I do.  He even spoke to Harry about you, referring to you as his son."

Dick let out a wet sounding laugh.  

"Really?"

"Yes," Alfred said fiercely.

"Well, if you can help keep Bruce off my back, then I'll try my best not to respond to anything he throws at me.  Metaphorically or otherwise," Dick added with a grumble.

"Thank you, my dear boy.  I'll see you at breakfast."

"Love you, Alfie," Dick said softly.

"And I you, my dear boy."

Chapter Text

Dick couldn't help but think about Bruce as he drove to Gotham.  He needed to find a way to reconnect with the man now that they were no longer partners.  He was willing to be the man's son.  He was even willing to be the man's co-worker, but what he wasn't willing to endure was Bruce treating him like an idiot who needed every moment of his life micromanaged.  He wanted Bruce as a father figure, as a mentor even, but he was his own man, and he didn't need the kind of overprotective nonsense that Bruce had foisted upon him toward the end of his tenure as Robin.  

Luckily, Alfred said he'd help redirect Bruce, if it came down to it.  He certainly believed that Alfred would try, but he didn't know how much he'd be able to help.  

Maybe having a little kid there would help redirect some of Bruce's overzealous tendencies.  Or maybe, having a little kid there would show Bruce exactly how different Dick was in comparison with that little kid.  

It was a pleasant thought, anyway.

He sighed and drummed his fingers on his steering wheel.  He wanted to be there for Alfred, but he wasn't willing to let Bruce guilt trip him into returning as Robin.  That chapter of his life was gone and done.

--

Harry woke up slowly.  He was warm and safe and comfortable.  It took a long time for his brain to catch up to his body.  He floated in the in-between for longer than he was used to.  When he finally opened his eyes, he discovered that he was pressed up closely against Bruce.  He took a moment to stare up at the older man, squinting in the dim light of the room.  He wiggled a little, and grimaced at the feel of drool on his chin.  He wiped it off and then tried to sit up.  

Beside him, Bruce woke with a snort, pulling himself upright at once and quickly looking around him until his eyes fell on Harry and he visibly relaxed.

"Hey, there," Bruce said softly, reaching for Harry.

He lifted his arms for Bruce to pull him closer, and then rested his head against Bruce's chest once he was more fully in his lap.  Bruce was warm, and he liked that he could feel his heartbeat under his ear.

"Mr Bruce?" Harry whispered.

"Yeah, baby?" Bruce answered.

Bruce raised a hand slowly and started carding his fingers through Harry's springy head of curls.  It tickled.  It felt good.  It made Harry melt into Bruce.  Harry kind of didn't want to ever move.  

"What are you to me?" Harry managed to ask after a few minutes of slow languid comfort.

"What do you mean?" Bruce asked, reaching over and turning on the bedside lamp.

"Well," Harry asked, his eyes taking in the unfamiliar surroundings.  "Uncle Alfred is my great-uncle, but you said that he's like a father to you, so what does that make you to me?"

Bruce made a sound deep in his chest that Harry felt more than heard.

"If you think of me as Alfred's son, then that would make me your uncle," Bruce explained.

"Uncle Bruce," Harry said, trying it out.  

"That's right," Bruce smiled.  

"Where are we?"

"We're in my bedroom.  Alfred and I agreed that we didn't want you to wake up alone."

Harry nodded, not entirely certain what they meant by that.  He had been alone most of his life, but maybe they meant here in Bruce's big house.  

"Your bedroom is just across the hall though."  

"Where's Uncle Alfred?"

Bruce glanced at the clock on the side table and made a considering sound.

"He's likely in the kitchen getting breakfast started."

"That used to be my job.  Starting breakfast."

Bruce frowned for a second, almost too quickly for Harry to see.

"What did you do for your job?"  Bruce asked.

"I was responsible for cooking the bacon and the eggs and making the toast," Harry told him.  

He spoke into Bruce's chest, still too comfortable to really sit up and look the man in the eye.

"At the stove?" Bruce asked, his voice noticeably higher.

"Uh huh," Harry agreed.  "I had to stand on a chair to reach the stove.  Sometimes I got hurt."

Bruce hugged him suddenly.

"I'm sorry."

Harry looked up at him in confusion.

"Why?"

"Because you should have never had to do that," Bruce said, sounding sad.

"It's okay," Harry responded.  

He didn't want Bruce to be sad.

"I didn't mind," Harry added. 

Not much, anyway, he didn't say.

"Do you want to get dressed so we can go see what Alfred has made for us?"

"Yeah," Harry said, reluctantly pulling himself out of Bruce's arms. 

"Do you want me to help?"

Harry stopped to consider that.  

"You would do that?"  

He didn't really need the help, but he liked the idea of getting it.

"I sure would," Bruce said with a smile.  

And oh, if it made Bruce happy, he would enjoy it even more.

"Okay," he said, feeling shy.  

--

Bruce stopped at entrance to the dining room, causing Harry to make a questioning sound in return from behind him.

"Dick? What are--I didn't know you were coming today," Bruce said, quickly changing his words so that they came out non-confrontational.  

Beside him, Harry grabbed a hold of his pocket.

Dick stood up from where he had been lounging at the table, putting his coffee mug on the table as he did.

"Hiya, Bruce.  Alfred invited me," Dick answered easily.

He strolled over to where Bruce was, his hand outstretched.  Bruce grabbed it, but pulled him in for a hug, squeezing him until Dick relaxed too.  

"Missed you," Bruce managed, kissing the side of his head.

When he released him, Dick stepped back, pink cheeked.  

"Harry, this is my son, Dick Grayson," Bruce said, putting a gentle hand on the back of Harry's head.

"'Lo," Harry whispered, hiding partially behind Bruce's leg.

Dick crouched down in front of him with a smile.

"Like Bruce said, I'm Dick.  I used to work with a circus as an acrobat," Dick said.  

He didn't move until Harry nodded.

"Alfred said he got you a stuffed animal.  What kind of stuffed animal did he get you?"

Harry looked up at Bruce with wide pleading eyes, causing him to lean over and pick him up.  

"Harry's pretty shy," Bruce explained, keeping his body language and voice calm as he explained.  

Harry leaned his head on Bruce's shoulder, but twisted to look at Dick through his hanging curls.

"El'phant," Harry whispered after a long minute of staring.

"I have a stuffed elephant too!" Dick said, standing back up and beaming at him.  

Harry wrapped a hand around the back of Bruce's neck and closed his eyes.  

--

He listened to Dick and Bruce talk, and tried to work out exactly what Dick was to him.  If Bruce was his uncle, and Dick was his kid, then they were just like Uncle Vernon and Dudley, which made Dick his cousin.  He just hoped that Dick was a better cousin than Dudley.  And why was it that he only had cousins with names that started with "D?!" 

Bruce went to put him down in his booster seat, which was right next to Dick's chair, but he clung to the man's neck and wouldn't let go.

"You don't want to sit next to Dickie?" Bruce whispered in his ear too soft for someone else to hear.

He shook his head in the negative.

"What about farther away?"  

He considered that and then nodded.  Bruce picked up the booster seat and moved it across the seat to the chair on his other side.  Then he tried putting Harry down and he went willingly. Harry glanced at Dick to see if he was upset at the change in seating, but Dick was carefully not looking at him as he dumped what looked like half a container of sugar in his coffee. He squinted at the sight and shuddered.  He liked sugar as much as anyone, but that seemed excessive.

Bruce followed his gaze and his subsequent shudder and laughed low in his throat.  

"Got enough sugar there, chum?" Bruce asked, reaching for Harry's hand and squeezing it gently.  

"Is that even a thing, Bruce?" Dick laughed, winking at Harry when he caught him looking.

Harry just stared and resisted the urge to climb back on Bruce like a baby.  Bruce squeezed his hand again as if he knew what he was thinking, but didn't say anything.

Luckily, Alfred came in at that moment with a massive tray of food, distracting them all from the weird conversation.  After he finished serving the table, he turned to Harry and asked him what he wanted to drink.

"What can I have?" Harry whispered.

Alfred leaned over and told him quietly that he could have milk, juice, tea and/or water.  Harry blinked back at him, briefly overwhelmed.  

"Can I have some juice?" He asked after thinking about it.  

"Of course," Alfred answered, pulling over two pitchers, orange and grape before sitting at the spot next to Harry.

He'd had orange juice before, but not grape.  He liked the color.  It was the same color as his shirt for the day.

Alfred poured him some, and dished up some oatmeal and fruit for him.

"Do you want anything in your oatmeal?" Alfred asked.

"Can I put my fruit in my oatmeal?" He whispered back.

It didn't bother him that Bruce and Dick were eating bacon and pancakes.  It was too much food for him.  Alfred had a bowl of oatmeal like him, and was pouring some cinnamon and raisins in it as he waited for Harry's answer.

"Of course you can," Alfred answered, pushing a spoon into his fruit bowl.  "Do you want me to do it or do you want to?"

"I can do it," Harry said, feeling a bit shaky about it, but stilling wanting to prove to his cousin that he wasn't a baby.

He only spilled a little off the side, but no one called him out on it.  He shoved the rolling blueberries into his mouth and then looked around for someone to yell at him.  No one did.

He had eaten roughly half the bowl when he remembered the juice.  Dick and Bruce were talking about something that he wasn't really listening to, while Alfred had eyes on everything.  He picked up the juice and drank some, blinking in shock at the taste.  He hadn't been expecting it.  He drank some more and then tried to put the glass back on the table.  Only he missed.  

In slow motion, he watched the half-full glass of grape juice fall.  It smashed when it hit, sending juice and glass careening everywhere.  

Silence.

And then.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!" Harry babbled, feeling the eyes of everyone staring at him.

And that would have been bad enough, if not for what happened next.

The pieces of glass came back up off the ground and swirled around beside him putting itself back together, before settling itself back on top of the table, sans juice, which was still splattered across the floor.  

Harry's face went white and he bolted out of the chair and then out of the room.

"I've got him," Bruce said, running after him.

Dick and Alfred only stared at each other in the absence of the others.

Alfred cleared his throat loudly.  

"And that's why we're having him tested for the meta gene," Alfred admitted.  

"Yeah," Dick coughed awkwardly.  "I can see why."

--

Bruce was able to follow the sounds of Harry's feet until he hit carpet, and then he followed the little wet footprints across the carpet.  It led him to a linen closet on the family floor.  It happened to be the same linen closet that Alfred had pulled Harry's sheets out of.  Bruce wondered if that's why he had come back to it.  

"Harry?" He called out, crouching down beside the closet.

No answer other than the sound of someone's rapid breathing.

"I'm opening the door, baby.  You're not in trouble.  I just need . . ." He took a deep breath.  "I just need to see you, please.  Make sure you're okay."

He opened the door.

Harry had folded himself up on one of the shelves and wedged himself as far back as he could get in among the extra blankets.  

"Hi, baby," Bruce smiled gently at him, despite the ragged pain in his chest that came from the sight of open fear on Harry's face.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered.

"Whatever for?" Bruce asked, slowly sliding forward farther into the closet.

"Broke the glass," Harry's breath hitched.  "And then," he sobbed.  "Did a freaky thing.  Didn't mean to. I'm sorry!"

Harry sobbed even as Bruce reached inside the closet and gently pulled him out.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!  Please don't send me back!" Harry sobbed into Bruce's shirt.  

"Never," Bruce promised into the top of Harry's wild curls.

He stood up with Harry, and tightly wrapped his arms around him.  

"Sometime, you should ask Dickie about how many chandeliers he broke while living here.  Breaking and then unbreaking a glass is hardly on the same level," Bruce whispered as he walked them back to the dining room.

"Chandeliers?" Harry squeaked.

"Yeah," Bruce chuckled.  "We had to have them all reinforced afterward.  It only took seven to get me to realize that I might should have done that originally."

"Seven?!" Harry whispered, his brain floating somewhere in-between shocked and appalled.

"Yep."

--

"Dr. Thompkins?  You have a phone call."  

"I don't suppose you know who's calling?" Leslie asked.

"Ah sorry, he said he wanted to be anonymous."

Leslie frowned, getting a feeling she knew who was on the other end.

"This is Dr. Thompkins," Leslie said, putting the phone up to her ear.

"Dr. Thompkins?  This is Jameson."

"Oh for God's sake. Not you again."

Jameson just laughed.  

"You missed me."

"Not hardly," Leslie sighed, rolling her eyes.  "Do you have any idea how much paperwork you caused me the last time?"

"Probably not as much as you caused me."

"What do you want?" Leslie asked, pinching the bridge of her nose.  

It was too early in the day to have this kind of headache.

"What can you tell me about Harry James Potter?"

Chapter Text

They dropped by Harry's room on the way back down and got him a new "pair" of socks (black and green), since the others were still wet through with juice.  Then when Bruce and Harry got back to the dining room, they discovered that the juice had been cleaned up and that Harry had a new cup.  It was plastic and had a lid and a straw.  

"Master Dick used these cups when he was younger.  He suggested that I bring one back out, should you want to use it."

"Thank you, Uncle Alfred," Harry whispered after Bruce had put him back in his booster seat.

He reached for the cup and took a pull of it, smiling when he realized it was grape juice.  It was possibly his new favorite flavor.  

He ate the rest of his fruit and then pushed his bowl away.  He had been pretty full before he'd left the table anyway.  Adrenaline hadn't left his stomach in particularly great shape, and when Alfred reached for him, he reached back.  Alfred pulled him out of his seat and put him on his hip to carry to the kitchen.  He put his head on Alfred's shoulder and watched him clear away the breakfast dishes.  Alfred seemed to understand that he just wanted to be close.  Harry wasn't entirely certain if he was overwhelmed from that morning or just in general.  The last few days had been pretty full.

He played with the buttons on Alfred's coat as the man worked, and then when he was just starting to feel steady enough to go back on the floor, the phone rang.

Bruce appeared in the doorway, and stared at Alfred with a raised eyebrow.

"I'll get it," Alfred said, putting Harry down.

Harry trotted over to Bruce immediately, grabbing ahold of two of his fingers.  

--

"Ah, Leslie," Alfred said.  

"I thought it prudent to give you a phone call.  It seems that Harry's blood results caused an alert to sound in my system, one that I didn't know about until this morning," Leslie explained.

Alfred listened carefully to her words, but also listened to the tone of her voice.  She didn't sound distressed or anxious, just her regular stressed and possibly a little bit harassed state.  

"Oh?  What kind of alert?"  Alfred asked calmly.

"A special one.  It's with--."

She cut off to talk to someone in the office.

"Well," she said, getting back on the phone.  "Apparently, I'm not allowed to tell you about it over the phone.  They are official though, and one of their representatives is going to come and talk to you at the house this morning.  I just wanted to let you know that I know the man coming to speak with you, and I can tell you that this is real and that he won't harm you."

"Or I'll cut his throat," she added off to the side, presumably to the man in question.

Alfred raised his eyebrows in surprise.  Leslie didn't usually admit to wanting to commit violence, at least not in front of strangers.  

"Can you give me his name?" Alfred asked.

Bruce was still giving him a strange look.

"That's part of the funny thing.  He's got a bit of an odd name.  It's Jamie Jameson."

He heard a man's voice tutting at her from her side of the phone.

"It's a perfectly respectable name," he heard a man's voice say from Leslie's side of the phone.

"If you want to know how I'm doing this morning, let me just tell you that he showed up before I opened my clinic this morning."

Leslie opened her clinic every day at 6:30 in the morning. Alfred was impressed at the other man's daring.  He, personally, wouldn't bother Leslie any earlier than 9 in the morning.  She was decidedly not a morning person.  Bruce had once compared her with a fire breathing dragon, and his statement wasn't an understatement.

"When do you think he'll be over?"  Alfred asked instead of commiserating with her.

He knew better than most when it came to people being inconsiderate of his time.  He'd have to catch up more with Leslie later.

"Soon.  He travels very quickly," was Leslie's strange answer.

Alfred grunted in response.  

"I will talk to you later then, I expect."

--

After he hung up, Alfred relayed the information from Leslie to Bruce and Dick.  

"And she couldn't tell you anything more?" Bruce asked, frowning.  

They were sitting in the library, where Harry had been encouraged to explore the shelves.  He was keeping either Alfred or Bruce in his eyesight as he explored, periodically poking his head out to make sure they were both still there.  

"Only that she vouched for him," Alfred responded, not looking particularly pleased about it either.

Dick opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell ringing.  

"That can't be him, can it?" Dick asked instead, glancing at both men.  "By car, it should have taken at least another fifteen minutes to get here from Leslie's, and that's assuming good traffic."

Alfred only spared him a glance as he left the room to answer the door.  

"Dick, will you?" Bruce inclined in his head in the direction that Alfred had gone.  

"Yeah, got it," Dick said, flipping backward off the couch and running after Alfred.

Bruce sighed.  He was glad that Dick was willing to listen to him about this at least. 

From behind the stacks, Harry popped out and crept over to where Bruce was sitting.  His hands were empty as he came up to where Bruce was and leaned against his legs.  

"Find anything worth reading?"  Bruce asked, pulling his attention back to refocus on Harry.

"Maybe," Harry answered, looking imploringly at him.

Bruce smiled and reached his hands out for Harry.  Harry climbed into his lap without another word and curled up in a ball against his chest.  

"You okay?"

"Maybe," Harry repeated, staring at the doorway where Dick and Alfred had left through.  "Is someone coming to visit?"  

"It's a distinct possibility," Bruce admitted.  "How about we go get your shoes on while we wait?"

Either they were going to have a visitor, or they were going to take Harry to get his eyes checked.  Alfred had called and explained that their schedule was a little bit up in the air, and the pediatric optometrist had told them to call ahead whenever they had an open moment and they'd fit him into their schedule.  Sometimes it was actually helpful being the richest person in Gotham (though most of the time it was just a major pain in the ass).  

Since Bruce had an inkling that he didn't want Harry in the meeting with the visitor, that meant that either he or Alfred would need to take Harry somewhere instead.  

He and Harry went and found his shoes and Bruce helped him tie them.  Then they went back to the hallway and were on the stairs when he spotted Dick coming back up to find them.

"What's going on?" Bruce asked, stopping on the stairs, his two fingers still caught tightly in Harry's small hand.

Harry leaned against him, his eyes tracking Dick closely.

"You're not going to believe this," Dick grinned back at him.

"Try me," Bruce said.

"This guy is from something called MACUSA. Have you ever heard of them?"

Bruce shook his head in the negative.  

"Should I be worried?" He asked softly watching Dick's face closely.

"Guy seems pretty chill," Dick said, putting his hands in his pockets and grinning down at Harry.  

"What does MACUSA stand for?"  Bruce asked, sitting down there on the stairs.

Harry sat beside him.

"That's the part you're not going to believe," Dick laughed softly, leaning against the stairwell.  "Magical Congress of the United States of America is what it stands for."

"I beg your pardon?" Bruce asked, eyebrows raised.

"This guy is saying that the blood test for the meta gene is what caused his department to get alerted." Dick shrugged nonchalantly even as he grinned widely at them both.  "Apparently, the meta gene has a subtype that can be used to screen for magic users--or people who have the potential to be that."

Bruce blinked several times and then stood back up, pulling Harry up into his arms again as he did.  

"Does Alfred want us there?" 

"Yeah, no.  He wants you two to stay nearby-ish, but he doesn't Harry to have any contact with him until he's gotten more of the story from this guy."

Bruce nodded, face serious.  He felt the same way, but he wished that he could trade spots with Alfred--not because he didn't trust him, but rather because if anything happened to Alfred, he'd never forgive himself.

"Would you be willing to stay with Alfred?"

"'Course I would," Dick answered, smile gone as he looked back seriously at him.  

"Good," Bruce said, letting himself relax slightly.  

There were so many things he wanted to say to Dick, and this absolutely was not the time to say it, no matter how much he'd like it to be.

"I trust you, son," Bruce said, choosing to continue down the stairs and not wait for Dick's response. 

As a result, only Harry saw the surprised look that appeared on Dick's face from his comment.  

Bruce made sure he had his phone when he got to the bottom of the stairs and then headed toward the pantry to grab a couple of bottles of water and a couple of protein bars.  He glanced at Harry and then himself and smiled when he realized how similarly they were dressed.  They both had on jeans, t-shirts and tennis shoes (though Bruce's were more like hiking boots).  

He grabbed a pair of his sunglasses, and a small backpack for the drinks and protein bars that he slung on his back.  Momentarily, he considered sunblock, but he decided it would probably be okay, since they were heading for the "woods" as Dick had called it when he'd been younger, and wouldn't be in direct sunlight for very long.  Besides, he considered, squinting up at the sky, it was a bit overcast anyway.  

He walked them down the hill that Wayne manor sat on, and moved them into the trees properly before putting Harry down.  

"Where are we?" Was Harry's quietly spoken question once they were out of sight of the house.

"Believe it or not, I own this piece of land.  It is, technically, part of the grounds of Wayne manor.  Essentially, it's just a very large backyard," Bruce said with a laugh.

They walked in silence for a bit.  Harry kept close to his side, looking around them but not exploring like Bruce would typically expect from a small child.  

"Dickie said the bad word," Harry said after they had walked a little bit further.

Bruce's brain stuttered to a stop.  

"The bad word?" He asked, glancing at Harry in concern.

Harry nodded, grabbing Bruce's fingers again.

"What's the bad word?" Bruce asked in a light voice.

Harry shook his head.

"Not s'posed to say it."

You know, because it's the bad word, Bruce's mind helpfully supplied.

"Well, when did he say it?" Bruce tried.

"When you were talking to him on the stairs just now," Harry answered, not looking at him.  "He said that the man here to talk to Uncle Alfred was from a part of something with the bad word in its name."

Bruce thought for a moment.

"Is the bad word something to do with magic?" He asked after a minute of consideration.

Beside him, Harry shivered and Bruce squeezed his hand gently in response.

"What happens if someone says the bad word?"  He asked, a sense of foreboding riding high in his throat.

Harry stopped walking and hunched in on himself.

Bruce leaned over and picked him up and kept walking.  Harry's little hand came up and grabbed the front of Bruce's shirt.

"What happens, sweetie?" He tried again.

"Uncle Vernon gives me ten lashes every time," Harry finally answered in a very quiet voice.

"Lashes?  With what?" Bruce asked, jaw clenching involuntarily.  

He wished Alfred was here.

"His belt," Harry answered against Bruce's shoulder.

Bruce felt the urge to break something, possibly a human by the name of Vernon Dursley.  He swallowed harshly against the pain in his throat, and promised himself some time with his punching bag later to make up for it.

"And your . . . your aunt?" Bruce asked, dread pooling in his stomach when Harry rested his chin on his shoulder and looked away.  

"I think I prefer Uncle Vernon's response," Harry said instead, abruptly sounding far older.  "He has a set number."

Bruce considered that.

"Your aunt does not?" He ventured a guess.

Harry silently shook his head, rubbing his chin on Bruce's shoulder.  

It seemed that the Dursleys had even more to answer for now, especially if they knew about the magic to begin with.  He had--well he'd assumed that they hadn't known, but this changed things.  He'd have to write his lawyers when he got a moment alone.

--

Severus was . . . displeased by what he learned from Arabella Figg.  She had written to Dumbledore, several times it seemed, about her concerns over Potter's home life with the Dursleys.  Dumbledore hadn't bothered to address any of her concerns, and had merely brushed her off with platitudes, the same way he often responded to Severus over concerns raised about his Snakes. 

"I told him so many times that something was wrong.  He was too small and shy.  And this past year he stopped talking and seemed to almost be shrinking into himself," she had told him.

No, Severus was not pleased with the situation.

And that had been before he had visited Petunia.

He had transfigured his clothes before coming to Privet Dr.  He was still in all black, but he was dressed in a simple set of trousers and a button down shirt, a perfectly respectable combination.

Petunia had taken one look at him and screamed, slamming the door in his face.  He'd been caught somewhere between fury and shock, as a result.  It didn't surprise him when the fury won out.

He'd blasted the door open and strode in, openly furious.

"Get out! Get out! Get out!" She screamed at him, running out swinging a cricket bat at his head.  

He'd ducked and then cast a petrificus totalus at her, not bothering to catch her when she fell backward to the floor, the cricket bat clattering somewhere nearby.  He kneeled over her and glared into her face.  

"This will be as distasteful for me as it is for you, I'm certain," he hissed.  "Legilimens."

Chapter Text

Bruce had an idea of where he was walking them toward.  He hadn't been down here in a few years, but his directional memory was typically pretty solid.  It took slightly more time to get down to than he had remembered, but it wasn't bad.  The spot by the creek that he remembered was a little less overgrown than his memory had stated, and there was a surprise there that he had no recollection of at all.  

He touched the smooth stone picnic table gently, and crouched down beside it to read the plaque, gently setting Harry beside him as he did.

"In Loving Memory of Thomas and Martha Wayne" the plaque said, and he frowned, wondering who put it here.  

"Who are Thomas and Martha?" Harry asked, pressed up next to his shoulder.

"My parents," Bruce admitted in a soft voice.  

Harry took that in silence, bumping his shoulder against Bruce's much large one.

"I don't even know my parents' names," Harry admitted, finally getting Bruce's full attention.

"What?" 

"I don't even know how they died.  I mean," Harry frowned, looking down at his shoes.  "I know what Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia said, but . . ." he trailed off.

"But they aren't trustworthy," Bruce finished for him.

Harry shrugged, not looking at him.

"Well, I can tell you what I know," Bruce offered, causing Harry to look at him inquisitively. "Your parents' names were Lily and James.  I'm guessing you've never seen a picture of them either?" 

Harry shook his head, still watching him so very closely, almost hungrily.

"I think that your Uncle Alfred probably has pictures of Lily, at the very least, but I don't know about your father," Bruce offered, wondering how he would go about getting such a thing.  

If James and Lily belonged to some sort of secret sub-community, it was possible that it'd be nigh on impossible to track information of them down through normal means.  It didn't mean that the endeavor itself was impossible, but that he'd likely have to use different channels to get the answers.  It was something to think on.

Bruce stood up, and offered his hand to Harry automatically, feeling at ease when his small hand grabbed Bruce's fingers once more.  

"I spent a lot of time here as a child," Bruce said, nodding at the area around them.  

It was a small creek that usually swelled during spring and shrunk toward the end of summer, like where they were now.  The creek was barely a foot deep right now, the bottom filled with a variety of flat smooth stones (some of which he had put there on purpose when he'd been around Harry's age).  This portion of the creek was surrounded by trees, almost like a tiny forest.  This section was part of a much bigger stretch of woods, but the Wayne property cut into it pretty significantly.  Luckily, some ancestor of his had chosen to leave this small piece of it, forbidding anyone to develop anything on it.  

Once one crossed the creek, it was only another mile or two to the Drake manor, but they were the only neighbor that existed for the next ten miles.  

Sunlight broke through the trees here and there, highlighting the mossy undergrowth and various downed trees that had fallen over time.  It had always felt like his very own enchanted place, and he had taken the time to show Dick its existence when the boy had been younger, and now he'd brought Harry to do the same.

"This is a good place to play at, but only with supervision.  You are too young to come out here on your own," Bruce advised in a serious voice.

Especially in the spring when the world began to thaw.  Then the little burbling creek turned into something of an actual river, often flooding out of its banks and causing problems farther down the way.

He didn't say anything about that to Harry, but it might be worth a reminder when that time came back around next year.

Idly, he wondered just how much "play" Harry had been allowed to do.  With that thought, he sat down on the bench and started removing his shoes.

"What're you doing?" Harry asked, green eyes shining with an unearthly light for a moment in a brief arc of sunlight that had made it through the overcast sky.

"There is no way to play in or by a creek without getting wet, and likely muddy," Bruce explained, peeling off his socks and then rolling up the bottom of his jeans. 

"Won't Uncle Alfred get angry if we track mud in?" Harry asked, wringing his hands together.

"That's why we take our shoes and socks off," Bruce said with a smile.

"I'm not s'posed to get messy," Harry said softly.  

"It's good for your immune system," Bruce responded.  "And it's fun besides.  Here, I'll show you."

He helped Harry take his shoes and socks off, setting them on the bench of the picnic table, and then walking them over to the edge where the sandy dirt on the sides of the creek started getting squishy.  He looked around and found a big rock and then, keeping an eye out for snakes, he sat down and pushed his toes into the wet sand with an audible sigh of relief.  

"It feels pretty nice," he told Harry.  

Harry was frowning at him, but obediently stepped forward into the same area as Bruce.  He wiggled his toes and a smile crept over his face.  

"It is nice," Harry admitted.

"And look," Bruce said, digging in the dirt with his hand.  "The sand sticks together pretty easily, so it's easy to make towers and houses and whatnot."

"Towers?" Harry asked, squatting down beside him to run his fingers through the sand too.  

"Uh huh," Bruce agreed, hiding his smile.  

He pushed two clumps of damp sand together with his hands and let go to show how they had been squished into one vaguely triangular pile, a point on top where his hands had come together.  He pushed the long ends of the pile inwards and rounded the sides with his hands, then looked around and found a small stick, pushing it through a little leaf.  He put the stick with the leaf on top of the pile and gestured at it.  

"And now my tower has a flag," he said.  

Harry was watching him very carefully.  

Bruce made another two "towers" before Harry abruptly started helping him.  

He showed Harry how to wash the worst of the muck off in the creek, and then showed him how they could redirect the water into a new path for a while.  

When he saw that Harry had gotten suitably distracted, he stopped and quickly texted Dick.

Bruce:   We're down by the creek.

Then he went and helped Harry try to identify what it was that he'd seen swimming in the water.

"Might be tadpoles," he offered, peering down into the water beside Harry's head.

Harry glanced at him in confusion.

"Baby frogs," he amended.

He wondered how Harry had learned as much as he had and still didn't know important things like what tadpoles were.

Or how to play, his mind pointed out a bit petulantly.  

--

Meanwhile, back at Wayne manor, a different sort of meeting was taking place in one of the sitting rooms typically used by guests.  Alfred had offered tea or coffee, but the man had declined.  

As far as visitors go, he seemed normal enough at first glance.  He was wearing a brown suit with a drab blue-grey tie, and had mopped his balding head several times with a linen handkerchief after coming in from the outside. 

Dick had joined Alfred a minute after he'd let the man in, and the young man now sat next to Alfred on the same sofa.

"My name is Jamie Jameson.  I am an agent of an organization that has existed within America since 1693, in response to the Salem witch trials," Jameson said with a smile.  "It was at this time that the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was formed, as a way to protect the lives and lifestyles of those living with magic within America."

"Magic magic?  Like, real magic?"  Dick interjected, looking excited.

Alfred raised his eyebrow at him, but didn't say anything.

"Yes, real magic.  A real practitioner of magic is called a witch or a wizard, depending on gender, and we as people are referred to as 'wixen.'"

"And why have you chosen to visit us with this astounding news?" Alfred asked, leaning back against the couch and crossing his legs at the knee, looking as if he didn't have a care in the world.

The man spread his hands out in front of himself.

"There is a sub-section of the meta gene test that sometimes gets tripped when those tests are run.  A scientist by the name of Krueger discovered the link between metas and magic back in the 1900s, a good fifty years before the first official meta test came into existence.  As it happens, when the meta gene blood test is run, another test looking for possible magical people is run automatically.  The cost for that test is picked up by my organization.  Most times, say, nine out of ten times, there's nothing else found, but like in your Harry's case, the test came back negative for the meta gene, but positive for the magic gene.  Interestingly enough, the United States of America is one of the only major world powers that uses this test."

"Is it ever wrong?"  Alfred asked, still sounding unbothered.

"No, not as such.  The test allows us to test for potential of magical ability, but on occasion, the user in question will develop some sort of mental block about magic and not be able to perform it.  It can turn into something of a serious situation in that case, because then that person's magic sometimes must be bound inside them for their own safety, a choice that's not made lightly."

Alfred nodded and then turned to Dick.

"Will you go and find Master Bruce for me?  Tell him to take Harry on a walk or something," Alfred suggested, still using that easy voice.  

His eyes suggested that Dick ought to listen to him, lest he be sorry.  

Dick nodded at him and then trotted off without another word.

"Master Bruce?" Jameson asked, looking confused.

"Bruce Wayne.  I serve as a butler to the Wayne family."

"Ah.  Very good."

"Tell me, Mr Jameson, is there a magical government that metes out justice on families that abuse magical children?"  The calm look in Alfred's eyes had changed into a dangerous one.

"Indeed there is," Jameson answered.  "I did read Dr. Thompson's notes regarding Harry's state of growth."

"Or lack thereof," Alfred muttered.

"Yes, or lack thereof," Jameson agreed.  "I assume that you have recently taken custody of the boy?"

"That is the plan.  We do not have official custody, such as it is, but we are going to be filing a case for child abuse against Harry's former family."

"And who would that be?  Where was he before now?" Jameson asked, leaning in slightly as he watched Alfred's face.

Alfred looked at him for a moment before speaking.

"If I tell you, will his family mysteriously disappear before we are able to levy charges against them?"

"Hm, disappear?  I think not. I believe we'll be able to let this follow official channels, but it's possible my organization may have to step in, should things get muddied.  We do not care for child abusers of any kind," Jameson said, sounding grim as he frowned pointedly at Alfred.

"Good.  In that case, we retrieved him from his aunt and uncle's house in Surrey, England.  She is my niece.  I am Harry's great-uncle.  He found my address while cleaning out their attic, and wrote me a plea for help."

"A letter?  Sent by post?"  Jameson asked, leaning forward.  "Can I see it?"

Alfred frowned.

"I promise I only want to make a copy," Jameson clarified.

"Very well," Alfred said, pulling the letter out of an inner pocket and handing it over.

Jameson read it over and scowled. Into his pocket, he plunged his hand down to the elbow, making Alfred's eyebrows raise in surprise.  From the pocket, he grasped a slightly glowing envelope, which he pulled out and placed the letter into.  He raised a hand to Alfred's protestations and then opened it again, pulling out two letters.  

"See?  A copy," Jameson explained, handing the original back and refolding the copy into his own pocket.

"That is a handy tool," Alfred responded, begrudgingly.  

"Yes, it is."

Dick reappeared then, smiling at Alfred and nodding at Jameson.

"Hope I didn't miss anything too important," Dick said apologetically.

"Not much.  Just a few details I'll tell you and Master Bruce about later," Alfred murmured softly. 

"Now then, aside from the legal concerns of Mr Harry, there are a few other housekeeping details that I need to cover with you today."

"I'm listening," Alfred nodded.  

"First and foremost, there is a chance that my government will have to step in and deal with this case personally, based on what supposedly happened to Harry when he was a baby."

"Is this related to the reason that he's an orphan?" Dick asked, surprising Alfred with his intuition.

"It is," Jameson nodded.  "As it is, the official story is that the Dark Lord Voldemort--."

"Voldemort?" Alfred interrupted with a grimace.  "That is a terrible name."

Dick opened his mouth to ask, but was quelled by a pointed look from Alfred.  He shut his mouth.

"Yes, well, it also is--was--forbidden to be spoken during their last war, lest a person summon him or his followers directly to your side.  Resulting in certain death or destruction."

"Lovely," Alfred remarked.

"The short official story is that Voldemort went to the Potters' house and was murdered, taking Lily and James with him, but leaving baby Harry with nothing more than a deep scratch on his forehead."

"And the unofficial story?" Alfred asked.

Jameson nodded at him.

"The unofficial story is that Voldemort was able to see Harry's house because someone from Harry's side betrayed them.  The Potters had their house put under a Fidelius, a spell that hides a location or thing from anyone not in on the original secret.  That person can then share the knowledge with other people, and those people can share it as well.  It's recommended not to share it with too many people as a result."

Alfred and Dick nodded.

"And then, when he attempted to murder your great-nephew," Jameson frowned. "Something happened that caused the curse--a death curse, mind you--to bounce back from Harry onto Voldemort, killing him instantly."

Alfred ducked his head for a moment, and then looked at Jameson again. 

"And no one knows why it did not kill my nephew?"

Alfred's eyes search Jameson's face pointedly.

"There are theories, of course, but I don't know if anyone knows for certain.  I have a feeling that your great-nephew may end up being a popular person to visit in the near future."

"If they can get past Bruce," Dick coughed.  

Alfred eyed Dick pointedly, but kept his protest to himself.  

Anyone trying to get to Harry would have to get through him, Bruce be damned, but he didn't say that out loud.

"And the other housekeeping points?" Alfred prompted when no one said anything.

"I want to get a magical baseline for your great-nephew sometime.  It won't hurt, and we may discover that we are able to correct some of his maladies easier with magic, should you decided to let us."

Alfred nodded.  

"I also want to talk to you about magical defenses for your household.  We can have a team come out to talk to you and Mr. Wayne, should you be amenable."

"We will need time to talk about it," Alfred said.  

"I have a brochure that covers some of the points," Jameson said, reaching far into that deep pocket once again.

Dick openly goggled as he did, causing Alfred to give him a stern look in response.

Jameson handed the retrieved brochure to Alfred, who glanced at it briefly before putting his attention back on Jameson.

"And, I think we should discuss Harry's schooling."

"Are there special schools for magic in the US?  What do they teach?  Will we need to send Harry somewhere different to learn normal topics?" Alfred asked in quick succession.

"I have another brochure for that," Jameson said, smiling.  "But the long and short of it is yes, there are special schools for magic.  Until age eleven, the topics that are covered are the normal mundane ones his peers would learn about, with a little extra knowledge sprinkled on top for later topics.  The details are explored in this brochure," Jameson said, handing Alfred another brochure.  "Luckily for Harry, there are several schools in this area that he can attend until he is eleven.  Then, the options for schooling become a little diversified."

Jameson stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting his shoulders slump forward briefly before straightening up again.

"I also think that it would advisable to speak to one of our local bank managers on the subject of ancestry and familial ties.  If Mr Wayne is amenable, he could potentially adopt Mr Potter into his family."

Jameson held up a hand to stop Alfred from speaking.

"An adoption in the magical world is different than one done in the mundane," Jameson explained, reaching in his pocket again, causing Dick to snort as he handed yet another brochure to Alfred.  "But the goblins can explain that better than I."

"Goblins?"

Chapter Text

Alfred and Dick saw Mr Jameson out after their talk, shaking his hand once more and then sending him on his way.  Interestingly enough, the man had not driven himself, and when asked about his mode of transportation, had smiled wryly and asked Alfred to take a step back.

Then with a wink, Jameson took a step to the side, and Alfred watched as the air shimmered around him and with a loud CRACK, he was gone.  

"Well, that was unsettling," Dick remarked from beside him.  

"Agreed," Alfred sighed, heading back inside.

Dick closed the door behind them as Alfred went back to the kitchen, the various brochures tucked safely in his inner pocket.  

"Did Master Bruce say anything about where he was going?"

"Yeah, he said they were down by the creek."

Alfred nodded.

"In that case, I think we should prepare a picnic and go down and find them."

--

Harry spotted them first.  He was standing in-between Bruce's legs, the water up to his knees as he looked for interesting rocks to add to his slowly growing collection.  They were both only wearing boxer briefs and shirts, their jeans now drying on the stone picnic table farther up the bank after an incident where he had slipped on some mud and nearly taken Bruce with him.  The man had laughed, though not unkindly, and Harry's lingering embarrassment had faded to almost unnoticeable levels.  

He heard voices and popped his head out over Bruce's shoulder, only to duck back down shyly when he had seen Uncle Alfred, looking perfectly coifed in a pair of creased jeans and braces (suspenders).  The man was wearing a white linen shirt and a floppy canvas hat that looked rather out of place on his head.  

"Well, you two look comfortable," Alfred remarked, coming around the corner with Dick trotting behind him.

Dick, Harry was interested to see, was carrying a large basket.  He had also changed clothes and was wearing a t-shirt and shorts.  

"Hi, Alfred," Bruce greeted, twisting around and smiling at his pseudo-father.  "Hi, Dick."

Bruce was also in the creek, nearly up to his waist in water.  Harry leaned up over his shoulder again, grabbing Bruce's shirt for balance as he waved shyly at Alfred.  Bruce said that it was normal to be messy, especially since he was a child, but he certainly hadn't meant to cause BRUCE to get messy too!  He was a little worried about how Uncle Alfred would act when he saw how they both looked.  

They had stopped about an hour ago and split a protein bar, and Bruce had gotten him to drink some water too.  He watched as Dick put the basket on the bench near their jeans.  It looked heavy.

"My, you two have certainly had a morning of it," Alfred commented, sitting on the bench to untie his shoes and eyeing their muddy clothes with a smile.

"Catch anything?" Dick said out of nowhere, plopping down beside Bruce farther up on the sand.

Harry flinched and nearly lost his footing again, only to be caught by Bruce by the back of his shirt.

"Careful, son," was Bruce's response.  

"Sorry, B," Dick said, smiling at Harry.  

"Sorry for getting muddy, Uncle Alfred," Harry said in a voice just barely above a whisper, glancing briefly at Alfred and then ducking back down behind Bruce.

"No need for apologies, lad," Alfred answered, pulling his socks off and then walking gingerly down to where they were and taking a seat on the large rock near them. 

Their towers were still there, though they were beginning to dry out in the sun.

"Do you like our creations?  Harry helped me," Bruce said.  

Harry perched himself on Bruce's thigh and watched Alfred as he carefully inspected his and Uncle Bruce's muddy sand town.  

"I'm glad to see that you two were busy this morning.  Master Dick and I would much have rather been here with you, I think," Alfred observed.  

"Do you like the flags?" Harry offered, unprompted.  "I made most of them.  Uncle Bruce showed me how."

Alfred smiled at him warmly.  

"I do indeed."

"What are these?" Dick asked, pointing at the small pile of rocks sitting on the bank next to Bruce.

Harry stared back at him.

"They're mine.  Uncle Bruce said I could keep ten," Harry responded after a moment.  "Uncle Bruce said that he likes rocks too," he added softly, shoulders raising defensively as he waited for someone to tell him to get rid of them.  

He clenched his fingers back down on Bruce's shirt as he waited for disappointment to land.

"Looks like you only have eight," Dick said instead, his eyes flicking at Alfred briefly before coming back to looking at Harry.  

"Still lookin'," Harry mumbled into Bruce's side.  

"We're still deciding on his last two rocks," Bruce explained in a light voice that was at odds with the concern in his eyes as he carefully watched Harry curl farther into him.  

"Need some help?" Dick asked.

Harry had to fight the urge to tell him not to touch his rocks.  They were his.  Uncle Bruce had said so.

Some of that must have come across on his face, because Dick quickly raised his hands in apology.  

"I don't have to.  It was just an idea," Dick soothed.  "I won't take them.  They're yours."

Harry nodded, relaxing again.  

"I must say, Master Bruce, sometimes you do have good ideas," Alfred said, wiggling his toes in the water.  

"Only sometimes?" Bruce laughed.

"And to think," Dick remarked. "I wasn't even aware that Alfred owned jeans."

"Or had feet," Bruce laughed.  

"You're both terribly funny," Alfred said, rolling his eyes as he dug in the wet sand nearby.  

"Alfred, where did the picnic table come from?  I don't remember it being here before," Bruce interjected.

"It came from me, of course," Alfred said.  "This was your parents' favorite place to come, especially in the summer.  It seemed fitting that they have a permanent memorial here."

Harry stood up and crept over to where Alfred was still digging. He squatted down and looked at the wiggly thing that Alfred had found.  

"What is it?"  He asked.

"An earthworm.  I used to look for earthworms with your mother," Alfred answered.  "Do you want to hold this one?  They're harmless.  Just a bit slimy and a lot wiggly, not unlike Master Dick when he was younger," Alfred added with a smile.

"Hey!" Dick retorted.

"The thing to remember with earthworms is that they cannot live out of the dirt for very long.  They dry out, and when that happens, they die.  Unless you are using them to go fishing, then it's important to put them back where you found them," Alfred explained.  

"Oh," Harry said, looking down at the wiggly thing in his hand.  

He turned his hand over and dropped it back into the ground, and Alfred covered it back up carefully. 

"We want to keep them safe in the ground.  Birds will eat them, after all."

Harry nodded, listening carefully.  

Alfred stood up, and headed back to the table, pulling a pack of wet wipes out of the side pocket of the picnic basket.

"Now then, who's ready for lunch?"

Harry trotted over quickly, followed by Dick and finally Bruce.  Harry was subjected to a wipe down by Alfred, who then passed the pack of wipes to Dick with a look.  

"Come, sit," Alfred instructed, pointing at the picnic table.  

Harry wiggled into a spot and then made eyes at Bruce until he climbed in beside him.  Across the table, Dick sat as Alfred pulled out options from the basket.  They had rice with chicken and mushroom soup over the top, the food kept warm in its container.  After that, they each had their choice of either peach, strawberry or blueberry yogurt.  Harry watched what Bruce picked and followed suit, grabbing the other peach yogurt before anyone else could.  He'd never had peach anything, and was pleasantly surprised to learn that his uncle Bruce had made a good choice.  

Dessert was apple slices and peanut butter.  Harry ate two before declaring himself full.  He leaned his head on Bruce's shoulder as everyone else finished eating, and was nearly asleep by the time the table was cleared and the trash was put away into the basket, alongside their dirty jeans.

"Harry?" He heard distantly.  

He didn't react, and Bruce pulled him into his lap with a laugh.  

Bruce pulled his shoes back on with Dick's help, both cognizant of the very sleepy small child wrapped up in his arms.

--

"Our Mr Jameson has suggested we adopt Harry via magical means," Alfred said as they walked the path back to the manor.

Harry was in Bruce's arms still, head on his shoulder, asleep and oblivious.

"How would that work?  I assume you talked to him about it," Bruce responded.

Dick, who was trailing them, laughed.  

"You should see the stack of pamphlets that Alfie got from him.  It's pretty insane," Dick added.

"Somehow, I didn't see the wizarding world dealing in pamphlets like a non-profit organization," Alfred observed.  "They're also not your normal pamphlets.  They look like them on the outside, but once you open them up, they're a great deal more like small booklets.  They're very detailed."

"Huh," Bruce grunted. 

Alfred glanced at him thoughtfully.  

"You won't believe who they told us to talk to, Master Bruce," Alfred said, a smile quirking at the corner of his lips.

"Who?" Bruce asked.

"Goblins!" Dick laughed loudly, causing Alfred to glare back at him.

"Please do not wake the small child, Master Dick," Alfred admonished.

"Oops.  Sorry, Alfie," Dick apologized.

"Goblins?" Bruce's eyes searched Alfred's face.

"Yes.  They are also bank managers.  They handle all of the wizarding world's money," Alfred informed him.

They rounded the corner and the manor came into view.

"A magical adoption is different because it takes the blood from both parties and mixes them together so that they really are related.  Jameson showed us the results both from a magical standpoint, as well as a genetic one.  It would be as if Harry really were ours."

"Ours?" Bruce questioned.

They had reached the house.  Alfred let them in, following after the other two, before shutting the door securely behind him.  They all sighed in relief at the relative coolness of the house.  Bruce removed his sunglasses, and Alfred took off his hat.  

"I'm going to go change clothes and take a quick shower," Bruce said, offering Harry to Alfred.

Harry went easily enough, only waking enough to snuffle softly into Alfred's shoulder, before going limp again.  

"I think I'll just put him to bed in that case.  I'll see if I can't strip him of his wet things as I do," Alfred said, turning in that direction.

"Do you need help, Alfie?" Dick asked, sounding earnest.

"I think it would be most helpful for me if you were to put the leftovers away, and throw their dirty clothes in the wash, please, Master Dick," Alfred replied, not looking back as he headed for the stairs.

"Got it," Dick said with a grin.

They met back up in the library after they were done with their respective tasks.  They had all changed clothes, but only Bruce had taken a shower, his hair still damp as he came in the room.  

"Earlier, you said it would be like Harry really were ours," Bruce prompted, his mind still on their previous conversation.

"Jameson suggested that you adopt him, in order to better give him the protection of the Wayne home and grounds," Alfred answered, not looking surprised at Bruce's question.  "And I was thinking that it might be helpful to adopt Master Dick as well," he added in a calm voice.

"Now, wait a second--," Dick started to say.

"It doesn't take away from what your parents gave you, Master Dick."

"Well, who would be listed as my dad?  No offense, Bruce, but I want my dad to still be my dad," Dick said, only glancing at Bruce.

"We wouldn't have to have you listed as his son," Alfred explained. 

"Maybe as a cousin?" Dick asked.

"Obviously, we'd have to talk to the goblins directly about your concerns, but from what Jameson said, it would be possible," Alfred said.

"And Harry?" Bruce asked, stretching his arm over the back of the couch.

"I think it would be prudent to have him listed as your son," Alfred answered.

"And his mother?" 

"Would still be Lily, my niece.  And his father would still be James, for those in the wizarding world.  The rest of the time, it would list only you."

Bruce snapped his fingers abruptly as he remembered something.

"That reminds me, Alfred."

"Yes?"

"Harry's never seen a picture of his mother or father.  I told him I thought you would be able to help with the first, at the very least."

Alfred scowled. 

"Yes, I have many pictures of his mother, but I don't think I have any of his father.  But yes, I would at least be able to help him with that."

Bruce nodded, his eyes distant as he thought more on the subject.

Alfred looked at Dick, who rolled his eyes.  

"The man's thinking, Alfie," Dick muttered.

"I can still hear you," Bruce responded, glancing in Dick's direction.

Dick raised his hands innocently.

"Me?  Say something?  I wouldn't dream of it."

Chapter Text

Harry woke up in his bed some indeterminate amount of time later.  He stretched and yawned and snuggled into his blankets just because he could, hugging his blue elephant close to his chest as he did.  Uncle Bruce had told him he should consider naming it, but he didn't know what would make a good name.  Maybe Uncle Alfred would have some ideas later.  

He wiggled out of the bed, his toes reaching out for the floor as he slowly slid out of the covers, hiding his elephant under his pillow as he did.  He was wearing his new pajamas, and he wondered who had put them on him.  He rubbed his fingers over the fabric and delighted in the softness.  

He leaned over and pulled the string for the lamp that sat on the bedside table.  Uncle Alfred had said it was there for him, and that it didn't matter if the light ever burnt out, that they could just replace it.  Still though, pulling the string to turn it on left him with a little thrill in the bottom of his stomach, and he couldn't help but check over his shoulder to make sure no one (i.e. a Dursley) was standing there waiting for him to get in trouble.  But there was no one there.

The light lit up his bed and the table, and he smiled brightly as he caught sight of his rocks. Uncle Bruce had brought them to him!  He hugged himself in happiness.  They were his!  They really were! 

He was so glad that Ms Englebrecht had told him to take the chance to write his Uncle Alfred.  His heart gave a pang as he thought of her.  Maybe they could call her.  He didn't want her to be worried about him.

He bit his lip as he looked over his rocks and then picked the smoothest flat rock in the pile, the one that fit perfectly in his palm.  He picked it up and put it in his pocket and then trotted to the bathroom to relieve himself.  He washed his hands afterward, eyeing the towel with suspicion.  He wasn't sure if he was supposed to use it or not.  Aunt Petunia's towels were only there for decoration and guests, and his Uncle Vernon and cousin Dudley never washed their hands anyway, so they didn't care.  In the end, he decided to err on the side of caution and wiped his hands on one of his fluffy bath towels.  

He left the bathroom and turned off the light and then headed for the door that led to the hallway.  Once there, he opened it slowly and slid quietly out, closing the door back behind him and debated with himself as to where he should go next.  He thought he heard voices coming from the big library, the one they had been in earlier that day, so he headed that way, peering around the edge of the doorway when he got there, trying to see if Uncle Bruce or Uncle Alfred were there.  To his delight, they both were, alongside his cousin Dick.

He crept around the corner, catching Uncle Bruce's eyes as he turned to look at him.  His Uncle Bruce was apparently very good at keeping track of his surroundings, he observed.  His uncle Vernon would have never heard him while he was using his quiet feet.  

"Harry!" Bruce rumbled, reaching out for him.  

Blushing, he ran blindly into Bruce's arms, ignoring Dick and Uncle Alfred as he did so.  

Uncle Bruce scooped him and brought him into his lap, and Harry buried his face in the man's shirt for a long moment.  

"Did you sleep well?"  Uncle Alfred asked.

He nodded into Bruce's shirt and then turned his head to smile at Uncle Alfred.

"Thank you," he whispered to Bruce.

"For what, baby?"  Bruce answered quietly.

"My rocks!" He responded happily.

"Oh," Bruce's face slowly lit up.  "Well, I did say you could keep them."

"Yeah, and you brought them!"

"Actually, my dear boy, it was Master Dick who remembered to bring them with us," Alfred interjected.

Harry didn't let himself think about it.  He let go of Bruce and threw himself at Dick, catching his neck in a hug for the first time.  

"Thank you!"  Harry gushed.

Cousin Dick hugged him back tightly.  His arms were warm and Harry felt very secure.  

He completely missed the smiles that Bruce and Alfred shot at Dick over his head. 

"Anything for you, Harry," Dick answered, smiling broadly.  "You said they were important."

"They were!  They are!"  Harry nodded, still hugging Dick. 

"And you still only have eight, so we could go down to the creek sometime and get two more if you want," Dick suggested.

Harry looked over at Bruce with a question on his face.

"What is it, sweetheart?" Bruce asked.

"Does cousin Dick count as 'supervision?'  You said I had to be supervised."

Bruce opened his mouth, but Alfred beat him to it.

"Of course he does, sweet boy.  Dick is an adult too," Alfred answered, not looking at Bruce.  

"Yes," Bruce muttered with a frown.  "He is." 

Harry beamed again at Dick.  

--

Severus pulled from Petunia's mind with a gasp, turning away from her prone form and dry heaving as the compound horrors within her mind slowly caught up with him.  He managed to keep from actually vomiting, but only just.  

He pulled himself to his feet and absentmindedly shot her with a stupefy.  

The cupboard--Harry's cupboard--was just beyond them, and he walked over to it slowly, scowling darkly.  He pulled it open with numb fingers, and then just stared inside of it for a very long moment.  He was dumbfounded that they had thought keeping a child--any child--in this small windowless closet was acceptable.  He could taste bile still, but swallowed hard against it, before dropping into a crouch to better see the insides of the cupboard.  There wasn’t  very much inside, only an old crib mattress, draped with a dirty sheet and a pile of dirty clothes that presumably had been used for a pillow.

"If the tables had been turned, I know Lily would have treated your son as her own," he muttered darkly to Petunia's stupefied form still laying across the room.

He didn't care that she wasn't conscious to hear his words.  In fact, he doubted that she would have listened to him if she had been conscious.

On the shelves sat more clothes, all grey and worn out.  He picked them up and something white fluttered out from under them onto the floor.  

It was a piece of paper with three addresses written out in messy penmanship.  The first two addresses were crossed out, but the third was still unmarred.  It was an address for an Alfred Pennyworth in Gotham, New Jersey.  

"Merlin's saggy bollocks," Severus groaned, tucking the piece of paper away safely in his pocket, before tossing the clothes back on their shelf.  

He stood with another groan, resting his aching head on the wall for a moment after doing so, before straightening himself up.  He closed the cupboard door and then resolutely walked away, not sparing a glance for the woman who had been responsible for forcing a small child to take up residence there.  He left out the back door and stood behind the house for a long moment as he thought.  Mind finally made up, he nodded to himself and apparated away with a crack.

--

Alfred had made a phone call during Harry's nap to Jameson to ask a question he had just thought of.  He didn't bother talking to Bruce first, knowing that it probably wouldn't matter either way to the man.  

"Mr. Jameson?" Alfred asked when the call was picked up.

"Is this Mr. Pennyworth?"  Jameson asked, voice still cheery.

"Yes.  I hope I'm not bothering you?"

"No, I was just about to head for home, but I have a few minutes to talk," Jameson said.

"Yes, well, Dr. Thompson noticed that Harry was a bit nearsighted.  I wondered if perhaps we shouldn't have him looked at by someone there in . . . in your world," Alfred said, stumbling slightly over his words.  

"If you want him to have a full medical work up here, it certainly would be a much more expansive and detailed report than one you might receive in your medical world," Jameson answered easily.  "And then we can have reports sent to Dr. Thompson or whomever you wish them to go to."

"And they would be . . . I hesitate to say the word 'normal,'" Alfred responded, frowning.  

"Normal is fine," Jameson laughed.  "Or mundane, perhaps.  Our cousins across the pond refer to non-magical people as 'muggles,' but I've never cared for that word.  It's a bit like using an old fashioned derogatory term for someone of a different race, you see," Jameson explained, voice now serious.

"Mundane, then," Alfred decided, filing the word "muggle" away in his head for later.

"Yes, that's fine," Jameson said.  "You can head to Gotham Regional if you like.  The thirteenth floor is all magical maladies.  If you have a magical child with you, then it's very easy to find."

"I'm guessing there's some sort of failsafe there to keep wandering mundanes out of trouble?" Alfred asked, suddenly curious.

"Most definitely.  For one, the thirteenth floor is listed as having to do with the building's machinery, but even if you were to hit the button by accident, then there are . . . failsafes, as you put it, to keep your average non-magical from investigating too closely.  However, should you have your great-nephew with you as you investigate, then you'll find a much different welcome.  It's a fascinating place.  I suggest going with an open mind."

"I'll remember that.  Thank you, sir," Alfred responded.

"Or, if you so desire, the goblins can also give a complete workup, but their bedside manner isn't known for being particularly welcoming," Jameson added, humor filtering through his tone.

"I think we'll try the hospital first," Alfred decided.

"Whichever.  Just have me copied on the results, if you would.  And I wouldn't say his name too loudly.  He's not as well known on this side of the pond, but his name can still cause unwanted issues," Jameson warned.

"Regarding what you spoke to us about from before?  With the man whose name is most unfortunate?" Alfred asked.

"Yes," Jameson confirmed.  "I assume you have at least a passing understanding of French?  I didn't ask before, but you seemed to understand the implications well enough."

"I do.  My employer has a broad and vast interest in a number of esoteric topics," Alfred said by way of explanation.

"Ah, very good.  Well, I hope to hear from you soon!"

"Thank you."