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Chapter Text

August: A New Beginning

Alfred said okay! He said that Tim could stay for cookies and lemonade! Harry was so excited to start sharing all the new things that had happened since they’d seen each other last, when Harry was still a street kid. (Was he still a street kid? Harry didn’t feel all that different. He was clean, he supposed, wearing clothes that fit and with a proper haircut—still long-ish, curling around his jaw, but neat this time. But inside he wasn’t any different. Was he?)

Harry shook off those weird thoughts and grinned at Tim in the bathroom mirror while they washed their hands. Tim grinned widely back. Jason poked them both, making Tim squeal and Harry jump, then scowl.

“What was that for?” Harry complained.

Jason smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Harry’s brow furrowed.

“Jay?”

“You guys gotta be more careful,” he said in an undertone. “To anyone else, we just met Tim today. So ya can’t be too familiar, or else they’ll start askin’ questions.”

“So I have to pretend I don’t know him?” Harry asked, his face falling.

Jason hesitated.

Tim smiled shyly. “I’m good at pretending. We can still be friendly, and stuff. We just can’t talk about anything from…well. Before.”

“But…I don’t wanna pretend. Or lie.”

“You already did, little hawk,” Jason pointed out. “When you told Alfred we met Tim skateboarding in his driveway.”

Harry blinked, then his face fell. “Oh. I—I just didn’t wanna get Tim in trouble. I mean, we lived on the streets, but…it’s not normal for kids with parents to run around at night alone, is it?”

Tim flushed.

“Not really,” Jason said. Then he nudged Tim with his elbow. “Lighten up, Timmy! We’re not normal, either, so you fit right in!”

Tim smiled shyly. “Okay.”

Harry grinned back, ignoring the little voice in his head whispering freak.

“C’mon. We’ve been a while, and I can smell the cookies from here!” Jason exclaimed. He grabbed Harry’s wrist, and then Harry grabbed Tim’s hand, and together they hurried out of the bathroom.

They barely made it across the hall when Jason stopped short, making Harry and Tim crash into him and then tumble to the floor.

“Jay, what the hell?” Harry complained.

“Oh. It’s just Dickface,” Jason said, smirking.

Dick, who had just descended the stairs in front of them, gasped dramatically. “How dare you insult my beautiful face!”

Harry snickered and got to his feet. “He didn’t insult it. He just stated a fact. You’re Dick, so your face is Dick’s face. Dickface,” Harry said with an innocent smile. He even tucked his hands behind his back and made his eyes go a little wider.

Jason choked back a laugh.

Dick sputtered. “You—I don’t—are you sure you’re actually nine?!”

Harry shrugged. “I dunno. Bruce never found my birth certificate.”

Tim gave a tiny laugh, which drew Dick’s attention to him.

Dick blinked twice. “Is that Tim Drake?”

Tim squeaked and went bright red. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing Harry’s arm. “Ohmygodit’sDickGrayson!”

“He’s a big fan,” Jason added with a smirk.

Dick blinked again, his brow furrowing a little in confusion. “I…didn’t realize I had any fans, but it’s nice to see you again, Tim. Since the last gala, right?”

Tim squeaked again and nodded, still tongue-tied.

Jason hid a snicker.

Harry just smiled and nudged Tim teasingly. “C’mon. Cookies await!” Harry exclaimed, then he led the way into the breakfast nook—which was quickly becoming one of his favorite places in the manor. He loved the light coming through the big windows, even if it was often cloudy outside. Sometimes he just liked to sit on the big, cushioned window seat and stare outside, marveling at the nature he’d never really seen before.

Jason and Dick brought up the rear, making faces at each other.

They passed Alfred in the kitchen on their way. “Ah, Master Dick. I was just about to call you.” Alfred said. He followed them in and set the plate of cookies on the table in the breakfast nook. Four glasses of ice-cold lemonade were already waiting for them.

Dick grinned. “I was summoned by the smell of fresh cookies.” He slid onto the bench with his back to the window. Jason slid in next to him, leaving Harry and Tim to sit across from them on the other side. “I heard something about skateboarding?” Dick prompted, raising an eyebrow at Harry.

Harry brightened and started gushing about Tim’s skateboard and all the tricks they’d tried on the way over, with Jason chiming in with his own commentary.

“—and then Tim showed me how to do a kick-flip!” Harry gushed. “It’s like the coolest thing I’ve ever seen!”

Tim flushed and ducked his head, but they could all tell he was smiling.

“Oh, really? I never would have guessed proper Timothy Drake was a skater,” Dick teased lightly.

Tim squeaked and took a drink of lemonade to avoid replying, but he drank too quickly and ended up sputtering and choking, the lemonade spilling down his front.

Jason burst out laughing.

Harry laughed a little, but gave Tim a sympathetic smile as he tried to disappear beneath the table.

“You can kill me now,” Tim whispered, his face burning red.

Dick smiled kindly. “No need to be nervous, Tim. I don’t bite.”

Tim squeaked and hid behind Harry.

Jason snickered. “Damn, he’s fanboying hard. And I thought Harry’s reaction was bad.”

“Hey!” Harry protested, playing up his indignation.

“You went tongue-tied, too. I swear there were actual stars in your eyes.”

“There was not!” Harry complained.

“Were too,” Jason corrected. “Honestly, after all I’ve taught you, and you still can’t get your verbs right.” He shook his head in fake dismay. “After all I’ve done for you, and you still talk like a street kid.”

“Verbs are dumb!” Harry retorted. “And your street talk is worse than mine!”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes, it is!”

“No, it ain’t!” Jason retorted heatedly.

Harry grinned. “Hah! You said ain’t!”

Tim giggled softly. Harry pretended to ignore him. (After all, the whole point of the fake argument was to draw attention away from him.)

“Ugh, fine. You’ve caught me. I shall wither away and die of shame.” Jason slumped over against the table. “My gravestone shall read, ‘here lies Jason Todd, who died of shame for saying ‘ain’t’ in a fancy manor house.”

Dick snorted, then burst out laughing.

Harry grinned triumphantly and finally ate his first cookie as a reward.

It was delicious! The very best cookie he had ever tasted!

He passed one to Tim, who’d been too busy being embarrassed to eat. Tim took a tiny bite, then his eyes widened and he gobbled the whole thing down in seconds. With a secret grin, Harry smuggled the rest of the cookies to Tim, while Dick and Jason argued over who was more dramatic. Tim muffled his laughter and wrapped the cookies up in their napkins, then hid them in his pockets and Harry’s.

“You’re still a dramatic old man!” Jason finally said firmly, reaching for a cookie.

His fingers found an empty plate.

“What the hell?” Jason looked around. “This plate was full not two minutes ago. I swear it was.”

“Maybe Dick ate them all,” Harry said, straight-faced.

Dick sputtered. “I was too busy arguing to eat! Man, and I only got three!”

“Only three?!” Jason burst out. “I barely had one!”

“Cuz you eat like a bird,” Tim chirped.

“Nu-uh, that’s you, baby bird,” Jason retorted.

Tim’s cheeks pinked at the nickname.

Dick cooed. “Aw, that’s adorable! Man, now I need a cute nickname for everyone!”

“Then get out and go brainstorm, Dickhead. I have two little birds who need to be tickled until they hand over the cookies they stole!”

Harry made his eyes go wide. “I didn’t steal anything!”

Tim somehow turned a snort into a cough.

Jason scoffed. “You know that look doesn’t work on me, little hawk.”

Harry grinned, his chest feeling warm like it always did when Jason used his nickname.

Dick smiled and ruffled his hair, then Jason’s (and ignored Jason’s indignant squawk). “Fine, fine. I’ll get out of your hair,” he teased. “It was nice to officially meet you, Tim.”

Tim squeaked. “Um! It—it was nice to—to meet you, too, Ro-um, Mr. Grayson.”

Dick cringed. “Eww, please just call me Dick. I’m not old enough to be Mister.”

Tim squeaked again. “I—um. I apologize, M-um. D-Dick.”

Dick grinned and ruffled Tim’s hair. “Much better. Catch you later, Timmy, Jay. Hawklet,” Dick added, winking at Harry.

Harry’s cheeks flushed while his chest warmed again. “Can you show me some flips later? And—and maybe Tim, too? S-some other day?”

Dick ruffled Harry’s hair again. “You betcha.” He got to his feet and threw a teasing salute, then he left.

Tim melted into a puddle against Harry’s chest. “Ohmygodthatwassoembarrasing,” he whisper-screamed.

Harry wrapped him in a hug and lightly patted his head. “It’s okay, twin. He likes you.”

Tim squeaked, then whisper-screamed again, his voice muffled in Harry’s shirt.

Jason snickered. “You’re adorable, baby bird.”

“’M not adorable,” Tim grumbled.

Jason laughed. “Yeah, you are. C’mon, cough up the cookies. I wasn’t lyin’ when I said I only got one.”

“What cookies?” Harry asked innocently.

Jason deliberately stood from his seat, rounded the table, then grabbed Harry in a headlock, driving his knuckles into the top of Harry’s head.

“Ow! Hey, lemme go! I’m holdin’ precious cargo!”

Tim squeaked, his face going pink again as he burrowed deeper into Harry’s chest.

“Timmy’s fine. Hand over the cookies, you little gremlin.”

“Fine! Okay!” Harry shoved Jason away, trying and failing to scowl as he tried to fix his hair with one hand.

Jason just grinned triumphantly, holding one hand out.

With a pout, Harry handed over the two cookies wrapped up in his left pocket—

then rapidly snatched one of them back and stuffed it in his mouth all at once.

Jason rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous, kid.” He took a normal bite of his own cookie, making a show of savoring it.

Harry rapidly chewed and swallowed, then grinned through the cookie crumbs all over his face. “No, you’re ridiculous!”

“Jason? Harry?”

Harry froze. Jason snapped to attention. Tim scrambled to sit up, straightening his clothes and brushing crumbs off his shirt.

Footsteps approached through the dining room. A second later, Bruce rounded the corner. “I thought I heard you two. Would either of you like—oh.” Bruce stopped, blinked, glanced between Harry and Tim several times, then said, “Who might you be?”

Tim tried to stand, bumped his knees on the table, and dropped clumsily back onto the bench.

Tim’s cheeks flushed, but he powered through. Remaining seated, Tim straightened his shoulders. “I-I’m Timothy Drake, sir. Your next-door neighbor. I do hope I’m not intruding.”

Harry stared. He’d never heard Tim speak so formally before.

Bruce blinked again, then recognition spread across his face. “Of course, yes. It’s good to see you again, Timothy.”

“Tim!” Harry piped up, then froze as Bruce turned his attention on Harry. Feeling his own face slowly heat up, Harry continued shyly, “I-I mean, he prefers Tim.”

“I…see. And…what brings you here? I was…unaware that you three were acquainted.”

“W—we met today!” Harry said quickly.

“Yeah. We went for a walk and Timmy here was playin’ all alone in his yard. He looked all lonely and sad, so we invited him over,” Jason said a little defensively, even as he smirked at Tim.

Tim made a face.

“And—and he showed us his skateboard!” Harry chimed in. “And Alfred said it was okay!”

“I see. Well, far be it from me to dispute what Alfred says.” Bruce turned his attention back to Tim. “We’re glad to have you, Tim. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, as long as your parents know where you are.”

Tim stiffened, then gave a nod. “Of course. I asked them before coming over and they said it was fine. I apologize for not asking permission first. I—I don’t want to be a bother.”

Harry bit his cheek as Tim’s shoulders hunched a little.

Bothersome little freak.

“Not at all. As I said, we’re glad to have you. I did have a quick question for Harry and Jason, then I’ll leave you to it.”

Harry and Jason immediately straightened.

Bruce smiled. “Nothing like that, boys. I merely wanted to ask if you’d be interested in looking at furniture and décor for your rooms. You’ve been here almost two weeks and the paperwork is being processed to make it permanent. So I thought you might like to make it official and decorate your rooms.”

“D-decorate?” Harry breathed. “Like—like posters and stuff?”

“And furniture, bedding, paint, and anything else you’d like to make your rooms your own.”

Harry stared, not comprehending.

“Perhaps Tim can help you find ideas?” Bruce asked, looking awkward as neither Harry nor Jason had responded.

“Ooh, can I?” Tim asked eagerly, then he seemed to remember himself. “I mean, I’d be glad to. I know a lot about decorating.”

Jason gave a strained smile. “Sure, Timbit. It’ll be fun.”

Harry kept staring.

Freaks don’t get bedrooms.

Freaks don’t get nice things.

Into your cupboard, nasty freak!

Bruce smiled and set a tablet(!) down on the table. “Feel free to browse whatever you like. Bookmark or save your favorites and I can order them for you.”

Harry nodded woodenly. He didn’t dare touch the tablet.

“T-thank you, sir,” Tim said with a formal nod.

“Please, call me Bruce.”

“Um. Of course, B-Bruce,” Tim said, his cheeks turning pink again.

“Thanks,” Jason said absently.

Bruce smiled. “Have fun, then, boys. And Tim, if you’d like, you’re welcome to stay for dinner in a few hours.”

Tim straightened, then nodded. “T-thank you, sir—I mean, Bruce.”

Bruce nodded, then, a little awkwardly, he waved and shuffled out of the room.

Jason exhaled, long and slow. “He wasn’t mad,” he said, his eyes wide. “We brought over a whole other person without permission and he didn’t get mad.”

Tim nodded, then they both turned their attention to Harry.

“Harry?” Tim asked.

Harry kept staring at the tablet as if afraid it would strike out and bite him.

“Harry? Little hawk?” Jason waved his hand in front of Harry’s face. “Hello? Anyone in there?”

“I—”

“What?”

Harry hunched in on himself. “I’ve never had a room of my own before,” he whispered.

That cupboard is good enough for a freak like you! Out of sight, out of mind!

“Damn. Didja have to share with your jerk cousin, then? That sucks.”

Harry slowly shook his head.

Tim tilted his head, his brow furrowed. “Then where did you sleep? On the couch?”

Again, Harry shook his head. His uncle’s voice still echoed in his ears.

Freaks don’t get nice things!

Freaks don’t get bedrooms!

“On the floor?” Jason asked. “Mom and I slept on a mattress on the floor for a while.” Then Jason furrowed his brow. “But didn’t you say they spoiled your cousin? They should have had the funds to get you a bed, at least.”

Harry shook his head again, tears stinging his eyes as he realized that Bruce—a man he’d known less than two weeks, in essence a complete stranger—had just offered him the one thing he’d always wanted more than anything else: a safe space that was wholly his own.

“Harry?”

Harry curled in on himself, his arms wrapping around his chest. “They had two extra bedrooms, but they put me—they put me in the cupboard, I mean the closet under the stairs,” he whispered.

Jason blanched. “They made you sleep in a closet?”

Harry shivered at the cold rage in Jason’s voice, even knowing it wasn’t directed at him.

Tim gasped, then grabbed Harry in a tight hug. “Your relatives sucked ass,” he declared with all the authority a nine-year-old can muster.

Jason choked on a laugh. “Did Tiny Timmy just curse?”

“They deserve it,” Tim declared, though the tips of his ears turned pink. Then he squeezed Harry tighter before pulling away and grabbing his hands instead. “I’m gonna help you make the best room ever,” he insisted. “Because you deserve it.”

Harry sniffed and wiped his cheeks, trying to smile. “Thanks, twin.”

Jason grabbed Harry in a hug, then, brief but tight and forceful. “Well. We’ve got work to do. Fire it up, Timmy. You’re the tech expert.”

Tim’s eyes glinted. “You got it.” He seized the tablet and switched it on, then flicked through several apps before settling on one. “Now let’s get to work.”

***

Harry, Tim, and Jason spent hours scouring the Internet for the perfect room for Harry. Along the way, Harry ensured Jason got to pick what he wanted, too. At first they were both reluctant to go for anything, but with Tim’s encouragement and “professional” opinion on price versus quality, they slowly relaxed—even when Harry, his fingers trembling, added a $700 but super-cool wooden four-poster bed to his list of favorites. Bruce hadn’t given them any kind of budget, which to Harry meant they had to keep it as cheap as possible, but to Jason it became blanket permission for anything, no matter how ridiculous.

“If he’s serious about keepin’ us,” Jason explained, “then it won’t matter what we ask for. It’s not like he can’t afford it.”

Harry frowned slightly. “Then…then if I’m getting the really, really nice bed, so do you! And that huge, fancy bookcase and that armchair for a reading nook!”

Jason flushed a little. “I don’t need—”

“Nuh-uh!” Harry countered. “If I get nice stuff, so do you! It’s—it’s not fair, otherwise!”

Jason made a face. “All right. You win, little hawk.” Then he got a devious look in his eye. “Let’s see just how ridiculous we can go!”

“It’s hard to be ridiculous with furniture,” Tim said, shrugging. “You might have better luck asking for weird knick-knacks. Like those dumb glass mushrooms we saw.”

Jason snorted. “Yeah, those are ridiculous. Hey, wanna see how many hawk figurines we can find?”

Tim lit up. “Yes!”

Harry flushed. “Jay!”

Jason snickered and ruffled Harry’s hair. “You gotta embrace the name, little hawk.”

“Then we’ll get lots and lots of tigers for you!” Harry countered.

Jason grimaced. “I don’t like tigers that much, kid.”

“Ooh! How about book ends? Or those cool hollow books you can use as secret stashes?!” Tim chimed in.

Jason made a face. “I don’t need any a’ that stuff. Just give me a nice mattress, some blankets, and my books and I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t need hawk figurines, either,” Harry pouted (though it would be cool to have a few...)

“Okay, okay. We’ll keep it normal,” Jason said, rolling his eyes. “Or, as normal as a rich-person room can be.”

Tim snickered. “There’s a lot of room for interpretation there. You know I once went to a gala where the sitting room was full of horse figurines? Even a life-sized one! With a saddle and everything!”

Harry giggled.

Jason snorted. “Yeah, rich people are a whole other brand of crazy.”

With that, they began their serious search. Once they’d settled on furniture, they moved on to bedding, décor, and accessories. Then, right as Alfred was about to shoo them out so he could prepare dinner, they (hesitantly) picked paint colors. It felt like the final test, to see if Bruce would let them make such drastic, long-lasting changes to the very walls themselves.

Then Alfred did shoo them out so he could prepare dinner, so they left the tablet and went back outside to practice on Tim’s skateboard some more. Jason practiced enough that he could confidently ride, turn, do a basic jump, and stop, then he stood back and watched while Tim taught Harry more tricks.

A while later, Alfred called them in for dinner and told them to wash up. Tim hesitated, but Harry dragged him along and made him stay to eat. Dinner was slightly less awkward (on Tim’s part, anyway) than their initial meeting, but Tim still quickly made his excuses and left shortly after everything was cleaned up.

Since the sun was setting, Alfred insisted on driving Tim home, and Harry insisted on going with them. And since Jason still didn’t like letting Harry out of his sight for more than a few minutes at a time, Jason came along, too.

At the gate, Harry and Jason got out alongside Tim to give him a proper hug goodbye.

“Don’t forget me,” Tim whispered tearfully as Harry hugged him tight.

Harry gasped softly and squeezed. “I could never forget my twin! We tried to come see you earlier, I promise, but there was always someone watching and Jason got paranoid and everything was so busy and new and scary. But now you’re right next door, so I can come see you anytime I want!”

Tim sniffled softly and hugged Harry tight. “I was scared you’d left me, too,” he whispered.

“I could never,” Harry insisted, still keeping his voice down because Alfred was watching.

Tim sniffled again and hugged Harry a little tighter before finally, reluctantly, pulling away.

Then Jason yanked him into a hug-slash-headlock. “You ain’t gettin’ rid of us that easy, baby bird,” he teased lightly.

Tim gave a reluctant giggle, then he squirmed free and gave Jason a proper hug. “I’ll see you later?” he said hopefully.

“Every day if you want,” Harry said fiercely. “We can show you the yard, and the forest, and there’s even a creek we can play in! And you have to help decorate my room once we get all the stuff!”

Tim smiled and nodded. “Okay. I’ll…see you later,” he said. Then he waved and went up the long drive to his front door.

Harry bit his lip and grabbed Jason’s hand.

“We gotta make sure he knows we’re always gonna want him around,” Harry said fiercely.

“You read my mind, little hawk. C’mon; let’s go back.”

Harry nodded. They climbed back into the car, then Alfred drove them back to the manor.

***

When they got back, Bruce invited Harry and Jason into the study to share their selections so they could start making plans. Jason did so with affected disinterest and a touch of defiance, Harry with hesitant, hopeful excitement.

“These are some great choices, boys,” Bruce said. “I can tell you put a lot of thought into it.”

Harry and Jason both flushed at the praise.

“Whatever,” Jason muttered.

“If you’d like, I can order everything right away and have someone put it all together. You can have your rooms set up in just two or three days.”

Jason shrugged, his cheeks still pink. “If you insist.”

“I wanna do it.”

They both blinked at Harry’s small declaration.

“Harry?” Bruce asked.

Harry took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “I wanna do the work.”

“Are you sure, lad? That’s a lot of work. It’ll take at least a week if we do it ourselves.”

Harry nodded firmly, though his hands were suddenly sweaty and his heart was pounding.

“I wanna do the work,” Harry repeated. “Cuz—cuz then it doesn’t—I mean, then it’ll…it’ll really, really be…mine.” He trailed off, his heart in his throat.

Jason’s face did something complicated. “Little hawk…”

“I wanna do it,” Harry said again, deliberately meeting Bruce’s eyes.

Bruce stared at Harry.

Harry squeaked and hid behind Jason.

Bruce’s face broke into a smile. “I think we can arrange that.”

Harry gasped softly and poked his head out from behind Jason. “R-really? You—you don’t mind letting me—I mean, letting me do—do the work?”

“If you’d really like to, I don’t mind at all. But.” Bruce’s face grew a little stern. “You will be working under supervision, though, either myself or Alfred. I don’t want you handling the heavy pieces and power tools alone. I’d hate for you to get hurt.”

Harry’s eyes went wide.

Jason nudged Harry’s shoulder. “I agree with him there, little hawk. You’re too little to use a drill; it’ll spin you instead of the screw,” he teased, flattening Harry’s hair.

Harry made a face and ducked away. “I’ve used a drill before!” he countered. The Dursleys had made him fix some loose fence boards the summer he turned seven. “And I’m not that little!”

Jason grinned. “Sorry; you’re right. It’d be Timmy getting spun. I dunno how it’s possible, but he’s still smaller than you.”

Harry giggled at the mental image, then he inhaled softly. “Um!” He began, looking at Bruce. “Can—I mean, could Tim help, too?” Harry asked hesitantly. “I mean, he did help me pick things out. And…and I think he’d like, um. Like to see it all come, um, come together.”

Bruce was staring at them both, something soft and fond in his face that made Harry flush, even as warmth filled his chest.

Then Bruce blinked and the moment was over. “As long as it’s all right with his parents, that would be just fine with me,” he said.

“I’ll help, too, obviously,” Jason put in. “But, if it’s all the same to you…” He shrugged. “I’d rather not do all the work for my room. Don’t feel like waiting. Except…except the paint. I’ll paint my room.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll go ahead and order everything, then. Then, Jason, we’ll get your room set up first, then we’ll do Harry’s. You don’t mind sharing a room for a night while the paint dries, do you?”

Harry shook his head. “We shared a room for ten whole months. We can do one more night.”

“You still sleep with me now,” Jason teased, lightly poking Harry in the ribs.

Harry flushed and scowled and poked Jason back.

Jason poked him again in return.

Harry jabbed his fingers into Jason’s side.

Jason wheezed, then grabbed Harry in a headlock, driving his knuckles into Harry’s hair. “You little brat.”

“Hey! Lemme go, Jay!” Harry protested, trying and failing to pull free (though he wasn’t trying all that hard).

Bruce softly cleared his throat.

They both froze, eyes wide with fear.

Bruce’s face softened. “You’re not in trouble, boys. Though please keep the roughhousing to the open areas of the house or outside; I don’t want either of you getting hurt because you ran into a desk or something.”

Jason’s eyes went wide.

Harry ducked his head and shuffled his feet. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s all right, Harry, lad,” Bruce said gently. “I only wanted to tell you that I’ve ordered your things.” He turned the tablet around to show them the “order complete” page—with a total of ten thousand dollars between them!

Jason paled a little, then cleared his throat and grinned cheekily. “You tryin’ ta buy us, old man?”

“Not at all. These were your selections, after all. I’m more than happy to spend a bit of money to get you the things you’d like in order to feel comfortable here. This is to be your home, after all.”

Jason looked taken aback, then his face turned red. “Thanks, I guess,” he mumbled.

Bruce smiled warmly. “You’re very welcome, Jaylad.”

Jason flushed darker at the nickname. “Whatever.” He grabbed Harry’s hand and tugged. “C’mon, Harry. Let’s go bother Dick.”

Harry blinked, then turned and offered Bruce a shy smile before letting Jason drag him out.

Chapter Text

August: Making It Home

Three days later found Harry, Jason, Tim, Dick, Bruce, and Alfred gathered in Jason’s room—stripped bare of all furniture, the carpet covered in white plastic sheets and tape covering the baseboards and door frames. Paint trays, brushes, and rollers of varying sizes and handle lengths lay along the floor in neat, orderly lines. Four cans of paint—three beige, one a soft red—sat amidst the tools, for now still closed, with a stirring stick beside each of them.

Bruce wore an old t-shirt and jeans, already generously spotted with old paint. Jason wore a t-shirt and jeans he’d insisted on getting at a thrift store, refusing to ruin brand-new clothes. Dick had taken them, with Bruce’s permission. Harry, of course, had gone along, and found a cool hoodie and two matching ball caps. After securing Dick’s permission, Harry had made Jason get the hats. Jason made Harry get the hoodie.

Dick wore brand-new, white denim overalls over a pale blue t-shirt, with a white bandanna tied around his head, covering his long hair.

Jason stared at him like he was insane.

“Gotta look the part,” Dick had insisted with a wink. Dick had then pulled out two other sets of overalls, kid-sized, both of them black denim, and whined and bribed and cajoled until Harry and Tim gave in and wore them just to make him stop. (Dick had overheard Harry calling Tim “twin” when Tim came over two days ago, and he’d latched on to the idea and refused to let it go.)

So, on this the first day of painting, Harry and Tim—reluctantly excited and only half-begrudgingly—wore the overalls over white t-shirts and, at Jason’s insistence, the matching ball caps.

Dick was still cooing over them, his camera only just put away, when Bruce finally cleared his throat.

“Right. I want to lay down some ground rules before we get started, so listen up.”

Harry and Tim straightened importantly. Jason poked Harry teasingly, then stepped out of range of Harry’s retaliation and turned his attention to Bruce.

Dick groaned. “Really, B? We’re just painting!”

“And I still remember how these clothes got paint on them,” Bruce said firmly. “And that was just you and me.”

Jason glanced between them, then raised an eyebrow. “Da-Dang. What did you do, Dickhead?” he teased, smirking.

Dick sputtered at the new nickname? insult? while Bruce cleared his throat.

“Rule number 1: the paint stays in this room. We can wash up in the attached bathroom when we’re done. Rule number 2: Only I or Dick refills the paint trays, and once filled with paint they do not move until they are empty again. Rule number 3: no flinging paint at each other. Am I clear?”

They all nodded, though Dick looked surly.

“Remember, the wall with the closet and bathroom doors is red, the other three walls and the ceiling are beige. Let me or Dick handle the ceiling—with your feet on the ground,” Bruce added with another sharp look at Dick.

“Ugh. You never let me do anything fun!” Dick complained.

“Um. I’m with Jason on this,” Tim said, a little hesitantly. “What did Dick do?”

“I just wanted to try a cool pattern on my walls! It’s not my fault Bruce walked into the path of the paint!”

“You did a series of one-handed cartwheels with a paintbrush in your hand and another between your toes,” Bruce deadpanned.

Dick pouted.

“And you were fourteen.”

Jason poorly stifled a snicker. Harry and Tim didn’t bother.

Dick grimaced. “Fine. Spoil-sport,” he muttered under his breath.

Bruce drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Does everyone understand the rules?”

They all nodded.

“Dick?”

“Feet on the ground at all times and no fun tricks,” he grumbled.

Bruce sighed again.

Jason and Harry exchanged a nervous look, but Bruce didn’t say or do anything else. “All right. Everyone pick your tool and pick a wall. Try to stick to one roller and one paintbrush each.”

Tim and Harry immediately claimed the back wall with the windows. Jason rolled his eyes at their competitiveness and chose the accent wall with the closet and bathroom doors, leaving Dick the wall across and Bruce the one with the door into the hallway. Bruce and Dick then filled the paint trays.

“Remember, the paint goes on the walls, not each other,” Bruce said sternly, eyeing Dick before glancing over Harry and Tim (who gave him twin, wide-eyed, “who, me?” looks). “All right. Let’s get started.”

Dick cheered and immediately started slapping paint onto the wall. Tim and Harry both reached for the same roller, then froze. After a long stare-off, they chose separate rollers and took careful turns rolling them in the paint tray. Then they both stopped, exchanged a long, long look, then, at a silent signal, they raced to opposite ends of the wall and began a fierce competition to see who could paint their half first, complete with trash-talk and playful teasing. Paint splattered everywhere with every stroke and run back to the tray to refill their rollers.

When Dick noticed, he laughed out loud and began commentating, using his paintbrush as a microphone.

Jason laughed at all three of them and lazily began painting his own wall with long, precise strokes.

Bruce gave a long, long sigh and resigned himself to an afternoon of chaos. (He would never admit to the fond smile that curved his lips as he watched his boys.)

At first the task was pleasant and more or less calm. Tim and Harry playfully trash-talked each other as they raced from either end of their wall toward the middle. Jason laughed and teased them both, while Dick added to the fun simply by being himself. Bruce just painted his own wall calmly, keeping an eye on the four boys as he did so.

A couple hours later, they took a break for lunch. They opened the window to air out the paint fumes and ate picnic-style right on the floor of Jason’s half-painted room, each of them with paint speckled across their arms, face, and clothes. When Alfred returned for their dishes, Harry heard a distinct click and looked up in astonishment to see Alfred pocketing a small digital camera.

Alfred gave Harry a smile and a tiny wink. Then, businesslike, he collected their dishes and left them to finish their task.

After a short break to tidy up and refill paint trays, they got right back to work. Dick and Bruce finished their walls first (at least the first coat). Dick then insisted on painting the ceiling. Except, he kept putting too much paint on his roller. As a result, it dripped down and splashed onto his face and arms.

Then Bruce stepped out momentarily, and Dick might have also done a one-handed handstand with the roller held between his feet. He managed to paint a whole corner of the ceiling with his feet! Harry and Tim clapped and gasped while Jason looked on, trying not to look too impressed.

Then Dick stumbled over his own paint tray and toppled to the floor with a thud, splashing paint everywhere.

Harry yelped and gasped, stumbling back out of Dick’s space, only to trip over Jason’s paint tray and splatter them both with red paint, too.

Tim lurched forward to catch Harry, and so did Jason. Tim tripped over Dick’s roller and fell on top of Harry, and Jason forgot he had a paintbrush in his hand and left a streak of red across Tim’s face and arm and then onto Harry’s arm and chest as he reached to catch them both.

Then the door opened and Bruce returned.

All four of them froze, caught in a paint-covered pile right in the middle of the room.

Bruce stared at the chaos and four paint-covered boys for a long moment.

Harry tensed, certain they were about to be yelled at, and then Bruce would call the whole thing off and Harry wouldn’t get to paint his room or make his furniture and maybe he wouldn’t get a room at all or even get dumped back on the streets!

But Bruce just gave a long-suffering sigh. “At least Alfred insisted on covering the entire floor in plastic.”

“You’re…not mad?” Harry asked softly, getting to his feet. Jason and Tim followed suit.

Bruce sighed and shook his head. “I set boundaries hoping to avoid messes, but sometimes things…just happen.”

“Exactly!” Dick said, springing to his feet. “Accidents happen, you know! No use crying over spilled paint!”

Jason poorly stifled a snort of disbelief.

“I hope we have enough paint left after this…accident,” Bruce countered mildly. “Or else someone is making a trip to the hardware store this afternoon, and it isn’t going to be me,” he added with a raised eyebrow at Dick.

A moment of silence, then Tim spoke up. “I think we have enough,” he said quietly. “At least, if each can of paint holds a gallon, and we started with six cans, four beige and two red, that’s six gallons of beige and two of red, and a gallon of paint covers approximately 400 square feet, and we’ve used up three cans, two beige and one red, then we’ve covered about 1200 square feet, not counting the spilled paint, which I would estimate to be about a pint of each color, and the room is approximately 17 feet square with a nine-foot ceiling, then—”

“Whoa, whoa. Hold on. Are you calculating this in your head?” Jason exclaimed.

“—153 square feet times four, minus the area of…huh?” Tim looked up, blinking.

Dick was staring, too. “I mean, I can do those calculations in my head, too, but you’re what, eight?”

“I’m nine,” Tim insisted.

“At least he didn’t think you were six,” Harry teased lightly.

Dick’s jaw dropped.

Bruce sighed, but instead of looking impatient, he looked…fond? “I think it’s safe to say we have enough paint, then. Is that right, Tim?”

Tim blinked, flushed, then nodded. “We still have three cans left, two beige and one red, which means we can finish Jason’s wall with about half a gallon left over, and finish mine and Harry’s wall and the ceiling and do a second coat on all three—that’s about 750 square feet total—and still have about a quart of beige paint left over,” he said shyly.

Dick stared again. “You’re a little genius,” he said lightly, ruffling Tim’s hair.

Tim squeaked and ducked behind Harry, his cheeks flushing.

Harry poked him lightly, grinning.

“Well, we’d best get started, then. Dick, don’t make me remind you—”

“No fun tricks,” Dick finished with a pout.

“Exactly.”

Dick huffed in affected annoyance, refilled his own paint tray, and got back to work. With Bruce’s approval, Jason refilled his own tray, too, and then they got back to painting.

It was quiet for a few minutes, then the chatter and light teasing returned. By midafternoon, the walls were finished, so they moved on to the baseboards, the doors, and the closet and bathroom.

When Alfred came to let them know to clean up for dinner, Jason’s room was fully painted (and so were all four boys), and the colors looked really cool. Harry especially liked the deep red accent wall. They had even painted the bathroom and closet doors to match! And the bathroom and closet walls! It was super, super cool, and Harry couldn’t wait to see how his chosen colors would turn out in his own room!

“We can clean up in here this evening,” Bruce said after Alfred left. “For now, hang your paint clothes in your bathrooms to make sure any wet paint still on them can dry, and wash your hands. Once we’ve cleaned up, you can shower off any paint that got anywhere else.”

They all agreed and went to tidy up and change. After dinner, they all helped clean up. They also left Jason’s window open so the sharp, chemical smell of paint could air out longer. Alfred insisted they wait at least two days before moving Jason back into his room, though, and one day before putting in the furniture to make sure the paint was fully dry.

So for the next two days, Harry and Jason had a sleepover in Harry’s room. Harry tried to get Tim to stay, too, but he insisted on going home for the night, then he’d be back the next day. He did let Alfred drive him home, though, since it was forecasted to rain that evening. (Jason nagging Tim about the risks of getting caught in the storm might have been a contributing factor.)

On day three after painting Jason’s room, they were able to move the furniture in, which professionals had delivered and assembled the previous day. Jason tried to act nonchalant, but it was clear he liked bossing everyone around as to where to put the furniture.

(Harry didn’t realize it at the time, but while he was helping in Jason’s room, more professionals were working in his own room, putting up wood paneling along the bottom half of each wall but the one with the bathroom and closet doors. Harry hadn’t explicitly requested it, but in all the pictures he’d chosen as references for the paint job, there was wood paneling on the walls.)

Then, the day after Jason’s room was all set up, it was time to paint Harry’s room. He was both nervous and excited. He was nervous because he still wasn’t convinced he was allowed to have this at all, but excited because doing Jason’s room had been so much fun, and Harry couldn’t wait to see his own room transformed! He’d thought long and hard about a theme or a color scheme, and with a little help from Tim and Jason, he had the perfect room in his head. He just really, really hoped it turned out the way he hoped.

It was a Saturday morning when, once again, Harry, Tim, Jason, Dick, and Bruce assembled in their paint clothes in a room draped in plastic, the paint trays and rollers and brushes all cleaned and waiting for Harry’s chosen colors. Harry tried to contain his excitement at seeing the pretty wood panels along the bottom of three of four walls. They were also draped in plastic, taped at the top so paint wouldn’t get on the wood.

“All right, boys. You know the drill. And please try just a little harder to keep the paint on the walls rather than each other,” Bruce said with fond exasperation. (Those two emotions combined was familiar to Harry coming from Jason, but it was new and strange and a little exciting coming from Bruce.)

“Sir, yes, sir!” Dick said, snapping to attention with a mock salute. Harry and Tim snickered. Jason rolled his eyes.

“All right. I’ll be doing the ceiling this time, so each of you can have your own wall.”

“Aye-aye, captain!” Dick said again, this time with a fake pirate accent.

Bruce sighed, but his lips twitched. “Get to work, then, crew.”

They each leapt to the task. Since they were only painting half the wall, it went a little quicker this time, though Harry and Tim, especially, found it more difficult because almost none of the wall they were painting was at or below eye level. Harry became very proficient with an extended roller, much to Tim’s dismay. But once Harry finished the first coat on his own wall, he went to help Tim with his.

Slowly, Harry’s ideal bedroom took shape. The walls were a pretty forest green, to contrast with the ashy brown wood panels, and the ceiling was a green so dark it was nearly black. The dark colors made the room feel close and cozy, which was much more comfortable to Harry, who was used to sleeping in small spaces and didn’t like the feeling of so much space around him. And then they painted the doors and closet to match! The bathroom Harry chose to leave mostly the same, but he changed the beige strip to green. And he had gotten a forest-themed shower curtain with matching towels, and he couldn’t wait to see it all come together!

After the room was painted, the next three days were spent putting together furniture. Unlike with painting, Dick and Jason didn’t help the whole time. Dick helped put together Harry’s bed, but then he got called for a Teen Titans mission(!), so he gave Harry a hug and said he couldn’t wait to see it all finished when he came back.

Jason spent a lot of time fussing with the décor in his own room, which arrived a few days after the furniture. There was even a whole two hours where Jason didn’t even let Harry into his room!

But when Harry went to bed that evening in Jason’s room (because his room was still airing out from the paint), he found Jason curled up with his brand-new Wonder Woman throw blanket in a fluffy armchair, in his very own reading nook by the window that was partially blocked from the rest of the room by a bookshelf, with his new copy of Pride and Prejudice hugged to his chest and his eyes a little red. And Harry completely understood.

On Monday, though, even though Tim had agreed to come over and help, Harry didn’t see him until four o’clock!

“Why’re you so late?” Harry whined half-heartedly from the pile of boards and screws and tools in the middle of his room that would hopefully turn into a bookcase, while Alfred sat in a chair (borrowed from another room) near the door, supervising.

“Today was the first day of school,” Tim said with a shrug. “And I had to go home and change out of my uniform.”

Harry blinked twice. Then he blinked again.

Right. School was a thing. (Eew, uniforms?)

Harry’s stomach filled with dread, but he quickly shook it off and dragged Tim over to help.

Three days later, all of Harry’s furniture was assembled and set up where he liked it, and he’d spent like four hours arranging all his décor and putting his belongings away just so. Then he stood back and stared.

“Well done, lad,” Bruce said gently, putting a careful hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You’ve done a lot of hard work, but I think it’s paid off. Don’t you?”

Harry nodded slowly, still processing.

The dark green walls looked exactly how he’d pictured. And if he squinted, he could see the spot where he’d accidentally used the super-dark green meant for the ceiling before remembering and switching. But the lighter green hadn’t completely covered the spot.

And that was his bed, with four posts and a gauzy canopy secured to the ceiling. He’d stood on a ladder and screwed in the hook while Dick held his waist to keep him steady.

And that was the desk he chose, with the tall hutch with lots of little compartments and the five drawers down the side. There was a notch in the desktop where Harry had dropped a screwdriver, and one of the shelves was a tiny bit crooked.

And that was his dresser, with one of the half a dozen glass or crystal hawk figurines he’d let Jason talk him into sitting on top. It had arrived chipped, but even though Bruce had offered to return it for an undamaged one, Harry chose to keep it.

And on the walls were the posters Tim had made Harry get, all of them in neat coordinating frames, set up like a photography gallery wall on Tim’s recommendation. He and Tim had teased and pushed and shoved each other while they stood on the bed to put them up.

And then there was the mostly-empty shelf Tim had helped him put together, where Harry was storing his craft supplies. Right now it only had the craft kit Bruce had bought him their first time at the store, but it was—it was hope that there would soon be more. (That Harry was allowed to get more, enough to fill the shelves and then some if he wanted!)

Harry blinked rapidly as he looked around the room that was undoubtedly, indubitably, one-hundred percent his.

Bruce gently squeezed his shoulder, then withdrew. Jason and Tim soon took his place, hugging him from either size.

“We did it,” Tim said quietly. “You have a room now.”

“It’s all yours, little hawk,” Jason said, ruffling his hair.

Harry blinked hard, his eyes stinging.

Then Alfred appeared and set a tray of snacks on Harry’s desk. As he was leaving, he squeezed Harry’s shoulder and murmured,

“Welcome home, dear boy.”

Chapter Text

September: The First Test

It was the second week of September, almost four whole weeks after Batman-Bruce picked him and Jason up on the streets, when Harry had to start thinking about school again.

Harry had barely even thought about school (he didn’t want to think about school). He was too busy enjoying the freedom to explore all over the grounds and throughout the whole manor, now that his room was all set up. It turned out, other than the Batcave, there was nowhere Harry wasn’t allowed to go! Bruce didn’t even mind Harry poking around in his room! (Not that Harry did. He glanced around from the doorway once while the door was left open, but didn’t go any further.)

Jason joined him in exploring, just as eager to thoroughly familiarize himself with what he was half-jokingly calling “their new territory.” Dick, though, was frequently busy. He was gone on weekends a lot, and it took a few weeks before Harry remembered that Dick—or rather, Robin—was a member of the Teen Titans! And the Teen Titans met almost every weekend in—get this—San Francisco! And he always came home with the coolest stories!

But regardless. Dick didn’t take part in Harry and Jason’s exploration after their initial grounds and manor tour a couple of days after Bruce picked them up.

But that was okay, because Harry loved exploring. He’d had plenty of freedom to explore while on the streets, but there had always been an element of danger. Now? Exploring the manor and grounds? The only danger was accidentally stepping on Alfred’s plants or scraping a knee after taking a tumble in the woods—which was Harry’s favorite place to go. (Needless to say, he got a lot of scraped knees.)

Jason enjoyed the woods, too, and they’d found a couple of cool places in the manor, like the sitting area on the second floor balcony where you could either look down into the grand entrance hall or out through the wall of windows at the front of the grounds, which were only slightly less expansive than the back, with a long winding drive leading from the gate to a circle drive at the front door. But Jason hadn’t found a favorite place yet.

Until he did.

One day at the beginning of September, Harry and Jason were exploring the East wing on the second floor when they found a pair of tall, fancy oak doors at the end of a hallway. They tested the doorknobs and found them unlocked.

Exchanging a nervous but excited look, they pushed the doors open together—

and gasped.

“There’s a library?” Jason breathed, his eyes wide.

“Wow,” Harry echoed.

It wasn’t just a room with lots of bookshelves. The room was huge! Rows and rows of towering shelves lined every wall but one, which had a huge floor-to-ceiling window letting in the pale Gotham sunlight. And there was even stained glass at the top! It was like a library from a story book come to life! And it was two stories tall, with a balcony and ladders that led up to the second floor with even more shelves! And every single shelf was full to the brim.

The room was bigger than both the ballrooms on the ground floor combined!

And the best part? Shorter shelves throughout the ground floor created little reading nooks! Some had a desk and a chair, and others had super-comfy-looking chairs and couches. A small section of general reference books cut across the middle, neatly dividing the room in half.

Jason stood in the doorway for at least three minutes, just gaping.

But eventually, Harry giggled and nudged him inside. Then they wandered along the shelves, hardly daring to touch anything because so many of those books looked really old and really, really expensive!

The books were really cool, but Harry’s attention was instantly drawn to a little sitting area in the back corner, with a tall window right behind it, spilling sunlight onto a two-seater couch and two armchairs facing a low reading table. He tugged Jason’s sleeve, pointing.

“Jay, look. It’s—it’s like our nook,” he whispered in awe.

“It sure is. Guess I know where my new favorite reading spot will be,” Jason said with a grin.

Harry grinned back.

Then he and Jason had spent the next two hours exploring every inch of the library. They were there so long Alfred had to come and find them! And then—and then Bruce found them and said they could read any book at all! Whatever they wanted! (As long as they were careful with the older books.) They could even take books out and bring them back to their room!

Then Alfred made them come down for lunch (food was not allowed in the library, but they could have water and tea.)

Jason practically inhaled his lunch before he grabbed Harry’s hand and half-dragged him back to the library. Not that Harry complained. He was too busy staring, because he had never seen Jason look this happy and free. His whole face lit up and Harry had the startling realization that Jason was only twelve. He always seemed larger than life. He always knew what to do or what to say and he kept Harry safe when Harry was scared or lonely or upset.

But Jason was just a kid, too.

So Harry was more than happy to go along with his excitement, because Jason deserved to be happy!

When they got back to the library, Jason began searching the shelves even more intently, practically vibrating with excitement. (For once, Harry refrained from teasing him for being like Tim. Because seeing Jason happy made Harry really, really happy, too.)

After an intense search, Jason finally, carefully, reverently removed a first-edition copy of Pride and Prejudice. Then the two of them settled down in their nook and read together for hours. Jason even let Harry read some! Harry was so excited to be able to read aloud for his big brother for a change, now that he could see. He felt so grown-up, with his glasses perched on his nose and the book propped carefully against his knees, reading all those big, fancy words that teased his natural British accent out of hiding. Harry didn’t understand everything he read, but the huge smile on Jason’s face was worth every single second.

That had been the best day at the manor so far.

Then Jason had teased Harry about being the smartest kid in school once they started, and Tim came over to do homework, and suddenly Harry was faced with the very real fact that he would be going back to school soon. Bruce had ordered their aptitude tests the same day he was awarded official custody, and they were due to arrive any day.

The sudden realization that Tim was in the fifth grade, and that school had been in session for three weeks already, and Tim was learning about the Revolutionary War and the Periodic Table, left Harry reeling.

The very next day, their aptitude tests arrived.

And suddenly Harry was terrified.

Sure, he’d been studying from the workbooks for the last couple of weeks, with Jason’s help. (They liked to work either in the quiet of the library or in the breakfast nook with fresh baked goods courtesy of Alfred.) But that didn’t mean Harry wasn’t scared to death of failing. Even with Jason’s help, even with Dick’s help when he wasn’t busy, Harry was certain he’d fail.

(Dick wouldn’t say what he was busy with. Tim and Harry suspected it had to do with a Teen Titans mission. Jason pointed out that Dick was seventeen and college application deadlines were coming up. Also, if it was a mission, he’d be in the Batcave, not his bedroom or the sitting room. Harry and Tim had taken one look at Dick—doing a one-handed handstand in the corner of the sitting room while singing along to a Disney CD—looked back at Jason, and in unison said, “No way.” It was also then that Harry realized Dick must have finished secondary school early, even though he was only seventeen, or he would have been in school, too.)

But that was two days ago. And Harry had been studying, but that was just practice. It didn’t matter.

Today, though. Today mattered. Because today, Alfred was setting up Harry and Jason in opposite corners of the library with pencils, their aptitude tests, and a water bottle and some snacks.

After getting them both situated, Alfred brought them to the middle of the room. Harry automatically grasped Jason’s hand as Alfred gave them instructions.

“Now, there’s no limit on how long you may take,” Alfred continued, “so you both may be here for some time. So if you need to take a break, or get up and walk around, simply let me know. You both have the same test, however, so you will not be allowed to talk to each other or pass each other’s desk.”

Harry bit his lip, then looked up as Jason nudged him. He made a subtle sign at his hip, and then Harry was biting back a giggle.

Alfred gave them both a stern look, to which they both assumed expressions of perfect innocence. Alfred had then made an expression that, to Harry, looked like he’d be rolling his eyes at them if that wasn’t “improper and impolite”, as he’d told Dick a few days ago. Then Alfred motioned for them to return to their desks. With one last hug and a murmured “good luck,” Jason and Harry separated.

Harry bit his lip when Alfred said they could begin, and picked up his pencil. It felt so strange to be at a desk after an entire year of no school. Harry should have been starting Primary 4, or fourth grade. It was equally strange to be taking such an important-sounding test in the huge library, in a manor house (his house!), with sunlight streaming through the high windows and providing more light than the old-fashioned lamps along the walls. And with no Dudley leaning over his shoulder, throwing eraser bits at him or making faces and otherwise doing his best to distract Harry (and sabotaging himself as a result, Harry realized, with a surge of shock at Dudley’s idiocy).

Then Harry looked down at the first question, was momentarily shocked at how clear the words were through his new contacts, and then he was biting his lip in anxiety. He had to do well on this test. Or did he? What if he did too well and Bruce got mad? What if, like the Dursleys, he accused Harry of cheating? What if—and it was a long shot, but just if—he did better than Jason? Jason had missed at least three years of school. What would happen then?!

But Jason would be so disappointed if Harry didn’t try his best. So, Harry swallowed down his fear and determined that, if nothing else, he would make Jason proud. Slowly, carefully—the way he had never been able to before—Harry moved through the test and answered each question the very best he could.

Harry was delighted to find a lot of the same words Jason had taught him in the vocabulary section. It felt nice to be confident in his answers and know Jason would be proud of this little bit, at least. He didn’t know all the words, but Jason had taught him enough about context clues and stuff like that that Harry could make some good guesses!

The reading passages weren’t hard, either, but so much reading when he wasn’t used to it did make Harry’s head hurt. (He hadn’t really read on his own in over a year, Harry realized suddenly.) The questions were harder than Harry was used to, though Jason had at least made sure Harry was familiar with basic reading strategies. So Harry did the best he could, then took a break to rest his head and his eyes.

He glanced around the library, still marveling over the fact that this was his home now, then looked over his shoulder and just around a bookshelf to catch sight of Jason. Harry bit down a smile at the way Jason was rubbing his forehead with the eraser end of the pencil before moving to chew on it and then finally lowering the tip to write his answer.

Then Alfred, dusting nearby (except Harry was pretty sure he was supervising and the dusting was a pretense), caught him looking around and gave him a raised eyebrow that sent a shiver down his spine. Harry gave the old butler a shy, apologetic smile before returning to the test.

The science section was fun, too. Tim had taught Harry a lot about science in his rooftop rants, and Harry had even helped Tim with his homework a few times! (Well, Tim had taught Harry what was on his homework, but it still counted!) And science had been Harry’s favorite subject, before…well, before. The math was a little harder, though Harry didn’t get very far into it before Alfred made them take a break for lunch.

They still weren’t allowed to talk, but Alfred didn’t know that Harry and Jason were both experienced with sign language. So while they ate in the garden (at Alfred’s insistence that the fresh air would be good for their brains), Harry and Jason made a game of signing at each other—not about the test, of course (neither of them condoned cheating), but about lots of other things—whenever Alfred wasn’t looking, to see how long they could go without getting caught.

They managed to make it about ten minutes before Alfred caught the tail end of one of Jason’s signed replies. The Eyebrow of Disappointment, as Jason had dubbed it (and Dick wholeheartedly approved), was immediately raised. Harry and Jason both lowered their hands, sheepish but not fearful. The tiny, tiny uptick to the corners of Alfred’s mouth was telling—he approved of them finding a loophole, even if he disapproved of how they were taking advantage of it.

When lunch was over, they returned to the test, and Harry found it easier to concentrate after the fresh air. So maybe Alfred had a point. He struggled through the math as it got harder, though, until finally he simply didn’t know even how to even begin solving the next question. His lower lip trembling, Harry left the rest of the section blank—as Alfred had said they could do—and moved on to the history.

History was even harder. Harry knew a few basic facts, but he’d learned British history, not American history! He didn’t know about Jamestown, only vaguely remembered something about pilgrims and a tea party in Boston Harbor? He didn’t think those two events were related, but Harry couldn’t remember. He didn’t know. And for the first time in a long time, Harry wondered if there might not have been some truth to Dudley’s (and Petunia’s) favorite insult: stupid freak!

Biting his lip and holding back tears, Harry did his very best. But his best wouldn’t be enough, he already knew. He’d fail. Even if he only failed this section, Harry would fail, and then Jason would be disappointed, and maybe he’d leave like everyone else had, and then even this big amazing manor with an even bigger brother who was determined to spoil him would feel empty and cold.

Blinking back more tears, Harry finally was forced to leave the majority of the history section blank. Then he closed the test booklet and pushed it aside, trying not to cry because he was wearing his contacts and he didn’t want to ruin them, and because crying only made things worse.

(Except he’d cried when he got the contacts, and Bruce hadn’t scolded him. But they had been in public, and Harry hadn’t been alone with him since. Maybe he was just waiting for the right moment.)

Soon enough, Alfred came over and picked up the test booklet. “Master Jason isn’t finished yet, so you can read here quietly or I’ll show you out through the secondary entrance so you can play elsewhere.”

Harry sniffed and rubbed his cheeks impatiently. “C-can I just put my head down?” he asked softly. He didn’t want to be separated from Jason, even if he couldn’t really see him or talk to him right now.

“You may,” Alfred said gently. “I’ll bring you some tea once I’ve put your testing things away.”

Harry sniffed and nodded. “Thank you.”

With that, Alfred took his test booklet, pencil, eraser, and his empty water bottle and swept away. Harry put his head down and tried not to cry, already dreading the idea of getting put in a lower grade because of the test and getting made fun of for being stupid. Maybe he was stupid.

Harry must have drifted off, because the next thing he noticed was a familiar hand shaking his shoulder lightly.

“Wake up, little hawk!” Jason whisper-shouted. “We’re free!”

Harry blinked and lifted his head. Jason’s brow furrowed.

“You okay, little hawk?”

Harry bit his lip, for the first time contemplating lying. Because what if Jason also thought he was stupid because he didn’t know history? Harry couldn’t bear it if Jason were to leave him.

Instead of lying, Harry just shrugged. It was as much an admission as anything else.

Jason frowned slightly, then seized Harry and slung him over one shoulder—something Dick had taken to doing with Jason the moment he realized he could (and never failed to end with Jason’s flailing fists and screeches of protest that were less and less insistent as the weeks passed). And Jason was determined to pass on the indignity because Harry laughed at him every time.

Harry yelped as he suddenly found himself upside-down. “Hey! Lemme down!” he protested, half-laughing and startling himself with the laughter in his own voice.

“Nope! You’re gonna mope all afternoon if I put you down. We’re gonna explore the creek before it gets too cold. And if you’re still pouting when we get there, I’m tossing you in.”

“No!” Harry protested, still half-laughing. “I’ll stop pouting, promise!”

Jason grinned and righted Harry, settling him (awkwardly) on his hip instead. “You better. C’mon. Let’s go.”

“Put me down!” Harry wriggled and squirmed until Jason was forced to release him. Then Harry took off for the back door, laughing as Jason chased after him.

Chapter Text

September: Back to School – Part 1

A week and a half later, Harry and Jason received the results of their aptitude tests. Harry had almost forgotten about them until Alfred handed him the envelope with his name on it ten days before the end of September. (It had been six weeks! Six whole weeks in a manor with two big brothers and Tim’s frequent visits after school and food and his own room that he’d decorated himself and an actual bed and it was the best six weeks ever!)

Harry was terrified. If he did better than Jason, would Bruce (or Jason?!) be mad? If he did poorly, would Bruce (or Jason?!) be mad? He knew he did poorly. He’d had to skip almost half of the math section, and he’d only been able to answer ten questions about history. Ten! Out of fifty! He was gonna get teased, or yelled at, and Bruce would finally know he’d made a mistake taking in the Freak and then he’d be kicked out and—

In other words, Harry just couldn’t win.

“There’s no need to be scared, Harry,” Bruce said gently.

Harry squeaked and looked up with wide eyes, only just realizing his hands were shaking around the envelope containing his test scores.

“I won’t be mad no matter what your results are,” Bruce continued. “If you did well, that’s great! If there are some things you struggled with, that’s okay, too. I’m here to help you, and so are Dick and Jason and Alfred.”

Harry couldn’t help but protest. “B-but, wh-what if I did better than Jason? W-what if I make him look bad?”

Jason snorted. “Harry, if you did better than me, I’ll be beyond proud because that would make you a child genius.”

“And I would never pit the two of you against one another,” Bruce added firmly. “You are two different people, with vastly different talents and interests, despite having some experiences in common. Frankly, I’d be worried if you were too similar. Your results are your own, and reflect nothing more or less than your own capabilities.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Y-you promise? Y-you won’t be mad?” he asked softly. “E-even if…even if I failed?”

“I promise I won’t be mad about any of your school grades, from now until whenever you’re done with school. I may be disappointed if it looks like you’re not trying your best, but I will never be mad.”

Hesitantly, Harry nodded.

“Let’s open them together, okay, little hawk?” Jason suggested.

Harry took a deep breath. “Okay.”

They shared a look, silently counting down, then tore open the envelopes at roughly the same time. Then Harry pulled out his score sheets.

He blinked. There were a lot of numbers and graphs and percentages that didn’t make sense. But after a moment, he found the corner where the actual score was reported in a number over 1600. (Harry didn’t understand why that number, though.) Each section was scored out of 800 and added together for the final score.

Scanning through the papers, Harry was pleased to see that most of his scores were at or near the 700 mark. His English score was at seven hundred twenty-three! And his science score was at six hundred fifty-eight!

His history score, though, was below five hundred.

Harry’s face fell and his lower lip trembled as he set his papers down.

“What’s wrong, lad?” Bruce asked, reaching for the papers. “May I?”

Harry flinched at movement. Bruce immediately withdrew with an apology.

Harry bit his lip, then, slowly, his hands shaking, he slid the papers toward Bruce.

Bruce picked them up, scanning the scores.

“I didn’t do good in history,” Harry barely whispered.

“Did you try your best?”

Harry nodded. “But there—there were so many names and dates and I didn’t know any of them.”

“You did primary school in a different country, Harry,” Jason stated. “Of course you don’t know American history. I bet you’d smoke me in British history, though.”

Harry smiled shyly. “I bet you don’t know about King Alfred,” he said. “Everyone knows about King Alfred.”

Jason laughed. “You hear that, Alfie? You’re named after a king!”

(Harry hid a smile at the new nickname Jason had given Alfred.)

Alfred, who had just entered to provide them with refreshments, smiled faintly. “I do recall my father once mentioning something to that effect. Would you refresh my memory, Master Harry?”

Harry nodded. “He’s the king who finally united all the little kingdoms England used to be under one king!”

“That’s a really cool fact,” Bruce said, smiling.

Harry preened.

“And all your other scores look good, Harry. How did you get so good at English, though? Some of these questions are sixth grade level.”

“Jason read to me all the time, and we’d talk about the books when we were cold and hungry and needed a distraction,” Harry answered quickly, his smile growing. “He taught me lots of new words, too,” he added eagerly. “Like patronize and eviscerate.”

Jason snorted.

Bruce coughed. “I see.” Then he cleared his throat and turned to Jason. “Jaylad, how do your scores look?”

Jason shrugged, his cheeks going pink at his own new nickname. “Pretty average, except for English,” he said dismissively. “I scored pretty high on that one.”

“May I?”

Jason shrugged again and passed over his stack of score sheets. Bruce flipped through them and nodded.

“It looks like you’re perfectly on track to enter seventh grade at Gotham Academy, then, Jaylad. Though I’d recommend you for the advanced English class.”

Jason ducked his head, flushing a little. Harry poked him, giggling.

“Harry, you’re a little behind fourth grade in history, but on a fifth grade level in English and science.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Really? I could go to fifth grade?” He could skip up a grade? Even though he failed history?!

He could be with Tim!

“Well, you have some choices,” Bruce clarified.

Harry went still, watching him carefully.

“On the one hand, you’ll definitely struggle in fifth grade history, though of course we’ll help you in any way you need,” Bruce began.

Help? They’d help him with his schoolwork?! Well, Dick had helped him study for the tests, and even Bruce had dropped a few test-taking strategies and trivia in the days leading up to them.

Was this real? Could school…actually be a good thing? Something Harry didn’t have to dread?

“—the other hand, I think you’d be bored in fourth grade science and English.”

Harry stiffened, realizing he hadn’t been listening. “Um. W-what does that mean?” he asked, then he froze as Bruce turned his full attention on Harry.

“Well, one option is you go to fourth grade, where you’ll be in the regular fourth grade electives, homeroom, and math and history, but you attend the fifth grade English and science classes,” Bruce said, addressing Harry directly. And he wasn’t yelling! (And he was answering Harry’s question! Without getting mad!)

“That will help you get to know people right in your age group while still keeping you from being bored,” Bruce continued. “The other option is to put you in fifth grade, where you’ll be with older kids all day, and either I or a tutor help you catch up in history.”

A tutor? Bruce would hire a tutor to help him?! This had to be a dream!

Harry pinched himself. It hurt.

Bruce continued talking. “You’re good enough in math that you shouldn’t struggle too much with the fifth grade level work, but Dick would love to help you with that, or the tutor can cover both subjects if it proves to be a problem.”

Harry blinked, only half understanding his choices and not understanding why Bruce was being so…so accommodating! (Was it a trick?)

Jason clarified. “Basically, you either get a tutor for history and go to fifth grade, or you go to fourth grade for everything but English and science.”

Oh. That was easier to understand. But still, a tutor? Just for Harry? (For the Freak?)

Bruce cleared his throat. “Yes. Thank you, Jason.”

Harry didn’t fully believe it yet. But he really, really would rather go up a grade than down.

Harry bit his lip. “C-can I go to fifth grade?”

Bruce nodded. He nodded! Just like that!

“I can arrange that. Any particular reason you don’t want to be with your peer group, though?”

Harry hunched his shoulders a little. “Tim’s in fifth grade,” he nearly whispered.

Selfish freak!

Harry shook away the echo of Vernon’s voice and looked at Bruce. Still big, but his expression was so gentle.

And…confused? “Isn’t Tim your age?” he asked.

Harry nodded. “But he started kindergarten early, he said.”

“Ah. It would be nice for you to already have a friend when you start.” Bruce nodded.

He nodded! Again! Just like that!

“Okay, then. I’ll talk to the principal and get you enrolled for fifth grade. Would you like me or Alfred to tutor you in history, or would you prefer I hire someone?”

Harry blinked. “I get to choose?” Wait. “You would tutor me?” Bruce would tutor him? Batman would tutor him?!

“I would love to tutor you,” Bruce said with a soft smile. “Is that what you’d like?”

Harry hesitated, his shoulders hunching again. “O-only if you’re not too busy,” he said softly.

Bruce smiled. “I won’t promise to be available every day, because sometimes there are emergencies, but I’ll do my best to make time for you. If ever I’m not available, Alfred would be happy to help.”

Harry looked over at Alfred, who was still there, listening quietly. “Would you really help tutor me?”

“I’d be delighted to, Master Harry. I will also ensure that, whenever possible, Master Bruce makes time in his schedule for you.” Alfred gave Bruce a stern look.

Bruce smiled sheepishly. “Message received, Alfred.”

That…that was so easy. This…this was too good to be true!

But so was everything else Harry had experienced in the past month. It hadn’t disappeared yet. And they were talking about school. That meant Bruce was planning to keep them for a long time! At least a whole year!

“So…when do we start school, then?” Jason asked, faux-casual as a barely-contained smile threatened to break across his face.

“It will probably take about a week to get all the papers filed, and we’ll need to get you both fitted for uniforms…” Bruce mused. “Today’s Tuesday, so…probably next Monday, to make it easier on everyone,” he said. “While we’re out getting your uniforms, we can also pick up school supplies.”

Uniforms? School supplies?

More shopping?

“C-can Dick come?” Harry asked shyly. Dick had made their first shopping trip fun.

Bruce smiled.

He smiled! No don’t ask questions, freak or none of your business, freak, or how dare you ask for something so selfish, freak!

“He’s with his friends today, but why don’t you call him?” Bruce continued. He passed over his phone. “You can share your scores, too. I bet he’ll be proud.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “R-really?”

“Really. Jason can chime in, too.”

“What day should we tell him?” Jason asked.

“See when Dick is free, but we can plan on tomorrow or Thursday.”

“Okay.” Jason took the phone (very carefully, glancing repeatedly at Bruce for permission) and opened the contacts app. He scrolled to Dick’s name and pressed “call.”

***

As it turned out, Dick was more than happy to come along. He even offered to come home early, but Bruce pointed out that it was already late afternoon. So Dick agreed that he could wait twelve hours. But he came home that evening anyway.

The next day, since it was their first real outing since their big shopping trip over a month ago, and Harry was unreasonably excited, he dressed his very best: the red hawk shirt, the grey skinny jeans, and his red high-top Converse sneakers. (He smiled remembering Tim had the same ones.) Harry also pulled a black and grey flannel on over the t-shirt, because it was getting chilly outside, and slung his dark grey cross-body bag over his shoulder. Briefly he traced a finger over the printed quote: “Books let your imagination take flight.”

Inside the bag, Harry put his pocket knife, his lucky hawk pin that he’d found in a gutter after just a few days on the street, his wallet! (that was red and real leather with a hawk(!) stamped on it), a water bottle, and some snacks—he and Jason were still not over the habit of carrying their most important possessions and emergency food or cash everywhere they went. Jason had a stash of non-perishable snacks in his room that Harry helped add to when he could. But whereas Jason had no trouble stealing from the pantry, Harry was too scared to.

Glancing at himself in the full-length mirror on the inside of his closet door, Harry nodded in approval. He only wished he could do something with his hair. It hung long and wavy down to his chin, and while he liked it most of the time, he did get annoyed with it in his face sometimes. Especially when it was windy outside.

Dick had long hair, too. How did he do it?

Oh! Maybe Dick could help!

Harry dashed across the hall and knocked on Dick’s door.

“Come in!”

Harry slipped inside just in time to see Dick’s head emerge from a white graphic tee. He shook his hair out of his face, then grinned. “Hey there, hawklet. Don’t you look cool?”

Harry smiled, his cheeks flushing in pleasure at the nickname Dick had given him. It never failed to make him feel special.

“Hi. C-can you help me do something with my hair?”

Dick smirked. “Of course! After all, I am an expert.” He flipped his own long hair over his shoulder with a dramatic flourish. “Come on.”

Dick guided him into the en-suite bathroom and lifted him up (extra-high!), then plopped him on the counter. “Fancy or casual?”

“Casual, please.”

“Anything in particular you had in mind?” Dick asked, running his fingers through Harry’s hair experimentally.

(Harry leaned into the touch with a happy sigh.)

“I don’t like it in my face when it’s windy.”

Dick smiled. “Then I’ve got just the thing. Turn around.”

Harry obediently turned around to face the mirror, sitting cross-legged on the wide bathroom counter and trying not to knock over any of the many bottles Dick had spread around the sink.

Using his fingers to comb out any tangles, Dick pulled half of Harry’s hair back and secured it with an elastic. Harry’s hair was just long enough to pull back, but too short to leave anything more than a little tuft at the back.

“Done! Turn back around, and take a look.” Dick held up a hand mirror in front of Harry, facing the big mirror, and positioned the reflection so Harry could see the back of his head.

He giggled at the little tuft of hair. Then he shook his head vigorously. A few strands came loose, but the majority of it stayed back, and the tuft was undisturbed.

“You like it?”

Harry nodded. “Thank you!”

Dick smiled at him and lightly ruffled his hair. “You’re welcome, hawklet. Go make sure Jason is ready while I get my shoes on, ‘kay?”

Harry nodded again and hopped off the counter, then hurried across the hall to Jason’s room.

“Just a sec!” Jason called when Harry knocked. Harry waited, rocking back on his heels with his hands behind his back. A moment later, Jason opened the door.

His eyes widened, then he grinned at seeing Harry’s outfit. “We match,” Jason stated. “Well, sort of.”

Jason was wearing a plain red t-shirt over his own grey skinny jeans, his red combat boots, and a black denim jacket over the t-shirt. He also carried his own cross-body bag.

Harry giggled. “We do.”

Jason flicked Harry’s little ponytail as he followed him out the door. “Dick help you with that?”

“Yep. I got tired of my hair in my face.”

“I don’t understand how Dick can keep his hair so long,” Jason said, shaking his head. (He’d gotten his shaggy curls trimmed just a week ago.) “It would drive me crazy.”

“Believe me, little wing. It drives me crazy, too,” Dick chimed in as he joined them in the hallway. (Jason pinked at the relatively new nickname.) “And that is why it’s in a stupid little bun today instead of long and flowing and elegant.”

Harry giggled at Dick’s phrasing. His hair was tied back in a ponytail, but with the tail pulled only halfway through, and Harry spotted at least four bobby pins restraining a number of stray hairs on each side. Dick also wore black jeans tucked into combat boots, and slung a black motorcycle jacket over his shoulder as he closed his bedroom door.

“It is a stupid-looking bun,” Jason stated.

Dick narrowed his eyes and playfully ruffled Jason’s hair. Harry was glad to see Jason only flinched a tiny bit, and he didn’t protest or complain. (He did make a face, though.)

“Come on. I bet we’re ready before Bruce is. Maybe we can snatch another scone before we have to leave.”

Grinning, Harry took Dick’s offered hand, grabbed Jason’s, and eagerly followed Dick down into the kitchen.

They did have to wait a few minutes for Bruce, and they did get the extra scone. Harry was still getting used to the idea that he could eat whenever he wanted; all he had to do was ask Alfred, or pick a snack from the part of the pantry Alfred had pointed out as being especially for them, at any time.

Bruce eventually joined them, wearing a white Henley shirt under a dark jacket, black jeans, and black sneakers. “Everyone ready?”

“Ready before you,” Dick said, grinning. “Honestly, you’d think with three kids, you’d be the one waiting.”

“I guess you kids are just faster and more independent than most,” Bruce stated. “Let’s get going, then.” He led the way out to the garage, where he picked one of the more nondescript models (that probably still cost as much as the Dursleys’ house had). They all piled in, and then they were on their way!

A few moments later, they were pulling up in front of a tailor shop in the nicer shopping area in town—an area Harry had never been to. Harry had also never, ever been to a tailor. He knew they existed, because Uncle Vernon had always complained that he couldn’t get his suits tailored. But never in his life had Harry ever imagined he’d be going to one, and for something as simple as a school uniform, too. After an hour of measurements, poking, prodding, and tutting—in Jason’s words, an hour of torture—the assistant had a notepad full of their measurements, and said their Gotham Academy uniforms would be ready for pickup in three hours.

It was a relief to leave for a more normal store. Well, if normal meant a specialty stationary store in a shopping center full of specialty stores. It was overwhelming getting new supplies for once. Harry had always been stuck with Dudley’s half-used, battered notebooks and broken pencil stubs. But Bruce insisted on getting him and Jason a different colored notebook for each subject—and Jason had seven!—plus a fancy zip case for pens and pencils. They both also got binders and notebook paper, markers, colored pencils, highlighters, and a dozen other little things that Harry had never imagined a kid would ever need just for school.

After the fourth or fifth time Harry or Jason protested that they didn’t need all this, Dick chuckled and said, “Just go with it. Spending excessive amounts of money is how Bruce shows he cares.”

Harry blinked. That—that was so opposite what he was used to. But…in a certain way, it made sense. The Dursleys had avoided spending money on him because they didn’t care. So…so Harry supposed he could accept the idea that Bruce going out of his way to spend money on Harry meant he did care.

Harry still wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea of an adult actually caring for and about him. But if it was always like this…maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

When they finally finished getting their things at the stationary store, they went to a music store to buy Harry a recorder, because he’d be learning to play one in his fifth grade music class. And it wasn’t a boring standard one. It was green, a pretty forest green, with a woven neck strap and a black cloth case and a pretty wooden box for long-term storage. Harry had only looked at it for a second or two longer than the rest, and suddenly Bruce was buying it.

He tried very, very hard not to look too long at the really fancy guitars on display.

Their next stop was a store specializing in seasonal and outdoor sports wear. Bruce explained that since it was getting colder, they might as well get coats now, with a little room to grow. And, he said gently to Harry,

“If you’re going to keep running with Dick in the evenings, you’ll need something warmer than track pants and a t-shirt.”

(Dick had started teaching Harry acrobatics a few weeks ago, but insisted they run together to build stamina before doing anything complicated. So they went running together almost every day when Dick was home.)

Reluctantly, Harry agreed. So they went inside.

The store was way bigger inside than it had looked from the outside. The store front was two stories, but it had been narrow. Inside, it was sooo much bigger. And Harry gaped at the sheer variety of sports wear available. From swim trucks and wet suits to running and hiking clothes to ski coats, Harry was certain they had everything.

“Let’s get some warm running and exercise gear first. Then we can explore the other sections. Fair?”

Harry nodded, still somewhat dazed.

Jason chuckled as his expression, then sobered. “Can I—can I go look at the hiking stuff?” he asked tentatively.

“Sure. We’ll meet you over there,” Bruce said.

Jason nodded, then gave Harry a little wave and walked away.

Dick immediately took Harry’s hand and led him to the winter exercise gear. After some debate, and some hesitance on Harry’s part, they settled on two pairs of fleece-lined pants, a pair of fleece leggings, two long-sleeved shirts designed for warmth and breathability, a fleece pullover jacket, a hat, and running gloves that were thin but surprisingly warm.

“It’s so much, though,” Harry didn’t whine.

“I’ve got similar clothes at home, kiddo,” Dick said with a smile. “It just seems like a lot since you’re buying it all at once, instead of one or two things at a time like I did. So, unless you hit a major growth spurt all of a sudden, you’ll probably never have to buy so much at once ever again.” Dick lightly ruffled his hair (taking care not to mess up Harry’s half-ponytail).

“Do you want a pair of running shoes, too?” Bruce asked. “Sneakers just for running in?”

Harry shook his head. “My sneakers are fine,” he said softly.

“Okay, then. Let’s go see what Jason’s up to.” Bruce lightly touched Harry’s back and guided him toward the hiking section. (Harry was proud of himself when he hardly flinched at all at Bruce’s proximity and light touch.)

They found Jason in front of the wall of hiking boots. He turned at their approach, quickly hiding something behind his back.

“Whacha got there, little wing?” Dick asked with a grin. Harry smiled again at the nickname Dick had coined for Jason. Jason blushed, but scowled in an attempt to disguise it.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure we can get it,” Bruce said.

Jason bit his lip, then slowly revealed his find.

Harry gasped. “Those—those are my boots!”

“Your old ones are too small for you now,” Jason said shyly. “So…I thought I’d look, and…well, I found them. In your new size, with room to grow.”

Harry looked up at Jason, his eyes wide and filling with tears. “You…you found them for me?”

Jason shrugged uncomfortably. “Well, yeah. I know how attached you were, and…they’re not exactly the same, but…”

“That’s so sweet of you, little wing,” Dick gushed, miming wiping away a tear.

“You—you said we could get them. Right, Bruce?” Jason challenged.

Bruce smiled a little. “I did say that. Yes, we can. Actually, it might be nice to plan a hiking trip one weekend soon, so Harry has a good reason to wear them.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “R-really? We-we can get them? And…and you’ll take us actual hiking?”

“Sure. It’s been a while since we’ve been on a family trip. What do you think, Dick?”

“I think…that I’m gonna need some new hiking boots,” Dick replied, grinning. “And since Harry’s the expert, he can help me and Jason choose some. What do you think, Harry?”

Harry’s eyes widened even further, and he nodded eagerly. “Yes!”

With Harry’s enthusiastic assistance, it wasn’t long before all three of them were leaving with new hiking boots, nice coats and hiking pants for Harry and Jason, and some specialty hiking socks made of real wool. And plans were made for another shopping trip in a week or two for gear! (Harry couldn’t wait!)

By then, it was lunchtime. So they stopped at a cafe nearby for a light lunch before going to pick up Harry’s and Jason’s uniforms for school. They had to try them on at the store to make sure everything fit. In the changing room, Harry was shocked at how different the uniform made him look. He looked…well, he looked like a rich kid. Which he had mixed feelings about. But more than that, he looked normal, part of a crowd he would soon meet. Harry had always wanted to be normal. He wasn’t sure that was possible anymore (being adopted by a multi-millionaire was kind of not normal already) but he could at least look the part.

And as he took off the uniform and traded it for his regular clothes, Harry found himself excited.

Before they left the tailor’s shop, they picked up some Gotham Academy approved outerwear and uniform shoes off the racks, as well as gym clothes. They both had blazers as part of the uniform, but there were also sweater vests, cardigans, and pullover jackets, as well as sports jackets, sweat pants, and branded hoodies. Harry really liked the hoodie, which came in either navy blue or light grey with the Academy crest in gold, while Jason preferred the navy sports jacket. Harry couldn’t decide if he liked the blue or the grey better, so Dick told him he could have both. So, with Bruce’s approval, Harry did. He and Jason also each got a pair of shorts, a pair of sweatpants, and two t-shirts for gym. Harry got one grey and one blue; both of Jason’s were grey.

As the shop assistant rang up their extra purchases, Harry found his excitement growing. He was sure he had never been this excited about school before. But the next several days just couldn’t pass quickly enough. Even with Tim coming over on Thursday and again on Saturday, both times eagerly gushing about his latest skateboarding tricks and how excited he was that Harry was joining him in fifth grade, Harry still wished there was a way to speed up time.

Chapter Text

September: Back to School – Part 2

Finally, it was Monday morning. For the first time ever, Harry woke to an alarm (that wasn’t his aunt pounding on his door telling him to hurry). At first he groaned and rolled over, still tired after going to bed late the night before. Then he remembered that today was his first day of school and excitement flooded through him.

Eagerly, Harry pulled on his uniform of dark grey slacks, a white button-down, and his navy Gotham Academy hoodie under his blazer. (He’d tried it over the blazer, but the blazer had bunched up uncomfortably, so Harry swapped them.) He pulled his hair into the little half-ponytail (Dick had showed him how) and brushed his teeth. Then Harry checked his backpack to make sure all his supplies were inside, and deep in the front pocket, under his pencil case, he stashed his pocket knife. His hawk pin he slipped into his pants pocket.

Then Harry grabbed his shoes, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and hurried downstairs for breakfast. He was the first one. Harry put his shoes and backpack next to the chair and jumped to help Alfred set out the last of the food—after one too many incidents, either of Harry panicking that he was too late to make breakfast or because Alfred told him he couldn’t help, they’d come to an understanding: if Harry was early enough (by accident, not by design), he could help Alfred set out breakfast, and on Thursdays he could help cook dinner. Wednesday was Jason’s day to help, after Alfred found him cooking tomato soup for lunch one day while Alfred was out shopping and Dick and Bruce were busy (Dick and Bruce were banned from the kitchen).

“Good morning, Master Harry,” Alfred greeted him with a smile and a nod. “The platter of fruit is on the counter by the stove. That’s the last thing to bring out.”

Harry nodded and hurried to get it, then made himself slow down enough to carry it carefully to the table. He sat down just as Jason entered, stifling a yawn. He was dressed, too, and dropped his backpack at the base of his chair as he sat down.

“Good morning, Master Jason. I’ve prepared some of your favorites on this special occasion of your first day at school.”

Jason smiled a little. “Thanks, Alfie.”

He and Harry happily ate their fill of pancakes, bacon, and hash browns, then they raced upstairs to brush their teeth and make sure they had everything.

When they returned, Bruce was there, ready to drive them over.

“But I thought Alfred—?” Jason trailed off, looking uncertain.

“Most days, Alfred will be the one dropping you off. But I thought I’d do it today, since it’s your first day,” Bruce said with a smile. “Every once in a while, if he’s awake, Dick might drive you, too. But he’s rarely out of bed before nine these days. So are you two ready?”

Harry nodded, tightening his hands on his backpack straps. Jason shrugged beside him. Bruce nodded, then led the way to the garage and to his most nondescript car. The drive started out full of Harry’s excited chatter, though most of it was directed at Jason, and the older boy’s indulgent responses. But as they drew closer to the school, they both fell silent as nerves crept back in.

Soon enough, the school was in view. The school was, in fact, two large buildings situated on several acres of land, separated by more than a mile. These were the elementary and middle school branches of the Academy. The high school branch that made up the main school was on a hill several miles away, in an old repurposed 18th-century cathedral and manor house, linked by newer constructions in between.

Harry did a double-take when he saw the two separate buildings. “We’re…in separate buildings?”

“Well, yeah. They’re not gonna house the babies with the older kids,” Jason said. “What did you expect?”

“I thought…well, first through seventh are all in the same building, back…back in England. And the eighth graders were part of secondary.”

“They do things a little differently here in the States, I guess,” Bruce said.

“But…that means Jason and me…we’ll be separated. I…I won’t see him at all until school is over.” Harry bit his lip so it wouldn’t quiver. “This…will be the farthest and the longest we’ve ever been separated. Ever.” (And Harry had only just graduated from sneaking into Jason’s room every other night to sleep with him, having become accustomed to his proximity over the last year.)

Jason squeezed his hand. “You’ll be fine, little hawk,” he said quietly. “I’m just a building away. If you shout loud enough, I’m sure I’ll hear you.”

Harry gave a reluctant giggle.

“I know this is going to be a big change for both of you. There are going to be some hard parts, and a lot of adjustments,” Bruce explained as he pulled into the car pool line at the middle school.

“Just think of all the cool stories you’ll get to tell me this afternoon,” Jason said. “And of all the mischief you and Tim will get up to without me.”

Harry smiled reluctantly at the idea of Tim being with him. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

“See? You’ll be fine,” Jason added, poking Harry’s cheek. “This is my stop. I’ll see you later, little hawk.” He hesitated, glancing at Bruce, then signed to Harry, ‘I love you.’

Biting his lip, Harry signed it back. “Bye, Jason,” he added with a reluctant wave.

Jason waved back, then slid out of the car and turned to face the school. He seemed to take a deep breath, readjusting his backpack on his shoulders, then marched forward. He soon merged with the other arriving students.

“Okay, Harry?” Bruce asked as he pulled out of the line.

Harry set his jaw. “I’m okay.”

“Just wait. Once you and Tim get to playing, you’ll forget all about missing Jason.”

Harry made a non-committal noise and tightened his hands on his backpack straps.

Soon enough, it was Harry’s turn to get out. His stomach churned with nerves, but Harry was determined to be brave like Jason.

“Have a good day, Harry,” Bruce said as Harry got out of the car.

Harry hummed in acknowledgment and took a deep breath, then shrugged his shoulders to resettle his backpack before marching forward like Jason had done.

Harry’s nerves only got worse as he entered the school itself. Especially because he had to go to the principal’s office first to get directions to his new homeroom class and a bunch of other boring forms. Dick had warned him about that—that the first day or two would be absolutely horrible no matter what. Ever since submitting the adoption paperwork, Harry was officially a Wayne. And, like it or not, the Wayne name was famous. Carrying it would already draw attention. Being a new student, and technically foreign on top of it, meant Harry would probably endure stares at the least, and nasty rumors and bullying at worst. Harry was no stranger to any of that. At least here, though, there wouldn’t be one person who had it out for him personally.

He hoped.

The principal handed Harry his class schedule and a few other papers, then directed him down the hall to the back half of the school and around the corner to the left for Mr. Aldmin’s class. That was Harry’s homeroom teacher, and he also taught math. Harry was disappointed that he wasn’t in Tim’s homeroom—he remembered Tim’s homeroom teacher was Mrs. Caldwell. But hopefully they’d still see each other.

The first couple hours went about as Harry expected. After introducing him to the class, Mr. Aldmin had immediately started on the day’s advisory lesson. Something about building social skills and connections? Harry tried to pay attention, but the rest of his table was staring at him, and one of them kept muttering under his breath. Some of the other students were whispering, too.

Harry kept his eyes forward, dutifully taking notes and completing the worksheet that was passed out and trying to ignore the churning in his stomach and the fluttering of his too-fast heartbeat. His hand kept reaching impulsively, only to close on empty air because Jason wasn’t there. So Harry clutched his pencil too tightly and tried to distract himself.

After the morning advisory, they had a ten-minute break before their first subject, math.

A few people tried to talk to Harry, among them a girl with blonde pigtails who introduced herself as Stephanie “but call me Steph!” and a boy who introduced himself with so much pomp that Harry had laughed despite himself. Offended, the boy huffed and stormed away without another word.

Steph stuck her tongue out after him. “Loser!”

“He was just trying to be nice,” Harry mumbled.

Steph snorted. “Trust me, Harrikins, when someone introduces themselves like that, they want you to pay attention to how important their daddy is.”

Harry squeaked. “H-Harrikins?”

Steph grinned. “I give everyone nicknames. For example, he’s Pompous Buttface.”

Harry snorted, tried to stop himself, then burst into stifled laughter. Steph smirked, her eyes glinting. “I knew you would understand. You just don’t look stuffy enough to be a Wayne.”

Harry smiled shyly. “I’m…adopted, actually,” he admitted. “Like, really recently.”

“Hmm. I think I saw that in the papers, way in the back pages. A tiny little blurb, really.” Steph grinned again. “I only saw it ‘cuz I was using the newspaper to make papier mache.”

“What’d you make?” Harry asked.

Steph leaned in, like she was about to tell a grand secret. “A bomb,” she whispered.

“A bomb?” Harry barely whispered.

“Not a real one, duh. I was gonna fill it with glitter paint and rig it to a door so it would drop on my dad. But he caught me before I could.”

Harry’s eyes went wide. “W-what did he do?”

A brief shadow crossed Steph’s face before she wiped it away and shrugged. “Gave me a stern talking-to about the proper use of my arts and crafts materials. I thought I was being creative.”

“I—I think so, too. I-I like arts and crafts, too. Like cord and leather and stuff, though.”

Steph lit up. “Can you make bracelets and stuff?”

Harry flushed. “I’ve only made one so far. It took me hours and hours of practice to get it right.”

“Can I see?”

“I’m not wearing it. I…I gave it to my brother for his birthday,” Harry said shyly, smiling a little at claiming Jason as his brother to an outsider.

“Aw, that’s nice. I wish I had a brother. But I’m an only child. It’s boring being the only kid around sometimes.”

“I guess.”

“Break’s over! Back in your seats!” Mr. Aldmin called, clapping his hands three times in a distinct pattern. The rest of the class clapped back, echoing the pattern. Harry was a little late on the uptake, though.

“Don’t worry about it; it took the whole class weeks to learn it,” Steph murmured as they returned to their seats. “You’ll catch on fast.”

“Thanks,” Harry murmured back as they separated.

Their first subject was math, and Harry knew right away he’d have to ask for help from someone to catch up. Thankfully, Mr. Aldmin walked him through the steps the class had already learned after assigning their classwork, so he wasn’t as lost.

Maybe Steph would be able to help him. She seemed smart, if she could make a glitter bomb out of papier mache. Or maybe Tim.

After math was science, and they had to switch classrooms. This was so different from what Harry had expected that he automatically fell in beside Steph as the class filed out, sticking close to the one thing that was (sort of) familiar as his stomach clenched with nerves again.

Mrs. Caldwell was the science teacher, and Harry caught a glimpse of Tim as his class was leaving. Immediately Harry felt more secure. Everyone was chatting quietly, so Harry didn’t feel out of place calling out to him.

“Tim!” Harry called, waving.

Tim turned, then grinned brightly. “Hi, Harry! We can’t talk much now, but I’ll see you at lunch!”

“Save me a seat!”

“I will!”

Grinning, feeling the last of his nerves settle, Harry was more than ready to start his favorite class. In this room, it looked like they didn’t have assigned seats. Harry picked an empty desk, and Steph immediately plopped down next to him, grinning.

“Thought you’d be lonely,” she quipped.

Harry smiled shyly. “Thanks.”

Steph gave him a thumbs-up, then they both turned their attention to Mrs. Caldwell as she began her lesson. Harry eagerly took notes, glad that he understood everything Mrs. Caldwell was saying.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Steph doodling in her notebook, her lips pursed and her brow furrowed. Over about ten minutes, Harry watched a drawing form along the bottom of her page. It featured what looked like a volcano, with an arrow drawn to a…rocket launcher? Aimed at a stick figure with crossed-out eyes. Then Steph scribbled in the space between with her red colored pencil, like fire.

Then Harry realized that he’d missed Mrs. Caldwell’s question. Hiding a blush, Harry returned his attention to the lesson. Then he and Steph worked together on a packet that, according to Mrs. Caldwell, they’d be using as their notes and homework for the whole week. According to Steph, this was normal. Mrs. Caldwell would assign a packet on Monday, refer to it throughout the week, and then do a small project or experiment on Friday using what they’d learned and then they’d turn in the completed packet.

After science was lunch. They returned to their homeroom to get their lunchboxes, which Harry had forgotten was a thing until Alfred handed him his that morning. Not that Harry had ever had one before anyway. If he was lucky enough to bring lunch at all, it was either a loose, wrinkled apple or a squished all-peanut butter sandwich on stale bread, wrapped in plastic.

The lunchbox was one item for school that Bruce had forgotten about, too, so it was lucky Alfred remembered and bought them. Harry’s was hunter green with orange trim, with hawks and deer on it, with an attached matching water bottle. He hadn’t picked it, but he loved it. He wondered how Alfred had somehow known exactly what to get.

Steph’s lunchbox was a brown paper bag with a yellow crayon drawing on it. It looked like a cartoon creature that Harry was pretty sure he’d seen before, but he didn’t immediately recognize it. So he asked.

“Oh, that’s Pikachu, from the Pokemon cartoon. Or does it qualify as an anime?” Steph shrugged. “I don’t know. But I draw a different one every day. It keeps me from being bored while waiting for my mom to get up and cook breakfast. I’ve got a how-to-draw book that I use as a reference.”

“Hmm. That’s neat.” Harry frowned lightly. “I’ve never seen the show before, but I think I’ve seen the cards and toys at the store.”

“Eh. It’s okay. It’s about a kid that travels around collecting Pokemon, which are weird-looking creatures with special powers. I dunno how they can trust a ten-year-old to travel the world on his own with nothing but an oversized yellow mouse with an attitude problem as supervision—as cool as that would be—but they look neat, so.” Steph shrugged again.

Harry made a noise of acknowledgment. They fell into step on the way to the cafeteria, then Harry started scanning for Tim. When he caught Tim’s eye, Harry waved, grinning. Tim waved back and beckoned them forward. He had a school lunch, which looked much better quality than what Harry had gotten at Little Whinging Primary (if Dudley or one of his friends hadn’t made him spill it first). But it also still looked and smelled like a school lunch, so he was glad Alfred had packed something for him.

“Hi, Harry!” Tim grabbed Harry in a hug as soon as he was in range.

Harry squeezed him in return. “Hi, Tim! This is Steph. She’s in my class. Steph, this is Tim.”

Steph bobbed her head. “Hey.” Then she glanced between them. “This isn’t the brother you gave the bracelet to, is it?”

Flushing, Harry shook his head.

Tim lit up. “You think we’re brothers?”

“Um. Other than your eye color, you guys are practically identical.”

Tim and Harry both flushed. “We—we’re not related, no,” Harry corrected softly. “But…” He bit his lip shyly. “He’s still my brother.”

Tim’s flush deepened, though his smile grew. “I’m just his neighbour,” Tim murmured.

“Technicalities are for losers. I say you’re twins.” Steph made a dramatic gesture, tapping each of them on the shoulder once with her juice box. “I dub thee twins.”

Still blushing, Harry and Tim burst into startled giggles. “D-did you just knight us?” Harry stammered through his laughter.

Steph grinned. “Yep. From now on, consider yourselves my knights in shining armor, Sir Harrikins and Sir, uh…” Steph huffed in frustration. “Darn. Your name doesn’t work with that ending. Um. Timkins? Thompkins? No, that’s the Crime Alley doctor. Um. Timmykins?” Steph frowned. “Oh! Tim-Tam!”

Tim squeaked. “Just Tim is fine,” he stammered.

Steph grinned. “Nope. I give everyone nicknames. I told Harry already. So from now on, you’re Tim-Tam.”

Harry leaned over and stage-whispered to Tim, “I’ve only known her for three hours and I already know it’s best not to argue with her.”

Steph pointed at Harry with a celery stick. “You, sir, are a wise man.”

Harry flushed, smiling shyly, and finally unzipped his lunchbox to see what he had. To his delight, he found a cream cheese and turkey wrap, fresh strawberries and cucumber slices with a sweet dip, and a brownie—all his favorites—along with a bag of healthy chips and a note that read, in Alfred’s thin, spidery hand: Good luck on your first day of school, Master Harry. Do enjoy.

“Wow. You’re so lucky to have a home-packed lunch like that,” Tim said, poking in distaste at what passed for macaroni and cheese on his tray.

“I bet Alfred would make you one, too, if you asked,” Harry said. “You’re over every other day anyway. And maybe, if we ask nicely enough, we could give you a ride, too?”

Tim shook his head quickly. “No, that’s okay. I’m fine with the bus. And I would never ask Alfred to make me extra food.”

“Who’s Alfred?” Steph asked around a mouthful of peanut butter sandwich.

“He’s the Wayne butler,” Tim answered, as Harry had just taken a bite of his wrap.

“You have a butler?” Steph asked after she swallowed. “That’s so cool! Man, I keep promising myself I won’t be jealous of all you rich kids, but you make it damn hard sometimes!”

Harry and Tim exchanged a glance. “But you’re attending Gotham Academy,” Tim spoke up. “The tuition is…pretty expensive. If you’re not a rich kid…” he trailed off, but they all heard the unspoken, what are you doing here?

“’M on a Wayne Scholarship,” Steph answered through another bite of peanut butter. “I think my mom applied at random, but somehow I got it. Full ride all the way through sixth grade and everything, uniform and school supplies included.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to thank Bruce, for…helping me find a friend,” Harry said shyly. At least, he really, really hoped Steph would stay his friend.

Steph smiled—a real, genuine smile, not the smirks she’d been giving him all day. It looked nice on her. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll write a letter.”

They enjoyed the rest of their lunch, chatting happily. Harry eventually took pity on Tim, who was making a face at every reluctant bite of the school lunch, and shared out half his lunch with his friend.

“I can ask Alfred to pack me extra, if you don’t want to ask for a lunch of your own,” Harry offered. “I’ll even offer to help prepare it.”

Tim ducked his head. “You’d really do that for me?”

Harry bit his lip, then grinned and bumped Tim’s shoulder. “’Course I will. You’re my twin, after all.” He winked at Steph as he said it.

Steph grinned and nodded in approval.

“Besides,” Harry added quietly while Steph was distracted, “it’s just payback.”

Tim flushed red and smiled shyly. “Okay.”

A few minutes later, they were dismissed from lunch to go to recess, which was combined with the sixth grade. Harry, Tim, and Steph stuck together, and Steph managed to steal a soccer ball from a group of sixth graders, so they spent most of their half-hour outside kicking or tossing it around.

The rest of the day flew by like a breeze. Flushed from recess and thrilled at having a new friend and getting to spend time with Tim, Harry didn’t even get frustrated when Mr. Sullivan, the history teacher, singled him out with a question about the French and Indian War—which Harry knew nothing about. When did the French fight India? Why would the French wage war all the way in India? Wasn’t it England that colonized it?

Of course, when he asked that question, the entire class laughed at him (though Steph’s laughter was softer and less mocking than everyone else’s.)

Mr. Sullivan was distinctly not amused. “The Indians are the native peoples who already lived in America before settlers arrived.”

“But why call them Indians? Isn’t that confusing?” Harry asked. “Why not just call them natives? Or use the name they call themselves? Isn’t there a tribe called the Cherokee or something? Why not just use those names?”

Mr. Sullivan’s face reddened. “That is not the subject of our discussion today. So you will refrain from further questioning on this topic.”

Harry’s brain finally caught up with his mouth and he went instantly silent, shrinking in on himself. He tried not to flinch when Mr. Sullivan swept behind him to move around the classroom again. (He wasn’t very successful).

When he was on the other side of the classroom, his lecture resumed, a small piece of paper folded into a triangle suddenly landed on Harry’s desk. Blinking, Harry glanced around and saw Steph smiling at him, then she mimed unfolding the paper.

Harry did so cautiously, keeping his hands in his desk cubby and his eyes on Mr. Sullivan until the paper was completely unfolded. He glanced down to see a humorous drawing of a group of stick figures carrying what looked like boomerangs chasing another stick figure with a remarkably accurate depiction of Mr. Sullivan’s moustache. Harry giggled, then bit his lip to stifle it. When he next glanced at Steph, she gave him another smile and a subtle thumbs-up.

Pressing his lips together to smother a pleased grin, Harry refolded the drawing and slipped it into his pocket.

History finally ended with a long worksheet due the next day, and then it was time for specials. Harry knew they had gym, music, and art in rotation each week, but he couldn’t remember what today was.

Harry really hoped it wasn’t gym or music, because he didn’t bring his recorder or his gym clothes.

“We’ve got art on Mondays, gym on Tuesdays and Fridays, music on Wednesdays, and computer lab on Thursdays,” Steph supplied as they lined up to go.

“Thanks,” Harry said softly. “For the note, too.”

“Yeah, well, he’s a jerk.”

Harry smiled a little. “Yeah. Kinda.”

Steph bumped his shoulder lightly. “I got your back, Harrikins,” she teased lightly.

Harry smiled bigger, feeling warm all the way to his toes.

In art class, they got to do a free draw, which according to Steph they only did on special occasions, “or when Mrs. Wilcox is too lazy to teach,” she added, grinning. “It happens about once a month. More often around the holidays, though.”

After some thought, Harry decided to try his hand at drawing a hawk. They were allowed to use the computers to look up and print references, so with a little help from Steph (re: a lot of help, because other than the old-fashioned library computers—which Jason had managed while Harry just watched over his shoulder—Harry had very little experience with technology of any kind), Harry looked up some good reference pictures to print off. Steph looked up cat memes. Then they took their reference pages back to their table and got to work.

By the end of the hour, Harry had a pretty decent hawk sketched out on the first page of his sketchbook. He had just started coloring it when time ran out. Sadly, Harry put everything away, silently vowing to finish it as soon as he could. Steph showed him the meme she’d copied, but she’d inverted the colors, “as an experiment,” she said. “I like seeing just how wacky I can make an ordinary picture look.”

“That’s so cool!” Harry exclaimed.

Steph grinned. “Yep.”

They put away their sketchbooks, which Mrs. Wilcox insisted they keep in the classroom so they didn’t get ruined or lost. Then they left again for the last class of the day, the one Harry had been most looking forward to: English.

Steph made a face when she saw how excited he was. But that quickly changed when she figured out that Harry knew more than most of their classmates, and when he was able to fill out his vocabulary sheet halfway all on his own before Mr. Robles even started going through them, Steph begged him (in an undertone) to “teach her his secrets.”

Harry shyly admitted that Jason had just read to him a lot, sometimes even harder books meant for older kids.

Steph screwed up her face. “Ew, reading. The only things I read are ‘Science Experiments for Kids’ and pranking handbooks.”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t read a lot on my own either. But I like it when my big brother reads to me.”

“You’re gonna have to introduce me to this big brother of yours, since you mention him so often,” Steph stated.

“If he’s picked up before me, and you haven’t left yet, you could maybe meet him in the car pool line? He’s in the seventh grade,” Harry shyly bragged.

“Ooh, middle school. Cool.”

After that, their conversation had to stop as Mr. Robles began explaining their assignment. They had to write sentences using four of their new vocabulary words, and read the next chapter in their book by Friday. They were reading Number the Stars, which Steph said they’d started the week after school started. (Seeing as it was now the last week of September, that meant Harry had a bit of catching up to do.) They also had a standing assignment to read anything at all for at least twenty minutes a night, and an adult had to sign their reading log.

About ten minutes before school let out, Mr. Robles released them back to their homeroom to collect their things.

In the bustle of collecting their backpacks, jackets, and lunchboxes from their cubbies, some jostling was expected.

What Harry was not expecting was for the boy from that morning, whom Steph had dubbed Pompous Butthead (though Harry thought his name was actually Alexander), to ram into Harry’s shoulder, knocking him flat to the ground, and then kick his leg by “accident” as he walked past.

Harry stared in shock. He wasn’t really hurt, and he wasn’t angry. Not really. But…that was so random. And unexpected. And needlessly cruel. Harry hadn’t even done anything. He had no idea how to react.

Steph tried to shove the boy back, but Harry grabbed her arm. “Let it go,” he said quietly. “You’ll only make it worse.” Then Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If…if he keeps it up, then…then I’ll do something about it.”

“Do what?”

Harry shrugged. “Depends on what he does first.” If Harry was shoved or otherwise physically assaulted, fighting back would only get him in trouble, too. He’d learned that lesson very well with Dudley as his cousin. But if he started with insults…well. Harry was very good at eviscerating people with his words. He’d gotten away with a lot of insults at Dudley simply because his dumb cousin hadn’t understood that he was being insulted in the first place.

“Hmph. Stupid butthead,” Steph muttered.

Harry snickered. He could think of a dozen other, much nastier insults off the top of his head. But then he remembered that these kids were sheltered, and “stupid” was considered a bad word. And he’d probably get in much bigger trouble for cussing if he said any of them out loud. So Harry kept silent.

Steph helped Harry to his feet, then glared over his shoulder at Alexander. Harry’s chest filled with unfamiliar warmth. He smiled shyly and murmured, “Thanks, Steph.”

Steph waved him off. “Just defending my knight,” she said dismissively, but her cheeks were pink.

Harry bit back a smile and slung his backpack over his shoulder. Then the two of them joined the rest of the class as they filed to their pick-up line. He spotted Tim leaving with the walkers, though Harry knew he’d be walking to the bus station. (He’d have to work harder to convince Tim to come home with him.) He waved, and Tim waved back.

Then cold nerves started gnawing in his stomach. There had been dozens of times in primary school that Aunt Petunia had just…left him at school, to find his own way back. In the rain, in the cold, in the scorching heat, Harry had had to walk the mile from the school back to the Dursleys’. In good weather, Dudley had walked, too, and other than recess, those were the times when he and his friends reverted to their favorite game of Harry Hunting.

So Harry didn’t know if he could even expect a ride. And what if Jason wasn’t there? What if something had happened during the day? What if he’d run away and left Harry behind? (Jason wouldn’t do that, Harry reminded himself. But his heart rate picked up and his hands grew slick with sweat anyway.)

Shuffling nervously, Harry tightened his hands on his backpack straps. Steph was eyeing him in mingled concern and confusion every time Harry tensed when the name called wasn’t his.

Finally, two names were called in quick succession. “Brown! Wayne!”

Harry let out a relieved sigh and started walking. To his surprise, Steph kept pace with him.

She grinned at his confusion. “My last name’s Brown,” she said.

“Oh. Oh! Maybe you can meet Jason, then!”

“Can’t wait.”

They walked through the doors at the end of the hallway together. Harry saw Alfred in the driver’s seat of the car Bruce had driven that morning. Before Harry had taken three steps out of the school, though, Jason launched himself out of the car and rushed toward him. Harry ran to meet him, throwing his arms around his waist and clinging tightly.

“I missed you,” Harry whispered.

“Me, too.” Jason squeezed him briefly, then let him go, clearing his throat. It was then Harry noticed the stares. And the stifled laughter from some of the other fifth and sixth graders.

Harry felt his cheeks turn red. But he refused to be embarrassed by how much he loved his brother.

“I take it this is Jason?”

Harry coughed and took a half-step away from Jason. “Um. Yeah. Jason, this is Steph. She’s in my class. Steph, this is my big brother, Jason.”

Jason crossed his arms and stared at her. She stared right back. For a long moment, neither of them broke eye contact. Then Jason frowned lightly.

“Since Harry is still in one piece, I guess ya did okay watching out for ‘im in my place,” he said, letting his accent bleed out a little more than usual (he’d been trying to tame it over the last month).

Steph blinked, then grinned. “He’s my knighted protector. It’s only my duty to keep an eye on ‘im. I turn ‘im over inta your care, sir knight.” She saluted, and Harry tried not to gape as he heard Crime Alley in her voice, too.

Jason blinked, then chuckled. “Okay, Harry. You can keep her.”

Harry gaped.

Steph feigned wiping sweat off her brow. “Thank goodness. I feel like I just withstood the Spanish Inquisition.”

Jason laughed more genuinely. “I like you.” Then he put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Come on; I’m hungry and Alfred promised cookies.”

Harry grinned, then he waved. “Bye, Steph. See you tomorrow!”

Steph waved back with a grin, then hurried off to a battered brown sedan that had just honked its horn. Harry glimpsed a careworn woman in the front seat, her lips pursed in a frown, as he got into Alfred’s car. (Well, Bruce’s car, but Alfred was driving it.)

“Welcome back, Master Harry,” Alfred greeted him. “How went your first day of school?”

Harry grinned and started gushing about everything that had happened, with Jason chiming in with a question or comment every now and then.

“And we had lunch with Tim, and he takes the bus to school, Alfred. The city bus. I need you and Jason to help me convince him to ride back with us—um, as long as that’s okay.”

“Seeing as Master Tim is our neighbour, it only makes logical sense for him to ride back with us if his own ride is unavailable,”Alfred replied primly. “Especially seeing as he’ll be coming over within the hour anyway,” he added with just a touch of amusement.

Harry nodded eagerly, then continued the run-down of his day.

They arrived back at the manor in good time, and Harry immediately set to doing his homework. Tim arrived, as predicted, within an hour of them returning to the manor (it took the bus nearly that long to get to Bristol). He happily sat down with Harry and they worked together on their science packet, and their math and history worksheets. Jason had chosen to do his homework at the dining room table, too, and ended up helping them through a math equation that had both Harry and Tim stumped. Then Jason and Tim worked together to help Harry with his history worksheet. There was still a lot of context Harry was missing, but Alfred promised to pick up some workbooks and a few historical novels to help fill in the gaps. He would need the workbooks anyway for when Bruce started tutoring him.

After nearly two hours, all Harry’s homework was done except for the reading. And then Harry was stuck.

“I need to read the first eight chapters of Number the Stars by Friday,” Harry said glumly. “Since they started before I got here.”

“I do believe there may be a copy in the manor’s library,” Alfred mused.

“Great!” Jason hopped to his feet, pulling Harry with him—Jason never missed a chance to hang out in the library.

“I-I guess I’ll go finish my vocabulary homework,” Tim said, shuffling aside.

“What are you talking about?” Jason asked. “You and Harry are reading the same book, ain’tcha? We can read together.”

Tim’s eyes widened. “R-really?”

Jason ruffled his hair. “Of course, baby bird.”

“You’d be most likely to find Number the Stars in the small fiction section, that way,” Alfred said, gesturing toward the shelves across from the door. “If you are unable to locate it, let me know and I’ll order a copy. You did say you had until Friday, correct?”

Harry nodded.

“Then feel free to read anything else you want in the meantime.”

“Thanks,” Jason said, staring around in awe at the library. (Harry wasn’t sure Jason would ever get used to having their very own library. But Harry didn’t mind, either.)

They did in fact find a copy of Number the Stars on the shelves Alfred indicated, as well as a bunch of other young fiction novels that Harry was eager to read. Jason also pulled a copy of Hunger Games for himself. Then, with Harry and Tim trailing behind him, he brought the books over to their nook—and it was theirs now, no matter what anyone said—and sat in the middle of the couch. Tim and Harry immediately curled up on either side of him, and Jason gladly began to read.

He only made it through two chapters before both younger boys were fast asleep. Smiling softly, Jason switched to Hunger Games and continued to read to himself until Alfred called them for dinner.