Flight of the Bumblebee
Part Six
The Winner Heir
Disclaimer: I'm still a girl, still American, and still too young to own either series. Sorry folks.
Warnings: Now with blatant slash, and evil!Quatre. Oh, and cute!Harry. Aw, who am I kidding? Harry's nine. Of course he's cute.
Author's Note: So I stole some time to post, and I'll probably be gone until after school ends because my exams are going to eat me in the next couple of weeks. I probably won't be posting until after school ends, and I'm sorry, but real life (tm) has called. I do want to thank everyone that has been keeping an eye on this story and reading it so diligently. All the reviews are absolutely wonderful and I just love reading them. You've given me a lot of suggestions and ideas. Some may happen, others probably won't. But it's still nice to hear your thoughts. I also want to shout out to dentelle-noir and jess-eklom because they're awsome. Seriously. They helped me a lot with this chapter. If it wasn't for them, you wouldn't be reading this. Thank you two so very much!
To Shadowgal ANBU: Um. . . I'm sorry I got you hooked? But if you want to lynch me, I can assure you there will be a line. Jess will probably kill me first. Slowly and painfully. Since I value my life, I'm not allowed to abadon this story, no matter how long updates may take me.
Violet Shadows: I'm glad you like the style. I've been very nervous about the pace of the story, it's nice to hear you like the pace I've set and to know that I'm not dragging it too much.
To LdyGossamer: Don't worry about the Dursleys. I have plans. Mwahahahaha.
To puretsubasa: There is magic, but it is all accidental at this point. And the title is not a reference to Dumbledore. In fact, I always forget he's associated with a bee until people remind me. Was actually chosen for two reasons. One is based in the idea that physics dictates a bumblebee can't fly even though they clearly do (flawed theory. . . where would the world be without physics?), and the others is because I love the classical song "Flight of the Bumblebee" and I think it fits Harry.
To Potterwing: The term "ice eyes" isn't mine, I've seen it used in several fics, but I'm honestly not sure who started it.
To Everyone: Thank you for all the reviews! I just love reading them all! They make me incredibly happy to see, and since I'll be stressed these next few weeks, I know I'll appreciate them all the more! I will remind everyone where that it'll be awhile before the next update, since I'm going to be out of my mind busy, and I'm also going to remind you that it's because of time constraints and not because I hold my stories hostage for reviews.
Before I stop the notes, I must ask that you watch the formating. I've noticed a slight mess up in the italics in one of my author's notes, and I'm worried is eating my formatting. If the italics are running together and the formatting is mess up, can you let me know so I can make sure to fix it? Thanks!
Moving on, though. . . one more favor.
Please enjoy chapter six!
oOooOo
Quatre smiled deviously and rubbed his hands together after Rashid dropped him off and number four Privet Drive. He knew he had told Trowa he was going to be coming in Saturday, but everything had fallen into place to let him leave a day earlier than planned. He hadn't told his boyfriend, wanting to surprise him. It also didn't hurt that Quatre would be able to scare (or was it scar?) the rest of the disgusting family Trowa was living with. Trowa had told him all about how they treated him and Harry, and just how Trowa felt they would view their relationship. Since they would be up for breakfast, that would just make his entrance all the better.
Quatre coolly tapped the button for the door bell, listening carefully as the measured clicks of a woman's heels indicated it would be Petunia opening the door. Allowing his sixth sense to expand, he could feel her annoyance at whomever dared to call on them so early. Pulling open the door, Petunia gave Quatre a level stare hiding it behind a fake smile, just in case the neighbors were watching. "Hello. What do you want?"
Quatre nodded graciously. "My name is Quatre Raberba Winner. I thought I would drop into your humble abode for a visit."
Little as Quatre liked the Dursleys, it would be a lot more fun to butter them up and then let them know exactly what he thought of them. Quatre gave Petunia a smile twice as fake as the one she'd offered and held out a hand.
"Are you another one of those neighborhood boys pulling pranks?" Petunia sniffed. "I will be informing your mother of this."
"My mother is dead, and I am Quatre Raberba Winner." Quatre dropped the friendly hand and crossed his arms. "I can offer proof, if you'd like."
"No thank you," Petunia gave another fake smile. "You had best hurry and get ready for school. And don't come back." Her smile dropped and she turn to snap the door shut. Not angry enough to arouse suspicious from the neighbors, but enough to let Quatre know he wasn't welcome at number four Privet Drive.
Quatre stiffened in a cool rage, frowning. "Excuse me?" He muttered, reaching for the buckle of his belt where he kept small set of lockpicks hidden out of habit. "Did I say you could slam the door in my face?"
It was the work of a moment to pick the locks on the door and make his way into the house and toward the kitchen where he could hear Petunia trying to make breakfast. From the terrible clattering it seemed she was out of practice. It fit perfectly with what Trowa had said the Dursleys forced Harry to do. Petunia wouldn't have lifted a pan for breakfast in years.
"It's terribly rude to slam doors in your guest's face." Quatre told her, almost too pleasently.
Petunia screamed, dropping the pan she was holding. The cookware narrowly missed her foot, causing her to scream again, and making Vernon thunder down the stairs, a long, metal shoe horn clutched in one hand.
"What is the meaning of this?" Vernon barked, brandishing the shoehorn. "Get out of my house! Petunia, call the police!"
Quatre turned, dodging the shoehorn, and saw Trowa sneaking up behind Vernon with a gun, not yet seeing Quatre because of the man's bulk. "Trowa!" Quatre cried, smiling despite the serious situation. "I'm so glad to see you!"
"Quatre? What are you doing here? I thought you wouldn't get here until tomorrow!"
"I wanted to surprise you!" Quatre dodged the shoehorn again and glared at Vernon as he grabbed it in mid-air. "Attempt to hit me with this thing again and you'll still be paying off your lawsuit to me when you're ninty!"
Vernon choked at the threat, then it was almost like a lightbulb went on in his dim mind. "Quatre?"
"Quatre Raberba Winner, thank you," Quatre huffed.
Quatre yanked the shoehorn from the large man's hands and tossed it to the side, then glanced at Trowa, looking coy. "What, no good morning kiss?"
Trowa crossed the space in three paces and swept Quatre into his arms. "I missed you," Trowa told the blond huskily, pressing their lips together hungrily. Several high-pitched and somewhat choked squeaks drew them apart.
Trowa gave his lover a pleased smirk, giving him a fast, delighted kiss. "I think we surprised her."
Quatre sighed, mischief glittering in his eyes, but his face disappointed. "Trowa, I keep telling you, you aren't supposed to send your family into conniption fits."
"But it's so much fun," Trowa murmured softly, his hot breath washing over Quatre's ear and making the blond shiver. Quatre smirked, turning to press his lips to Trowa's again.
Vernon stared at them both, caught somewhere between anger Trowa's "unacceptable" behavior, and disbelief because he had the Quatre Raberba Winner, head of the most powerful corperation in the Earth Sphere, in his house. "What are you doing, boy?" Vernon finally thundered after the two finished greeting each other. "You shouldn't even be in the same room as someone as important as Mr. Winner! What makes you think you can even touch him?"
Quatre and Trowa exchanged looks. "Well, he is my boyfriend," Trowa pointed out flatly, raising an eyebrow.
Quatre snickered, but didn't have a chance to say anything before Petunia--who had finally managed to overcome her shock--broke in and ushed Quatre into the living room. "Would you like some tea, Mr. Winner?" She asked, settling him on the couch. She seemed to recognized his name well enough, even if she hadn't recognized him. "I'll send that boy out of here right away, of course. You shouldn't have to deal with riff-raff like him."
Quatre opened his mouth to say something, but Trowa gave a shake of his head. "I would love some tea, of course," Quatre agreed, turning pleasent at the blink of an eye. Trowa smiled. Of course his lover would be able to keep those two busy until he got his and Harry's things together.
Trowa slipped up the stairs and pushed the door to his and Harry's room open, and was immediately greeted by a terrified boy. "You're okay," Harry sobbed, throwing himself at Trowa and clinging tightly to the teen's waist. "I was so scared you'd get hurt!"
"It takes a lot to hurt me," Trowa soothed, hugging Harry tightly. "It was just your aunt and uncle making a big deal because I got another surprise this morning."
"You did?" Harry's eyes grew wide. "What is it?"
"Not a what," Trowa corrected, smiling. "Who. Quatre's here a day early."
"Really?" Harry let go of Trowa to spin around in excitement and then wind his arms around the elder's waist again. "I get to meet him today?"
"Once you get dressed and ready to go. We're leaving here today." Trowa smiled and watched Harry rush around to get on his new outfit--not one of Dudley's, those would all be left behind--and pack the few things left in the house. Mostly his school things and some underthings, stuffing it into his ratty backpack. Trowa made another mental note to buy him a new one before he started school again. Packing his own things was the work of a moment, and Trowa quickly made sure there was nothing of their's left in the room. He didn't bother to take the lock off the door, nor did he leave the keys.
He did, however, leave it locked.
"I'm going to take this stuff to the car now, and I'll meet you downstairs. Quatre won't let anything happen to you."
"But how will you leave?" Harry looked worried. "If you don't come down with me."
"Out the window." Trowa smiled. "Don't worry about me. I'll be back in just a moment, all right?"
Harry looked uncertain, but nodded anyway. The thought of Trowa jumping out a window, even if he told Harry not to worry about it, was still terrifying anyway. But Harry left without further argument, making his way down the stairs. Trowa locked the door again, pocketing both keys that Quatre had sent with the lock, then calmly leapt from the window, twisting several times before he landed and tossing their things in the car. A large file folder with a note on it in the first seat made him smirk. Quatre would want that, Trowa just knew it. Tucking it under his arm, he glanced at the house and smirked, wondering if Quatre had managed to make Petunia faint, yet. He really should find out.
oOooOo
Harry sneaked down the stairs, peaking around the corner to see a petit blond sitting on the sofa before he stepped gingerly into the room. "Mr. Quatre?" Harry asked, wringing his hands. "Trowa said to come down."
"Did he?" Quatre smiled, shifting enough for Harry to realize he wanted the child to come closer. "And what's your name, green eyes?"
"You must be Mr. Quatre," Harry announced, throwing himself at the gundam pilot. "Only Trowa calls me green eyes. I'm Harry. Harry Potter. But Trowa said I could use the name Barton if I wanted."
"Did he really?" Quatre's smile widened as he caught the child effortlessly, swinging him into a hug, then setting him back on the ground and allowing him to back up several steps, looking unsure of himself.
"Yup. But I think I want to keep my own name, because I like it too. Anyway, he told me that after he got all the papers and stuff. And he said I'd get to meet you. I was really scared at first, you know. Uncle Vernon said you'd hate me, because I was a bad boy and my report about you was bad, but Trowa said you wouldn't hate me because you really liked kids and that you were really excited to meet me."
"You wrote a report about me?"
"Uh huh. I wrote it last year, when I was only eight. My teacher said it was really, really good. I let Trowa read it and he said it was good too!" Harry gushed as Vernon slowly purpled in the corner. Quatre watched the man out of the corner of his eye while he kept Harry occupied, worried Vernon would attack the child.
Petunia had slipped from the room and retrieved Dudley, causing Quatre to twitch and make an aborted reach for his gun when the large boy thundered down the steps, the house creaking as he moved. Harry tugged anxiously at Quatre's shirt. "That's my cousin, Dudley," Harry whispered hotly into his ear, glancing at the larger boy. Quatre nearly cracked from the fear in the small child's eyes. "He's not very nice."
"I shall keep that in mind, green eyes," Quatre murmured in reply drawing Harry closer to his side and sitting back up to regard Dudley coolly. He couldn't loathe the boy until he had a reason, but Harry's words were concerning.
Dudley looked at the petit blond, frowning. "Mum said you were a COE," Dudley simpered, looking pouty. "I'm going to be a COE one day, too. Daddy said so. But I thought that was a man's job. You're not very manly. You look like a girl."
One blond brow raised. How rude for that child to say such a thing! Had Dursely taught him no manners? "I beg your pardon?"
"That's my Dudley, always such a jokester!" Vernon slapped the boy on the back, laughing raucously, his humor obviously forced and fake. "Dudley, greet Mr. Winner properly."
Dudley wrinkled his nose, but turned to Quatre. "Hello, Mr. Winner." The boy grumbled, unhappy. The only time his parents made him behave was when there was "important people" in the house. That didn't mean he liked it, but Vernon had explained that being nice to important people made one rich, like they were, and being mean to important people made one poor, like the freak.
"Good morning, Dudley." Quatre smiled, holding out a hand for the boy to shake. Dudley shoved Harry out of the way to eagerly grab Quatre's hand. The blond frowned and steadied the green eyed child. He was beginning to like this entirely family less and less. From the corner of his eye he noticed Trowa step into the room. "Are you all right, Harry?" Quatre hadn't missed the boy rubbing his arm where Dudley had purposely run into him.
Quatre shifted to seperate Dudley and Harry, and moved to check the boy's arm. Vernon, who hadn't said anything to Harry, finally snapped. "Get away from him, boy!" Vernon snarled, crossing the room in three strides, his face the color of black current. Harry's eyes widened, and he moved a little closer to Quatre. "You want nothing to do with him. He steals and lies and is nothing but trouble," Vernon snapped, one meaty fist reaching for Harry. The child blanched and closed his eyes, expecting pain to burst in his vision from Vernon's tight grip.
It never happened. Quatre swept Harry behind him, grabbing Vernon's outstretched arm. "That is quite enough," Quatre snarled lowly, teal eyes sparking from something Vernon didn't recognize. Trowa stiffened, but made no move to step in, despite the lingering insanty he noticed in his lover's eyes. If Vernon made a misstep, Quatre was likely to go ZERO. "You have been glaring at Harry this entire time! What on earth did this child ever do to you?"
"He's been stealing since he got here," Vernon tried, and failed, to yank his arm from Quatre's tight hold. "He's worthless and can't do anything right, and he thinks he's better than my Dudley, even though he has no money and no parents."
"There are a great deal of people who do not have parents, Mr. Dursley," Quatre's voice was frigid. "Now, I highly recommend you step away from Harry and return to your corner. Understand?"
Vernon paled and nodded, retreating to his corner as Petunia hustled Dudley away from the crazy blond. Trowa smirked. "I love it when you look ready to kill something," Trowa murmured, hot breath washing over Quatre's ear and sending a plesant shiver down the blond's spine.
"Trowa!" Harry sniffled, throwing his arms around the teen. "You're okay. I was scared you'd be hurt."
"It wasn't far to fall," Trowa soothed, hugging Harry in reply and handing Quatre the file folder.
Quatre's smile turned polite and business-like. "Excellent. Thank you, Trowa. Now, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, we are almost finished here. I just need you to sign these papers before we go." He flipped the folder open and moved to the last page. "Please sign where indicated, Mr. and Mrs. Durlsey."
"What's this?" Petunia glanced at the thick pile of papers.
"Something I absolutely must do since I came for a visit. Mostly to stay out of the papers." Quatre's smile regained the ZERO edge, but the Dursleys didn't know the blond well enough to notice. Quatre might have looked innocent, but he was a shrewd businessman. The three Dursleys fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. "If you could please sign where indicated?"
"Shouldn't we read it?" Petunia worried, taking the offered pen.
"It's just a standard form," Quatre replied, pointing to the line. "I wouldn't bother, personally. I'll send you a copy after it's filed. You may read it then."
Trowa was forced to turn his face perfectly blank. Duo might have been the best at twisting words and carefully restructuring the truth, but of all the Gundam Pilots, Quatre was probably the best liar of them all. He had to be, to make it in the business world, as he was forced to lie about everything from his age to his position. Trowa and Hiiro were believable in their own right, since they had no inflection and made it almost impossible for people to distinguish between a lie and the truth, but people were more likely to belive Quatre. Duo was insistent it was because of his baby-face.
This time was no different. Petunia took the pen and set it to paper, signing her name with a flourish. Vernon repeated the gesture before tucking the papers back in the folder and handing it to Quatre. It was obvious the two thought they were doing Quatre a favor and that it would make them rich and famous. "Thank you so very much," Quatre told them, handing the folder back to Trowa. "I think it's time for us to go! Trowa, Harry, come on."
"Excuse me?" Petunia's voice was shrill. "Where are they going?"
"Leaving. With me." Quatre pulled out two of the sheets. "This is Trowa's legal claim to Harry and his partial emancipation papers. We will be living just to the other side of Rochester, Kent. That isn't quite an hour from here. Every month, starting two months from now and ending when Trowa is eighteen, you are required to come by and ensure their living conditions are suitable. It will not, of course, be a problem. Also, while you are in my home, you will adhere to my rules."
"We didn't agree to any of that!" Vernon snarled.
Quatre smiled. "Of course you did. It's all in the papers you just signed."
Petunia opened her mouth to protest, but Quatre cut her off easily. "You will receive copies of the papers, and it is your own fault you neglected to read them before signing them. If you wish to keep the newspapers and your business contacts from finding out how deplorable you treated the child, you will obey every clause and sub-clause written in the contract. And do not attempt to threaten me with business, Mr. Durlsey. No one will defend your claim. They will all be too concerned with loosing support for their business from WEI."
Vernon snarled, his face the color of an overripe plum, saliva spraying as he spoke. "Is that a threat, little boy?" The man attempted to use his size to intimidate the Winner CEO, looming over him angrily.
Quatre raised an eyebrow, unimpressed at the large man's attempts to cow him, and coolly wiped the spittle from his cheek. "A threat, Mr. Dursely? I am a Winner. We do not make threats. We state facts. And, should you choose to go against me, you will find it is, indeed, a fact. Do you understand, Mr. Durlsey?"
Vernon looked unsure of himself, since his massive size hadn't bothered Quatre at all, and he could in no way, shape, or form match the resources Quatre could call upon. "Perfectly, Mr. Winner," Vernon mumbled, allowing Quatre to side step him and move toward the door.
"We are quite finished here, Trowa," Quatre announced, tilting his head arrogantly. Trowa hid a smile. "Now, let's depart before this. . . lummox. . . decides to throw another fit. I fear for the structural soundness of his house, should that occur."
Vernon flushed again, but Quatre had taken Harry's hand and was headed to the door. "Good day, Mr. Dursley. I will have a copy of these papers sent to you on Monday."
Harry watched in awe as Petunia glared at Quatre, then at her husband. She gestured wildly, not caring how powerful Quatre was in the business world, Vernon could certainly put the teenager in his place while he spent time in their home. Vernon paused for a moment, but shook his head. Quatre half turned to look at the two of them. "Wise choice, Mr. Dursley," The blond said, softly, and revealed the gun in one hand. Vernon's eyes grew wide.
"You wouldn't dare shoot that," Petunia squeak.
Quatre gave a ZERO laced smile. "Do you wish to test that theory?" He asked as Trowa led Harry from the house. "Because I think it would be most. . . unwise of you."
Petunia glanced at Vernon, then outside where Trowa and Harry stood, patiently waiting. Vernon shook his head. He wasn't going after anyone with a gun. Quatre stepped from the house in his moment of indecision and tucked his gun away before the neighbors saw it. Petunia and Vernon stared after the trio as Trowa drove them away, pale and shaking. Those children. . . were anything but normal.
oOooOo
Harry covered a giggle at the look on his uncle's face as they drove away. "What was so important about all that paperwork, Mr. Winner?" He finally asked, controlling his giggling fit.
"It's just grown-up things, Harry," Trowa broke in softly, not wanting the boy to worry about it. "Are you glad to be leaving there?"
"It's hard to believe I'm not going back," Harry admitted, twisting in his seat to stare at the only place he'd ever lived. "I mean, stuff like this doesn't happen to bad boys, but I've always dreamed of it. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia said no one would ever come for me, though. No one wanted me, and the only other family we have is Aunt Marge."
"Marge?" Quatre and Trowa exchanged looks. They'd never heard of her before.
"Uncle Vernon's sister. She's not really my aunt, but I have to call her my aunt. She hates me too." Harry sniffled a little. "And her dog chased me up a tree last summer and Vernon just laughed at me. He said it was because Ripper hated bad boys, so he chased me."
"Well, you needn't call her your aunt now, and Trowa and I certainly want you." Quatre's eyes were warm and sincere, and Harry felt himself smile. As good as Quatre might have been at lying, he was even better at being sincere. Harry squirmed as Quatre continued to look him over, then the blond turned to study Trowa as well. Harry started looking worried at the close scrutiny, unused to being studied that way unless someone was going to start yelling.
"I didn't expect you two to look so much alike," Quatre finally admitted, turning to face Harry again. Quatre didn't yell, however, and Harry tilted his head curiously. He wasn't exactly sure what Quatre was talking about. Trowa had never said anything about them looking alike. "I'm rather surprised. Trowa didn't say anything about a family resemblance."
"I didn't notice," Trowa grumbled, but Harry smiled and leaned forward in his seat.
"Do you really think we look alike?"
Quatre forced himself not to gain a sad edge to his smile as desperation and eagerness crashed into him. Desperate to have family to look like him, to claim him, to love him. Eager to be compared to someone and not be told he looked like a freak. It made Quatre's heart clench in pain. "I wouldn't lie about that," Quatre told him gently, forcing his smile to stay soft and kind. "And you do. Mostly the eyes, I have to admit, but there are other things."
"Like what?" Harry's eyes were full of hope.
"Your nose, for one." Quatre's smile was infectious. It made Harry grin happily. "And you have the exact same smile. And eyebrows. Looking at you together I can tell you're related. And. . . well. . . you have the same hands."
"Hands?" Harry gave him a strange look while Trowa snickered. Quatre slapped his lover on the arm, but continued anyway, lifting one of Trowa's hands to show Harry.
"See? You both have long fingers, like an artist, and your hands are too big for your wrists, but they don't look out of proportion. I do wonder. . . Trowa's right hand is just a little bigger than his left. I wonder if yours is like that?"
Harry furrowed his brows, but clasped his hands together, flat, then nodded. "Just a tiny bit, see?"
Quatre chuckled. "I guess you two do have the same hands. Watch it, Trowa, next thing you know, we'll find you have the same fingerprints."
Trowa snorted, turning the hand Quatre was showing to Harry so he could give Quatre's own, slender hand a squeeze. "Don't be silly."
"I can't help it," Quatre complained. "I've been having withdrawls for two weeks!"
"Are you on drugs, Mr. Quatre?" Harry looked worried at that admision. Trowa forced back a snicker at his lover's poleaxed expression. "Drugs are bad."
"Oh, no!" Quatre laughed outright. "I mean I've been missing Trowa like crazy. It's a. . . euphemism. Don't worry, I'm not on drugs, I promise."
Harry eyed him for a moment, then nodded. "Okay, then. As long as you were only missing Trowa. Mr. Quatre, can I ask you a question?"
"Of course you may, Harry. There's no need to check first. If I don't want to answer, I'll just tell you so. Is that all right?"
"So. . . so. . . Trowa wasn't lying when he said you didn't hate me, Mr. Quatre?"
"Of course not!" Quatre looked slightly outraged. "I could never hate you, green eyes. I won't say I'll never be angry at you, but I will promise you that no matter how angry I seem, I will never, ever hate you. Do you understand, Harry? Even older people get mad, but just because someone is upset doesn't mean they've stopped loving you. Love is very powerful. Stronger than anger, even."
"Promise, Mr. Quatre?"
"Of course, green eyes. But can you do me a favor?"
Harry looked scared, but nodded, his eyes filling with tears. Quatre's free hand moved to his heart at the sudden, intense sadness Harry radiated making the blond wonder what Harry was reading in those innocent words. "Can you just call me Quatre, please? Since you and Trowa are family, you and I are too. So there's no need to be so formal, all right?"
And the sadness was gone as fast as it had come, Harry's smile bright. The child swiftly agreed, sitting up straighter. Quatre glanced at Trowa, who raised an eyebrow. What had those dreadful Dursleys done to this child?
oOooOo
The trio stopped for breakfast about fifteen minutes later. Quatre had announced that he was hungry, knowing Trowa would never do so and that Harry was so unsure of his place he didn't dare speak up. "There's a place near-by," Trowa agreed, turning down a side-street. "They have wonderful French toast and even better pancakes."
Trowa had said the magic word. "I love pancakes. May we got there?" Quatre was excited. Duo had gotten him addicted to pancakes during the first war, so this was one of the many things Trowa could honestly say was all Duo's fault.
"You like pancakes?" Harry's tiny voice came from the backseat. "Really? Uncle Vernon said that rich people didn't eat stuff like that."
Humor sparked in Quatre's eyes. "What do we eat?"
"Fish eggs and snails," Was the disgusted, and plaintive, answer.
The gundam pilots roared with laughter. "Sorry, Harry," Trowa managed to control himself. "But one of our friends said the same thing when he first met Quatre."
"I must admit," Quatre chuckled. "I have eaten those things, but I was raised on traditional Arabic dishes, not necessarily things reserved solely for rich people. My family is from the Middle East, you see. I was introduced to some food from other places later, but it wasn't because I was rich that I didn't know what they were."
"So you're not English?" Harry tilted his head. "I don't think I've ever met anyone that wasn't English before."
"Trowa technically isn't." Quatre pointed out. "He's from L3, not England. And I'm not from the Middle East, technically. I'm from L4."
"You're both from colonies?" Harry frowned. "Really?"
"We'll take you to see them, sometime," Quatre promised. "I'm sure you'll enjoy space. But for now, how about breakfast?"
"Can I have French toast, Trowa?" Harry dashed around the car to grab Trowa's hand and cling, just in case Trowa decided he didn't really want a child to look after and just left him at the restaurant.
"Of course, Harry. But remember, this is a treat. We won't have this every day." Trowa allowed Quatre to lead the way into the restaurant.
"I know! That's okay, I don't mind bread," Harry smiled. "Really I don't."
Trowa felt his anger rising, but forced it down. He wasn't upset with Harry, and it wouldn't do to show his anger in front of the boy. It would only frighten him. There was plenty of time to explain to Harry he wouldn't have to eat old bread at their new house. That they would cook breakfast in the mornings and it might range from oatmeal to a traditional Japanese breakfast, depending on who cooked. Trowa smiled. Harry was certainly in for a surprise when they got settled in to their new home.
oOooOo