Hello and welcome. This is another longer chapter. It was originally two chapters, but I trimmed the fat and combined them together for the sake of pacing. It still feels weird doing anything for the sake of quicker pacing, but I don't think this story would be as well served as CJWO by a slow build to canon material. This is also the closest I think I'll ever come to a true training montage. Generally, it's a good idea to spend as little time as you can get away with on training sequences, unless you can link it to character struggle and growth. There's a reason the HP books don't spend much time covering Harry's classwork. In this case, I felt the same principle applied.

Before we begin, I want to address something. After last chapter, I got several messages complaining about the prominence I've given Batman in this story. I understand he is a divisive figure in the DC fandom, and that it is popular for people to portray him negatively in an attempt to call him out on his nonsense. I also don't care. I'm not about to pander to a character's worst written moments just to appease the mouth-breathing Reddit crowd. As far as I'm concerned, that's on the same level as unironically writing Dumbledore an evil idiot because you can't understand the concept of a plot hole. I truly don't mind negative reviews, but if you ask me to bash a character because you don't like them, know that you're wasting your time. Batman will play a major role in this story, and he is not going to be some paranoid, abusive sociopath. He's not Punisher, and he for sure isn't Rorschach.

Okay, rant over. Just like always, please show all the support you can for Ukraine in their fight against the Russian invasion.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Chapter 8

October 18, 08:44

Wayne Manor, Gotham

Of all the crazy, painful, unpleasant things he'd done in his short life, Harry thought sparring with Batman might have been the worst. Sure, he wasn't actually in any danger. The worst he was likely to get was a bruise or ten. Sure, it was for his own good, and sure, he'd been the one to demand Batman train him in the first place. All of that paled to insignificance though, when a gloved fist lashed out so fast the air hissed and planted itself in his solar plexus. Again.

The punch drove the breath from his lungs and sent him to the mat on his knees, clutching his stomach and gasping. Spots danced in his vision until his diaphragm finally remembered how to do its job and he sucked in a breath. The air was damp and smelled of sweat and whatever Alfred used to clean the mats, but it was still the sweetest thing he'd tasted all day.

"Stop relying on your blocks," Batman said. Bruce wasn't in his uniform, but he was unmistakably Batman. It was the voice, that steel growl of a voice, that told you when he was Bruce Wayne and when he was Batman. That and the eyes. Batman's gaze could bore holes in granite.

"Huh?" Harry grunted. There wasn't enough air in his lungs yet for proper words. He used his tongue to feel along the top of his mouth. The mandrake leaf was still there. Sirius had used a mild sticking charm to affix it to his palette, which was useful considering how often he got punched in the face these days.

"You're trying to block all my attacks. Don't. Use your footwork. The best block is to not be there. If you have time to try a block, you have time to take a step. Remember the angles we drilled yesterday. Use them. Now, get up."

It took a few seconds to get his feet under him, but Harry rose. He put his hands up and tried not to think about what was about to happen.

"Ready."

Batman attacked.

It had been two weeks. Two weeks since he'd first come to Wayne Manor. Two weeks since he'd convinced Batman to train him. Two weeks in which he'd learned a whole new definition of hard work.

Batman had as much to teach him as Sirius did and was an even sterner taskmaster. Aside from working him towards a level of physical fitness he hadn't even known was possible, Bruce had also set him a daunting academic curriculum. He claimed it was only the absolute basics of what he would need to know, but as in all things, Bruce refused to compromise his standards. There were endless books and case files and scientific articles to study, on everything from criminal psychology to geopolitics to covert operations fieldcraft. There were FBI files dating back a century and GCPD files dating back two. Ethical treatises followed anatomy textbooks followed interrogation tapes. Occlumency helped a lot, but even it couldn't change the enormity of the workload. Between his studies with Batman, his schoolwork at Gotham Academy, and his ongoing lessons with Sirius, every night he went to bed with his head so full of new knowledge he thought his brain might dissolve. And then there was the sparring.

Harry tried to do as Batman had said and use his footwork. He really did. He even managed to avoid the first few blows. But he was too slow, too tired, too weak to keep it up for long. Soon enough, a backhand caught him across the temple and sent him spinning to the mats again. And again. And again. Every time he stood, Batman knocked him down, gave him a few corrections, and then demanded he stand up and continue. And he did, time after time, until one hour became two, and then three. He lost count of how many times he hit the mat. Dozens. It got to where he couldn't even last a single blow. None of the punches and kicks did more than knock him down, but they never seemed to end.

"Get up."

Smack.

"Get up."

Thud.

"Get up."

Wham.

"Get up."

Harry didn't want to get up. His body felt like one enormous bruise. He wanted a hot shower, a warm meal, and fifteen hours of sleep. But, more than he wanted any of those things, he wanted not to get hit again. Getting up meant taking more punches, and he couldn't bear the thought of even one more of those gloved fists sending him sprawling.

"Get up."

"I can't," he muttered.

Batman snorted. "Yes, you can. Your legs still work. We aren't finished. Now, get up."

"Fine," Harry growled, still lying prone on the mat. "I don't want to. Is that better? I don't want to. This is stupid. What am I even learning? That you can kick my arse. I knew that already, thanks. If you want to knock someone around, how about you go find a mugger or something? I'm done."

He wasn't sure what he expected. Another monotone order? Maybe yelling? Not for Batman to crouch next to him and look him in the eye, face open for once.

"Do you still want to be a hero?" He asked.

"Of course," Harry said. "But getting the shit kicked out of me isn't-"

"Then you can't be done." Batman continued as if he hadn't heard him. "You're not allowed to be done. The mission isn't over yet. Right now, that mission is to train. Tomorrow, it may be to save thousands of innocent lives. So you're not allowed to be done."

He tapped Harry on the chest hard enough to sting. "You can't be a person. People are weak and flawed. People can fail. Can break. So become something else. Something more. I don't care if that's a symbol, a dream, a monster, or what have you. Whatever it is that doesn't feel pain or fear, whatever it is that won't ever, ever stop, find it inside of you and become it."

He stood up and took a step back. "Now, get up."

He didn't want to. He wanted to stay down where there weren't any punches. But there were other things he wanted more. The memory of that bloodied shoe floated behind his eyelids, next to Felix Faust's cruel face. He could hear the wracking sobs of the poor folk who'd lost everything in that battle. He remembered the feeling in his gut when he'd rushed to the town, armed with the Cloak and a few basic spells, heedless of whatever dangers had awaited. It was the same feeling he'd had when he'd stood up in the graveyard, looked Voldemort in the eye, and answered his challenge. That diamond mix of outrage, determination, and utter certainty that he was doing the right thing. It had felt good. Powerful. He looked inside and found that same mix again. It waited for him, deep in his mind, and he dragged it forth and clothed himself in it. Then he got up.

"Yaaaahhhh," he shouted as he surged to his feet and attacked. There was no thought of strategy or proper technique. It wasn't important that he fought well. Just that he fought.

Batman ducked his wild haymaker and swept his feet out from under him. He hit the mats so hard the sound echoed off the cave ceiling, but he didn't even have time to feel winded before he was back up again. There was only one thought in his mind; driving his fist into Batman's face. Twice more he went down, but both times he got back on his feet just as fast. The pain didn't matter. The burning in his lungs didn't matter. Just the goal. Just the mission.

Then Batman caught his fist and twisted his arm behind his back. He snarled and tried to rip free, but it was useless. All he would accomplish was dislocating his own shoulder.

"Hold," Bruce said. "We're done."

"What?" Harry panted. Bruce let him go, and he almost toppled to the floor. The burst of manic energy that had fueled him vanished as quickly as it came. "But-"

"We're done," Bruce repeated. "Mission accomplished."

"I- huh?"

"The point of this was to take you to your limit, and then get you to find a way past it," Bruce said. "I'm sorry I had to be so rough with you so early, but you were even more stubborn than Dick was."

Harry gaped silently. Something impossible had just happened. Batman, the Batman, had apologized. To him. That just wasn't right. He's only known the man for a few weeks now, but it has been clear from the outset Batman wasn't one to give out apologies. Dick's stories had only reinforced that impression. Wrong or not, Batman didn't apologize. But here he was, giving one now. Harry almost missed what he said next in his shock.

"I want you to remember that feeling. Whatever it was you found, meditate on it. Learn it inside and out until it's as familiar to you as your own name. Now that you've found it, I'll teach you how to use it to make yourself more than just an ordinary man. More than just an ordinary wizard, even."

There was just the barest hint of humor in his voice. First apologies, now cheer? Harry was half tempted to check if the sky was falling.

"So… now what?" He asked.

"Now? Nothing. You're done for the day." Bruce helped him off the mats and guided him to a bench. "Catch your breath, take a shower, and take the rest of the day for yourself."

"What? But I've got to-"

"You've got your first day of real school in the morning, is what you've got. You need your rest. Trust me, you've earned it." Bruce clapped him on the shoulder and smiled. Actually, genuinely smiled. The world was definitely coming to an end. "You… won't hear me say this that often, but I'm proud of you."

He nodded one more time and walked off to the showers, leaving Harry to digest what had just happened. He wasn't sure what he was feeling. Proud, certainly. Batman didn't give out compliments every day. He should know, seeing as this was the first one he'd received in two weeks. But he couldn't help but recall how he'd felt when he'd embraced that part of him Bruce encouraged. That primal, driven part of his soul was… intense. Even frightening.

'Become more than just a man?' He thought. 'Can I really do that?'

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Bruce left Harry sitting on the bench next to the sparring ring. From his expression and body language, he was deep in thought. That was hardly surprising. 'Finding the monster', as one of his first teachers had called it, was a unique experience. Realizing you had a well of inner strength you'd never tapped provoked self-reflection. If his psych profile of Harry was right, and it was, the boy would spend the next few days mulling over what he'd told him. Dick had only taken a few hours, but Dick had been much younger when he'd trained him. Harry had the added maturity of years, and rough years at that. Sirius had shared little of what he knew about his godson's childhood, and Harry had been even more reticent, but the signs of long-term abuse and trauma were all there. He was withdrawn, slow to trust, hyper-vigilant, and short-tempered. There was evidence of healing, too, but he knew better than most how long that path could be.

To his mild surprise, he found he was genuinely proud of Harry. That wasn't how he'd expected things to go with his second student. Even after he'd resigned himself to the fact Sirius had outplayed him, he'd tried to view Harry as an assignment. A mission of sorts; one to complete as quickly as possible so his world could return to the comfortable normality of him, Dick, and Alfred. Now, though, as he glanced back at Harry, he felt the same warm swell of pride as he'd felt when he was first teaching Dick. Not just pride, either. He was… fond of the boy.

'Alfred was right all along,' he thought ruefully. 'For the ten millionth time.'

He wasn't the only one. Behind him, he could hear the telltale sound of Dick's laughter. No doubt he'd once again snuck up on Harry and made him jump. Laughter was an unusual sound in the Cave, but more common of late. Dick had been thrilled to have someone else close to his age join them, even if Harry was only "on loan" as he put it. The two had developed a fast friendship, though sadly one that often centered on teasing, pranking, or otherwise messing with him. He could only hope they didn't go too far overboard. He didn't need the Batmobile turning invisible. Or sentient.

Still, it was good to see Dick having so much fun. And it was good to see him working so hard. Dick had never given him less than an astonishing effort, but lately, he was pushing himself even further. Not in a dangerous way, but the addition of another to their sanctum had stoked the fire in him to new heights. He'd made more progress in the last two weeks than he had in the six preceding them. Bruce didn't know if it was competitiveness, a desire to show off, or something else entirely, but he wasn't about to be picky where his ward found motivation.

His ward.

As it had so often in the last few weeks, Sirius' question came back to him. He frowned as he turned it over in his mind once more. He knew what he wanted to do, but every time he tried to bring it up with Dick, the words refused to form. Alfred was right to tease him. The mighty Batman, scourge of the criminal underworld, was too frightened to talk to a 13-year-old boy. It was the stuff bad jokes were made of.

He snorted at that thought and moved to the computer. Casework was what he needed. The Greenwood murder still needed solving, and solving crimes was infinitely easier than solving people. He had a few ideas about the garrote he wanted to chase down, and then there was that bit of latex under the victim's fingernails. From a mask, maybe? If he could identify a manufacturer…

Ideas buzzed in his head, and he sat down in front of the computer to pull up the latex analysis. Keys clacked under his fingers-

Only they didn't. When he pressed a key, the sound it made was most certainly not "clack". Not even remotely. He pressed another key and pursed his lips. He was quite certain his keyboard wasn't supposed to belch when he typed. Was it- yes, it was every key, and each one made a unique, and uniquely rude, noise. There were belches, flatulence, profanity (he'd have to keep Alfred from hearing those), and even a few erotic moans. He tried the other keyboards, with similar results.

'At least I know what they were laughing about,' he told himself. 'Hopefully, the spell wears off quickly. Is this what people mean when they complain about teenagers?'

Well, there was nothing for it. It seemed the magical pranks had started earlier than he'd estimated. In a way, it was a good thing. It meant Harry felt safe enough around him and Dick to risk a practical joke. He typed away, and the Cave echoed with the chorus of immature humor and the laughter of the two would-be comedians whose fault it was. He tried to convince himself the corners of his mouth were twitching from irritation and not amusement.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

October 19, 07:00

Gotham Academy, Gotham City

Gotham Academy was, at least according to its own brochure, the premiere educational institution for middle and high school students in America. Harry couldn't speak to the truth of that claim. He hadn't attended a non-magical school since he was ten, and he'd never set foot in an American school in his life. It was certainly well-funded, with neatly maintained grounds and several sprawling gothic buildings. There was a gym, an Olympic sized swimming pool, an entire theater, state-of-the-art science and computer labs, and a dozen other cutting-edge amenities the school was eager to brag about.

At least the uniforms weren't too different from what he'd worn at Hogwarts. Slacks, a shirt and tie, and a blazer. A few discrete spells had ensured it wouldn't be itchy or uncomfortably hot. He'd been a little worried about the mandrake leaf. It wasn't too obvious, but if he yawned, anyone looking at him would see the disgusting thing glued to the top of his mouth. Fortunately, Bruce had somehow procured a perfectly fitted plastic retainer for him to snap over the top of his mouth. It wouldn't do a thing to his teeth, but it successfully hid the mandrake leaf from all but a close inspection. He had spent most of the last two days getting used to it. It was uncomfortable, but better than having to explain why he had a theoretically poisonous leaf glued to his palette.

Alfred dropped him and Dick off a good 30 minutes before the start of class so he could meet his student liaison; a boy his age who introduced himself as Luke Fox. He gave him a quick tour of the campus while Dick scuttled, mumbling something about "Babs", whatever that was.

Sitting in actual classes with other students was bizarre after so many months of one on one learning with Sirius. He kept expecting to hear Ron sniggering at some joke Seamus had told, followed by Hermione's exasperated sigh and the inevitable loss of points. There was something disorienting about walking up stairs that didn't shift about or randomly vanish. The paintings on the walls looked too static without their subjects moving around. The halls felt empty without ghosts drifting silently over his head. When he looked out the windows, he expected to see the majestic expanse of the Black Lake, not the grimy Gotham skyline. It was like walking around in the opposite of a dream. Everything was too mundane, too ordinary for comfort.

Despite his lingering sense that the world was tilted ever so slightly to the left, the classes were interesting enough. Literature, history, and his language elective (he'd chosen French, on the basis it was close enough to Latin and Greek not to be overwhelming) took up the morning. For the most part, they were typical school classes; dry, but not unbearably so. He did his best to pay attention, take notes, and ignore the whispered comments of the other students. Even without the legend of the Boy-Who-Lived hanging around his neck, he was still a foreign student coming in well after the start of term. At least his hair was long enough to mostly obscure the scar on his forehead.

It wasn't until French class he actually had to interact with one of his classmates in a meaningful way. The class had just started a group project, and the teacher, an elderly man named Mr. Lewis who might have been blown aloft on a light breeze, assigned him a partner from one of the odd numbered groups.

"Hi," she said, thrusting out a hand for him to shake. "I'm Helena Bertinelli. I guess we're partners now."

Helena Betinelli was a striking girl, and tall for her age. She had olive-skin, with dark hair and darker eyes, and an expression on her face that could only be called challenging. Not rude, precisely, but assertive. I'm not moving, that look said. Don't push me.

He took the offered hand. "I guess we are. I'm Harry Potter. Nice to meet you, and sorry in advance for making this project harder for you."

She smiled at that, just a little. It was gone in an instant, but he counted it as a win.

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure I can pummel you into shape in no time."

Overall, he thought he did fairly well, considering he was coming into the classes in the last third of the semester. No one laughed at him, at least. Well, not much. Helena got in a few quiet chuckles at some of his more egregious mistakes, but she kept to her word and helped him whenever she found him deficient. As it turned out, that was often. By the time Mr. Lewis dismissed them to lunch, his brain felt like it was fusing into a lump of clay.

In the interest of not wasting what little mental power he had left on socializing, he chose an empty table to eat at. He'd only just sat down with his food (some sort of chicken over rice) when a familiar voice nearly made him leap out of his skin.

"So, how's it going? Overwhelming? Underwhelming? Just plain, old, regular whelming?" Dick had somehow materialized next to him, though he hadn't heard him approach. The grinning little goblin was somehow already seated and halfway through his own tray.

"Merlin's wrinkled right-" Harry gasped. "Where the hell did you come from?"

Dick just shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, you know. Around. But come on! How's your first day of school?"

Harry just shook his head in exasperation. "Creepy little ninja," he muttered, just loud enough for Dick to hear. Over the last few weeks, he'd lost count of the number of times both Dick and Bruce had snuck up on him. Alfred, at least, had the courtesy to make a little noise as he glided around the manor, though a courtesy was all it was. The other two may as well have been phantoms. He couldn't wait until Bruce started teaching him stealth.

"It's… fine," he said louder. Dick didn't look convinced. "Really, it's good. It's just…"

"Not Hogwarts," Dick finished quietly, as perceptive as always. For all that he was just thirteen, the younger boy could often act more mature than many adults Harry had known. Then again, since most of the adults he'd known were wizards, that wasn't necessarily a high bar to clear.

"I'm sorry," Dick said. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No, it's fine. It's not your-"

"Dick? There you are. I've been looking for you." A girl about Dick's age, maybe a year older, with long, bright red hair, pushed between a knot of students to get to his table. Their table, Harry realized with a mental sigh when she put her tray down and took a seat. Whatever plans he'd had for a lunch of quiet solitude lay in smoking ruins. Dick, upon seeing the girl, brightened immediately.

"Hey, Babs!" He said. "Harry, meet Barbara Gordon. Babs, meet Harry Potter."

"Nice to meet you." She said, sticking out a hand. He took it and received a firm handshake. Her dark blue eyes scanned his face, and he got the feeling she'd learned more about him from that one look than he would about her in a twenty-minute conversation. "I don't recognize you. You're a new student."

It wasn't a question, and her certainty caught him off guard. Did this girl have every student in the school memorized? Somehow, that wouldn't surprise him. Fortunately, Dick came to his aid.

"He and his grandfather just moved here from England," he explained. "Bruce knows his grandpa and agreed to let him stay with us while he goes to school."

Barbara raised an eyebrow. "Does he speak for himself?" She asked, never once looking away from him.

"Yes, he does," Harry said, a little more sharply than he'd intended. The eyebrow climbed another fraction of an inch. "Sorry. I'm just- I spent the last few months being homeschooled at my grandfather's place. He owns some land up in Maine. I'd missed a lot of school before that, and it took a while to catch up to where I needed to be. Once I got caught up, he wanted me to go to a normal school. Something about not turning into a hermit."

It was the cover story Bruce had given him, in case anyone asked why someone with an English accent was joining two-thirds of the way through the semester. According to Bruce, it was an airtight background. According to Barbara's expression, it had some holes in it. "And he decided you should go all the way to Gotham? From Maine?"

Harry shrugged, doing his best to sound nonchalant. "Like Dick said, he knows Mr. Wayne. Says he wants me to get the best education possible while I'm here in the States." Now it was his turn to arch an eyebrow. "Do I need my solicitor for this interrogation, officer?"

Barbara didn't blush, but he thought he spotted a hint of embarrassment in her smile. "Sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. It's just- with my dad and all, I can get a little suspicious of new people."

"Your dad?" He felt as if he should have known what she was talking about, but it escaped him. His brain was still mostly a brick, and dodging her suspicions hadn't helped.

"Barbara here is Captain, soon-to-be Commissioner Gordon's daughter," Dick chimed in helpfully. "And don't take it personally; she gives everyone the third degree."

"I do not!" She protested, face going red. Dick grinned, and the two started bickering back and forth in English, French, and what might have been German.

"Already making friends?"

Harry looked up to see his student liaison from earlier standing over the table. Luke Fox was a tall young man, and built like an athlete, which made it even more impressive he'd gotten so close without Harry noticing. Then again, Dick and Barbara were making so much noise Killer Croc probably could have walked by and he wouldn't have heard it.

"I think so," he said. "It's hard to tell with them sometimes."

"I'd say you're doing alright," Luke said. "That's good. I know how hard it can be, starting somewhere new. Mind if I join you?"

Harry shrugged. There was absolutely no chance he'd have a quiet lunch now, but somehow he didn't mind as much as he thought he would. Luke sat down, at which point Dick and Barbara finally noticed him.

"Gordon." He greeted Barbara with a friendly nod before he turned to Dick. "Gordon's minion."

Dick spluttered outraged denials while Barbara somehow curtsied while still seated. Luke laughed and turned back to Harry.

"So, how's the first day at Gotham Academy been treating you?"

Harry shrugged. "It's alright so far. I didn't have any of my hard classes in the morning, though. After this, I've got calculus, physics, and computer science. Those'll be a nightmare."

He was only half-joking. Sirius had done a good job catching him up on his mundane education, but it was still cramming years' worth of knowledge into just a few months. Luke nodded as if it was the most natural thing in the world, though.

"I hear that. We've all got some weaker subjects, except for Gordon and Grayson here, that is, and I know you're playing catch-up in some areas. Good news is, your friends here are both geniuses with all those classes. Scheming little geniuses who're probably going to take over the world one day, but still geniuses. I'm not too bad with physics and computers myself, either. If you need any help, don't be afraid to ask."

He made the offer so easily it took Harry off guard. He hadn't thought Luke was unfriendly or anything. Far from it. Nevertheless, it was such genuine charity he wasn't sure what to say. Especially not when Dick and Barbara both nodded as if it were no big deal.

"I- uh, thanks mate," he stammered. "That's really generous of you. All of you."

"It's no problem," Luke said. "But make sure you don't spend all your time studying. You're in high school. Don't forget to have fun, too. Go to a party, join a club, ask a girl out if that's your thing."

A generous portion of Harry's blood supply made a beeline for his face. He choked on his drink, nearly spitting it all over his lap. "Ask a… what?"

Luke and Dick chortled at his discomfiture. Barbara, somehow, was the only one to show sympathy. He wouldn't have guessed she knew what it was. "Real nice, you two. Classy. Don't listen to them." When she looked at him again, though, her gaze turned appraising. He gulped and had to fight the urge to find an exit.

"Although Luke has a point," she continued. "If your grandpa sent you here so you could interact with people, you should probably, you know, do that. You're cute enough to get a date if you ask. Some of the girls might even ask you."

He wanted to die. He wanted to teleport himself all the way back to Maine and had to seriously think of why he couldn't. How was this his life? He'd met this girl ten minutes ago, and she'd already picked at his fake backstory like a cat with a frayed carpet, and now she was giving him dating advice.

"Cute?" Dick squawked.

"Cute?" Harry wheezed.

Barbara shrugged and gave him a friendly smile. "I mean, sure. You've got a nice face, you're in shape, and then there's the accent. The hair's a bit unfortunate, and you're about a foot taller than people are supposed to be, but that's probably just taste."

He made a face when she mentioned his hair. Nothing, not even Sirius' magic, seemed able to help the rat's nest that insisted on living atop his head. Just last week he'd attempted to comb it, only to lose the comb. It had vanished into the tangle of his hair with a sound he was trying very hard to convince himself hadn't been a burp. As for his height, that was entirely out of his control. Besides, he wasn't that tall. Was he?

On reflection, he had to admit that he was. Few 16-year-olds stood half an inch taller than Batman, and he was still growing fast. That aside, it wasn't like he'd asked to be this tall. Apart from the aches of growing like he was made of bamboo, he was getting sick of buying new clothes every few weeks. Sirius had mentioned he'd inherited his grandfather's height, and if he was any indication, the man could have gotten a job playing Lurch.

His only comfort was that Dick was, if anything, even more flustered than he was. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but all that came out was a sort of strangled croak. Barbara glanced at him- and oh, had he been wrong. This girl wasn't friendly. No, she was evil. Pure, brilliant, razor sharp evil. The smile that curled her lips would have made the Cheshire Cat sit down and take notes. She reached across the table to grab Dick's hand and, like the poor, doomed fool that he was, Dick looked up. He froze as his gaze reached her face, but it was far too late.

"Don't pout, Dick," she said. Her voice was a cosh wrapped in velvet, and Harry watched as it smacked him right between the eyes. "You know I only have eyes for you."

Dick's eyes bulged, and all that came out of his mouth was a tiny squeak. His face burned crimson and, with a final, terrified glance at the exit, he fled. Very wisely, in Harry's estimation. He'd have run too, if she'd turned that evil smile on him. She hadn't turned it on him, though, so he laughed as she pumped her arms and cheered.

"Hell yeah. Take that, Grayson, you snickering punk!" she whooped. Luke gave her a high-five and, after a moment, Harry gave her one as well. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be so bad.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

October 24, 14:02

New York City

Harry stepped through the golden portal and wrinkled his nose at the sudden influx of sound. He'd never been to New York before, and his first impression was that it wasn't wholly unlike being punched in the ears. Gotham was loud, of course, but it was a muffled sort of loud. People there didn't want to stick out, lest someone hammer them back down. New Yorkers apparently had no such compunctions. The noise didn't keep him from scanning the area automatically. Bruce had been drumming situational awareness into his head. There was no one around, and the faint shimmer of privacy warding gave him a good clue why. Sirius stepped through after him and grunted.

"Ah, New York. It's been too long." He guided Harry out of the alley with a hand on his shoulder. "Just think of it like Gotham, but saner."

Harry snorted. "Everywhere's saner than Gotham. I'm pretty sure there are hell dimensions saner than Gotham."

"Fair point," Sirius hummed. "Now, come on. It's not a long walk."

He was right. The sidewalks weren't too crowded and Sirius had opened the portal just a few blocks from their destination. In a few minutes, they were ringing the bell of a mid-sized apartment. The door opened to show a young girl, maybe 12 or 13, with long black hair and light violet eyes. Those eyes scanned over him like he wasn't even there, but lit up with delight when she saw Sirius.

"Sirius!" She cheered. "Dad, it's Sirius."

She rushed to give Sirius a hug, which he returned with a chuckle. "It's good to see you, Zatanna. It's been too long. How've you been?"

Her smile shrank a bit, but it didn't vanish. "Pretty good, considering. Come on in."

She led them into the apartment. At first glance, it looked like a typical, cozy apartment. There were shoes by the door, a bowl of keys, all the typical things Harry expected to see. On second glance, there were some oddities. Such as how the main hallway was about twice as long as it should have been, or how there were too many doors for an apartment that size. To his magical senses, the whole place hummed with overlapping spells.

The source of the spells stepped around the corner. Giovanni Zatara cut a very different figure when he wasn't in his League get-up. In the ordinary jeans and knit sweater he wore now, he looked nothing like the renowned superhero Harry knew him to be.

"Ah, Sirius, my friend. It is good to see you. And you, Harry." He shot a glance at his daughter. "Zatanna, did you introduce yourself to Harry?"

Zatanna rolled her eyes. "I'm pretty sure he caught my name, what with you saying it and all."

Zatara sighed and gave her a stern look. "Zatanna…"

"Fine." She stuck out a hand. "I'm Zatanna Zatara."

Harry had received warmer welcomes from Death Eaters, but he took the hand anyway. "Harry Potter. It's nice to meet you."

"Yeah, a pleasure," she said with slightly less sincerity than Peeves swearing he'd never heard of a dungbomb. Zatara sighed again and scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Sirius and I must speak in private for a few minutes," he said. "Why don't you two wait in the living room and… get to know each other better?"

Zatanna grunted and jerked her head down the hall. "Sure. This way."

He glanced at Sirius, who nodded once. With a sigh, he followed the surly girl. 'Well, this ought to be fun.'

Zatanna had already claimed a spot on the couch by the time he caught her up, and after taking one look at her stony face, he chose a seat as far from her as he could get without fleeing the room altogether.

"Do you have a problem with me?" He asked after a tense minute of silence. "Because I'm pretty sure we've never met before, so I don't know what I could've done to piss you off."

"Why would I have a problem with you?" She growled. "Like you said, we don't know each other."

"… right," he said. "So, you know Sirius, then?"

She eyed him suspiciously, as if looking for a trap in his question. He eyed her right back. If she wanted to be bitchy, that was her prerogative, but he wasn't about to just sit in total silence until Sirius and Zatara finished their conversation. Eventually, she huffed and gave in.

"Yeah, I know him. He's been a friend of my dad's for as long as I could remember. After- well, he sort of became honorary family a while back." She shot another glare his way. "He used to come by all the time. Until he started training you."

There was… a lot there. Harry opened his mouth to ask why she had a problem with Sirius training him and thought better of it. That was probably a topic best left alone. He floundered for some other, safer topic. Hopefully, one that wouldn't end with his newest teacher's daughter trying to dig his eyes out with a spoon.

"So, your dad? Does he teach you magic?" That was probably as safe as could be. If there was one thing they had in common, it was magic.

"Yeah, sure, he teaches me," she scoffed. Her fists bunched up in her skirt. "Not that I get to actually do anything with it."

Ok. Maybe that wasn't as good a topic as he'd thought.

"I mean, you must be pretty good, though," he said in a feeble stab at diplomacy. "You've been training for years, and your dad's magic is different from Sirius'. Care to show me something?"

She snorted and smirked. It was not a kind expression. In the split second before she acted, he got the impression he'd just made a mistake.

"Etativel riahc."

He felt a surge of magic from her, and then the armchair he'd been sitting in rose from the ground. Without the floor to keep it stable, it was suddenly top heavy, and it flipped over, spilling him onto the carpet with a grunt. He looked up and glared at her.

"Hey! What was that for?"

She shrugged. "You asked. Think you can do better?"

'Okay, that tears it,' he thought. He didn't know what her problem was, and he didn't much care. If she wanted to make this a competition, he wasn't about to back down. He slipped his wand out of his jacket and pointed it at the coffee table between them.

"Felinifors."

The table shivered, shimmered, and turned into a large jaguar. The beast blinked and swished its tail irritably. Mentally, he compelled it to come to him. It padded over and he scratched behind its ears. It chuffed and nuzzled against his chest.

"Uhh, Harry?" Zatanna asked. Her eyes had gone wide, and she didn't look nearly as confident as she had a second ago. Something about a large apex predator suddenly sharing the room could give pause even to the most righteous. It probably didn't help that his spell had taken significantly more power than hers had. If she'd thought he was weak, he'd certainly corrected her.

"Relax. He's friendly, aren't you, boy?" The jaguar chuffed again, and he smiled at it. With a flick of his wand, he conjured another chair to replace the one still floating by the ceiling. "Want to pet him?"

He sent the jaguar over to her, but she crossed her arms and scowled at it, and at him.

"Egnahc kcab ot elbat."

Her counterspell pushed against his original magic. He could have resisted it; pumped more power into the transfiguration and shattered her spell. It wouldn't even have been hard. Zatanna's magic was powerful, but he thought he was stronger. He didn't want to start an actual fight, though, so he let the big cat become a table once more. It changed back in a burst of smoke and sparks, and he heard Zatanna sigh. He hoped he hadn't actually scared her. Dumping him on his face had been uncalled for, but now that he thought about it, conjuring a deadly animal in her living room hadn't been much better.

"No, I don't want to pet it," she hissed, and she didn't sound scared. She sounded angry. Furious, even. "Don't think showing off is going to impress me."

"Showing off? That's not what-"

She cut him off with a slash of her hand. "Can't you just mind your own business? I didn't ask for you to be here, so leave me alone!"

"Zatanna!" Zatara's voice cracked through the air like thunder. She and Harry both flinched. The chair she'd been levitating came crashing down and just barely missed hitting him.

"What is going on here? Harry is our guest, and you speak in this way? Where are your manners, young lady?"

Zatanna looked back and forth between them and her fists clenched so tight Harry could hear the knuckles pop. "You- he- aaargh!"

She stormed off down the hall. A second later, a door slammed shut. Zatara sighed and shook his head. When he looked at Harry, his eyes were tired.

"Please forgive my daughter. It has been a difficult time for our family. Still, that is no excuse for her behavior."

"It was my fault, sir. I-"

Zatara held up a hand, silencing him. "That is kind of you, but no. I heard most of your conversation. She was in the wrong." He gave the coffee table a significant glance. "Although I generally prefer my furniture not be animated."

He sat down and gestured for Harry to do likewise. "I fear Zatanna is… jealous. She has ambitions to follow in my footsteps and become a hero. I tell her she is too young, but then she hears of you. Here only a few months and already training under Sirius and fighting Felix Faust. She did not take the news well. Then there is the matter of Sirius himself."

"Sirius?"

Zatara nodded. "She may not have told you, but your godfather is also her godfather. He has been a good friend to us for many years. However, a year ago next month, my wife, Zatanna's mother, passed away, and he became more. He stepped in while I grieved, and Zatanna grew very attached to him."

Several bits of his conversation with Zatanna suddenly became clear. "Then I arrived, and he had to spend time with me. I'm sorry."

The hollow, familiar feeling of guilt filled him. No wonder Zatanna had been upset. He'd stolen away one of her support pillars and simultaneously upstaged her dream.

Zatara shook his head. "You have no need to apologize. He is not only your godfather, he is your guardian. After what you went through, it is appropriate that you be his focus. I merely wish you to know why Zatanna is acting the way she is. She is not truly angry at you. It is merely a difficult time in her life."

He gave Harry a weary smile and clapped his hands. "But this is not why you have come. Sirius asked me to give you some lessons in my style of magic. Tell me, what do you know of it?"

Harry frowned and tried to think. "Not much. I know you say your spells backwards, and I've seen some of your fights on TV. Your magic's very flexible."

"Ah, you hit the nail on the head." Zatara grinned and leaned forward. "That is the greatest advantage of my magic. It is bound only by your imagination and power. The spells you know are easier, but rigid. Pure reality manipulation is infinitely flexible, but far too dangerous for normal use. I offer an in-between of sorts. A way to create spells tailored for whatever you may need. Let us begin." He took a coin out of his pocket. "I want you to picture this coin floating in mid-air."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

November 1, 08:44

Wayne Manor, Gotham

Harry panted as he ran. Sweat coated his limbs and dripped from his brow. He'd given up wiping it away a while ago. Any movement beyond the relentless pounding of his feet on the ground was a waste of energy he didn't have. There were so many stitches forming in his side he ought to have looked like Frankenstein's monster, and his knees were dissolving into his ankles.

"Come on. We're almost at five miles." Dick Grayson, annoying little piece of goblin shite that he was, didn't even have the courtesy to sound winded. He jogged next to Harry, barely even sweating in the crisp morning air. "Keep up the pace."

"Yeah… sure," Harry gasped, and instantly regretted it. Those words had taken precious oxygen his body had already allocated for not dying. His breaths turned ragged and his already flagging pace faltered completely. His pride stung, but his lungs stung more and he slowed to a walk. More of a stumble really, but there were limits to what his dignity could stomach, so he thought of it as a walk. Next to him, Dick slowed as well and frowned.

"What's up with you?" he asked. "I know it hasn't even been a month yet, but you were running better than this on Friday. You sick or something?"

Harry shook his head and tried to force air into his lungs through sheer power of will. It took a minute or two, but he eventually got himself to a point where speaking wasn't likely to make him black out.

"I'm fine. I just didn't get much sleep last night, is all."

A shit-eating grin spread over Dick's face and Harry realized too late what he'd done.

"Oooh. Did you finally ask Helena out? Did you two-"

It was like watching a car crash into him. There was nothing he could do but wait and take it. "I am not talking about this with you."

Dick pouted. Somehow, he could do that with his whole body. When he wanted something, his pleading could put puppies to shame.

"Come on. It's Helena freaking Bertinelli," he whined. "She's probably the hottest girl in your grade. You can't tell me you don't have a crush on her. I know-"

"I'm telling you, it's none of your business," Harry growled. Unfortunately, Dick was quite right about her. Just the thought of asking his beautiful classmate out was enough to turn his face pink, and Dick was far too good a detective to miss that.

"Hah," he said, pointing at his reddened face gleefully. "I knew it."

"We're not having this conversation," Harry said. Dick ignored him. The look in his eyes would have made hardened criminals wary and had many times. He cackled, and Harry had visions of the endless teasing, pestering, and who knew what other unholy mischief that lay in his future.

"Hah. Oh, wait until I-"

Harry grimaced. There was only one way to derail him when he got like this. It was harsh, but he was willing to use nuclear options if it spared him a month of mockery and prying questions.

"Drop it, or I'll set Barabara on you," he warned. Dick's mouth snapped shut with a painful sounding click! His face paled and his eyes grew to the size of tennis balls.

"Y-you wouldn't."

"I'll call her right now and tell her the most interesting tale of how her minion is being a pest and a lecher. I'm sure she'll have all sorts of opinions on the matter."

Dick gulped. "You're bluffing."

"Am I?" He was, and flagrantly at that. If he actually called Barbara now, there were even odds she'd either join Dick in teasing him, murder him for disturbing her weekend, or mock him relentlessly for resorting to her help to fend off a thirteen-year-old. Never mind that she was barely three months older than Dick, or that the two of them were both inhumanly devious geniuses. There was no scenario where calling her in helped him. But Dick didn't know that. He, very wisely in Harry's opinion, lived his life by an ironclad tenet. Don't piss off Barbara Gordon.

Dick's resolve lasted an impressive three seconds before he crumpled like a wet paper bag. "Fine. You suck and you're no fun, but fine. Be that way."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Come off it. Besides, that's not even why I was up all night. Sirius took me to a… diplomatic dinner, I guess you could call it."

Dick perked up immediately. The prankster in Harry recognized the look. He'd smelled a new avenue to explore. "A diplomatic dinner? With who, the Council of Elrond?"

"Hah, close," he said. "Representatives from the Seelie and Unseelie Courts."

Dick's eyes are a valiant attempt to escape their sockets. "As in…"

"The Winter and Summer Courts of Faerie? Yes." He bent over to stretch out a muscle in his leg before it cramped. "Apparently, Sirius hosts a dinner with them every Halloween. He likes to keep up relations with the Courts. Since I'm his student and his closest living family, they insisted I attend. Sirius wasn't happy about it, but it's not the sort of thing you argue about with the Fae. They're really prickly about etiquette. As in, slice off your ears and use them for Christmas ornaments prickly."

Dick just stared at him, mouth agape.

"Would you believe it was actually one of the least crazy Halloweens I've had in the last few years?" Harry asked. "No one even tried to kill me. At least, not very hard."

The Summer envoy had made a half-hearted attempt to seduce him, and the Winter envoy had twice tried to trick him into making a bargain, but with Sirius present, neither had dared put more than a cursory effort into their ploys. Lack of obvious murder attempts aside, it had still been an unnerving experience. Sirius had warned him about the convoluted politics and deadly allure of the Sidhe, but no amount of lectures could have prepared him for the reality. They couldn't lie, but the Fae had made an art out of bending the truth into knots like macrame. He hadn't understood even a tenth of what they had spoken of, but what little he had caught had left him decidedly uneasy. More than once, Sirius had aimed thinly veiled threats at the Sidhe diplomats, and Harry suspected violence had not been outside the realm of possibility. From what Sirius had said afterwards, it was only the laws of hospitality and the significance of the date that had kept things civilized. As it was, Harry wasn't in any hurry to meet more of the Fae.

"Your life is absurd with extra 'ab'," Dick said. He grinned suddenly. "Six-pack 'ab'."

Harry groaned. "Please don't. I'm exhausted enough as it is without you playing Frankenstein with the language of Shakespeare."

Dick's grin was so evil it may as well have had its own cell in Arkham. "Well then, we'd better get back to the manor so you can get in-hausted."

"I beg of you, stop."

"Not a chance."

Harry sighed, but Dick refused to relent with his torturous wordplay until they were on their way back to the manor. It took a while, especially since Dick insisted on performing acrobatics on every tree and boulder they passed. Wayne Manor's grounds were extensive and heavily wooded, which made for a lot of trees and boulders. Harry felt sore just watching the younger boy flip from branch to branch. Of course, he generally felt sore all the time nowadays.

Five years of quidditch practice, and a decade before then of dodging Dudley and his thugs, had left him under the impression he was fairly fit. Hardly a physical titan, but in decent condition. Bruce and Dick had disabused him of that notion in humiliatingly short order. The two of them had spent most of the last four weeks just whipping him into what they considered acceptable shape. Their training regime would have made even Oliver Wood's wildest dreams look tame. For all his insistence that Harry wasn't his partner, Bruce still held him to the same standards as Robin. Harry went to bed every day cursing Sirius and his demented insistence this was necessary.

Painful or not, it was working. Where at first he'd barely made it through a three-mile run before collapsing, now, four weeks later, he could manage five miles and still stay upright. Muscle definition was starting to show whenever he caught sight of himself in a mirror. He could confidently say he was in the best shape of his life.

When they finally reached the door to the major, it was to find Alfred waiting for them. His gaze swept over their sweaty, disheveled forms, and he eyed them skeptically. "I certainly hope the both of you intend to bathe before anything else. I will not have this house smelling like a high school locker room."

Harry looked himself over and had to concede the point. Dick wasn't too messy, but he looked like something fresh from a grave, stench and all. Now that he took the time to notice it, he felt as disgusting as he looked. His shirt clung wetly, his hair was even more of a tangle than usual, and the less said about the way he smelled, the better. He drew his wand and waved it once over himself, and then again over Dick.

"Scourgify."

The spell washed over them, scouring off the layer of sweat and grime, as well as what felt like a layer of skin. Dick yelped and jumped a foot in the air.

"Ouch!" He yelled, shivering. "Warn me next time."

"Not a chance," he shot back as they headed inside. "Alfred, do you know where he is?"

"I believe Master Bruce is working in his study," Alfred replied. Harry nodded and followed Dick to the large office room. Unsurprisingly, Bruce wasn't in there. He was very strict about any mention of his nocturnal activities outside the Cave, and 'working in his study' was the preferred code when he was down in the Batcave. Dick set the grandfather clock to 10:48 and stepped back as it opened onto the stairs.

As he'd expected, they found Bruce in front of the computer, working on a case. He didn't recognize the details, but Bruce rarely shared his cases with him unless they were relevant to the day's lesson. The man didn't turn to acknowledge them, but Harry had no doubt he'd known the moment they opened the clock.

"Diplomacy aside, lack of sleep degrades your physical and cognitive readiness," he said. It wasn't quite his Batman voice, but it was a far cry from the soft, amiable tones he put on in public. Harry didn't have a clue how he'd overheard their conversation, but he it didn't surprise him, either. "I expect you to maintain both your body and mind in peak condition."

He glanced sideways at Dick, who rolled his eyes. "Umm, B? Are you really gonna lecture Harry about staying up too late? Because I think that much hypocrisy is generating its own gravitational field."

That got Bruce to turn around, if only to stare flatly at his protégé. Most people would have wilted under that stare. Dick just crossed his arms and stared right back.

"Hmmm. Harry, I left the text I want you to study on your table. Read it. I'll work through it with you when I'm done here. Dick, with me. There's a new lead in the Sionis case. A sample of their latest batch of steel contained markers associated with…"

Harry tuned them out and sat down at his designated study station. Bruce had given him the space, just a desk, a laptop, some filing cabinets, and a workstation, the day after he'd agreed to teach him. Every inch of the desk was covered in notebooks, manuals, files, and other papers. At the moment, Bruce had him studying tracking. Not just following someone's physical trail, though that certainly was part of it, but predicting their movements, tracing their digital footprint, and extrapolating patterns of behavior from prior knowledge. Sure enough, when he opened the binder Bruce had left him, it contained an academic sociology paper on the latest theories in habit formation and how it related to group movements. He could already feel his eyes glazing over, but he sat down with a sigh and got to work. Bruce had made him promise to give his all to every aspect of his training, and he wasn't about to let a little boredom make him a liar. Besides, he'd somehow passed History of Magic five years running. Some dry literature wouldn't kill him. Probably.

Eventually, Bruce decided he and Dick had made what progress they could for the day and moved to start the more practical side of the lesson. Dick joined in, and together they tested themselves against old cases. Bruce would give them a file with details on a target who'd gone on the run in the past 50 years. They'd read it and use what it said to guess where the target had chosen to hide. Slowly, especially in Harry's case, they'd narrow it down, picking up new "clues" as they went, until they hit upon the location the target had been found. It was tedious work, but at least he wasn't running anymore.

By the time he'd finished five targets, afternoon had overtaken the morning and ravenous hunger had overtaken his stomach. Between him and Dick, a few minutes of coordinated pleading was enough for Bruce to dismiss them to get lunch. Alfred, in his infinite wisdom, already had a platter of sandwiches ready for them when they reached the kitchen.

"Have I mentioned how amazing you are today?" Harry asked the butler as he tore into a turkey sandwich with gusto.

"You are very kind. However, if you wish to demonstrate your gratitude, might I suggest you start with proper table manners? That goes for you as well, Master Richard."

Dick looked up from where he was attempting to fit what looked like an entire apple into his mouth at once and winced.

"Sorry, Al. I'm just really-"

A beep from his phone cut him off. When he checked it, he laughed around a bite of fruit and shook his head.

"Mister Wallace, I presume?" Alfred asked, even as he walked towards the door.

"Yeah. One day he'll learn he can't surprise me just by not calling ahead."

Harry looked between the two. "I'm lost. Anyone want to share?"

Dick looked at him as if just remembering he was there. "Oh, I forgot you wouldn't know. It's Wally, my best friend. Sometimes he likes to show up unannounced and try to surprise me. He doesn't know I programmed the security system to text me whenever it recognizes his face." He stuffed the last of his sandwich into his mouth and stood up. "C'mon. 'L intwodu' 'oo."

They reached the door just in time for Alfred to pull it open, revealing a redheaded teenage boy standing frozen with his hand hovering above the doorbell.

"Aw, man," he moaned. "How do you always know it's me?"

"My methods have confounded the greatest of minds, Master Wallace," Alfred said. "Do not fret that they have also stumped you."

Harry snorted when he caught the thinly veiled roast Alfred had snuck into his comment, particularly when it apparently went right over this Wally's head. By the silent shake of his shoulders, Dick had caught it too. Wally was too busy peering around the butler to notice he'd just been insulted, though. When he caught sight of Dick, his face lit up, and he ducked into the entry hall.

"Dude!" He yelled, grabbing Dick's forearm and pulling him into a brief hug. "I haven't seen you in forever. How've you been?"

Dick sighed dramatically. "It's been so boring. No one's even tried to kidnap me in months. I'm starting to feel unloved."

Harry cocked an eyebrow at the younger boy. "And you say my life is weird?"

Dick just covertly flipped him off, but Wally jumped almost a foot in the air and came down wide-eyed and pointing. "Um, Dick, I think you've got an intruder."

"He's not an intruder, you dolt. He's a friend."

Wally frowned and then gasped. "Wait? Are you replacing me? I knew it! I was gone too long and now you're interviewing replacement best friends." He put a hand over his heart and mimed being stabbed. "How could you? After all we've been through together?"

Dick rolled his eyes and reached up to smack Wally in the back of the head. "Would you stop being so dramatic? I'm not replacing you. This is just- well-"

"I'm Harry. Harry Potter." Harry stuck his hand out and Wally took it in a handshake, eyes slowly going wide.

"Ohhh. So he's the one you told me about. It's nice to meet you. I'm Wally West. Hey, do you guys have food? I'm starving."

Harry blinked at the lightning fast change of topic, but Alfred took it in stride. The man would probably take an incoming meteor in stride and have it tidied up by suppertime to boot.

"There should still be something left from lunch. I believe you know your way to the kitchen, Master Wallace."

"Sweet! Thanks, Al!" Wally took off down the hall, making his way unerringly to the kitchen. Dick chased after him, laughing and calling for him to wait up.

"I suggest you make haste if you still wish to eat," Alfred said. "Master Wallace has a prodigious appetite, to say the least."

Harry gave him a skeptical look, but the man seemed serious, so he set a brisk pace for the kitchen. Surely Alfred had been exaggerating, though. Even working together, there was no way Wally and Dick could finish the entire platter of sandwiches in just a minute.

Alfred had not been exaggerating. By the time he reached the kitchen, every sandwich had vanished. As had all the fruit from the bowl, and the small jar of cookies Alfred pretended not to know they knew about. Harry stared, speechless, as he watched Wally inhale the last of the macaroons. For a moment, he wasn't in the Wayne Manor kitchen anymore. He was back at Hogwarts, watching another redhead shovel food into the void he called a stomach. He could hear Hermione berating Ron for his appalling manners. He could see his best friend roll his eyes even as he dutifully wiped his face with a napkin and took his elbows off the table. Then he blinked, and he was once again looking at Wally and Dick. His stomach gave a lurch, but he took a deep breath and let it pass. Every day it was getting easier and easier to do that. He thought one day, far in the future, it might not even feel like having a dagger shoved into his heart.

Behind him, he felt Alfred put a hand on his back. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. That hand was an anchor, and Harry reeled himself back to the present.

"Good, you're here," Wally said. "Alfred, is there any more food? Please?"

Seamlessly, Alfred withdrew his hand and moved to the fridge. "I believe there is some lasagna I could reheat, if that is acceptable."

"You're a godsend, Al."

Harry finally broke out of his stupor and pointed at the empty sandwich tray. "How- where- what did you do to the food?"

Wally eyed him as if he was being slow. "Uhh, I ate it. Duh. What else would I do with food? Especially Alfred's food. That stuff is fu- I mean freaking amazing. Like, even better than my mom's cooking, and that's saying something."

Harry waded through the flood of words to latch on to the bit he cared about. "You ate it? I was gone for maybe a minute and you ate twelve sandwiches and a whole fruit bowl?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, we speedsters have crazy metabolisms. One time, Uncle Barry ate six entire roast chickens in one sitting and was still hungry. I think my record is about 12,000 calories in a day, but that was after duking it out with Mirror Master for an entire night."

"Wait… speedsters? Mirror Master?" Harry eyed Wally in astonishment. It was impossible. Except the age was right. So was the hair, the height, the build, even the eyes. Then there was the appetite, the rapid fire speech, and Dick saying he was his best friend. That was too many pieces for coincidence. "Are you… Kid Flash?"

Wally looked as confused as Harry felt. "Well, yeah. Wait, you didn't know that already? Dick, I thought you said he knew?"

Dick facepalmed. "I said he knew my identity, not yours. Way to go, Kid Mouth. You just gave away your secret identity to a total stranger."

"Oh shi- I mean shoot," Wally said with a nervous glance at Alfred. The butler had Views on swearing. "Umm, you're not, like, an evil alien infiltrator or some secret undercover Russian spy, are you?"

"нет," Harry said in a deadpan. "But would I tell you if I was?"

Wally eyed him for a moment and then shrugged. "Ehh, Rob trusts you. That's good enough for me. So, what's the story? How'd you end up knocking on the B-man's door? You're not angling to be another Robin, are you? Because I'm pretty sure that job's taken."

Harry blinked. 'At least now I know why he switches topics so fast. If he's like this, how bad must the Flash be?'

Like so many other things in his life lately, just the thought threatened to bring on a headache. The dull thump and subsequent yelp of someone getting slapped upside the head brought him back to the present, though. Wally was rubbing the back of his head and pouting while Dick just smirked.

"Dude! What was that for?"

Dick's smirk deepened. "What've I told you about names? Don't go spouting off when we're in civies. If B finds out, he'll make hockey pucks out of your kneecaps."

Wally rolled his eyes. "Are you really telling me this whole place isn't shielded from every sort of surveillance there is, and a few no one's even invented yet? Because if that's what you're selling, I'm not buying."

Harry nodded. "He has a point, Dick. Between the tech and the wards, I don't think you have anything to worry about."

Wally gestured to him and nodded. "See. Even the new guy thinks- wait, did you say 'wards'? As in magic?"

"Yeah?" Harry frowned. "I'm a wizard. So's my godfather. Why?"

Wally stared at him for a moment before slumping forward with a sigh. His head thumped against the table. "Aw, man. I thought you were cool."

Bewildered, Harry looked at Dick, who just shrugged. "Wally doesn't believe in magic. It's a whole thing."

"Hey, magic's a crock of- well, you know. It's bunk. Just a bunch of tricks and psychology. None of that mystic mumbo jumbo is real."

Harry cocked his head. "You do know your boss fights alongside Zatara? A famous magic user. Do you think he's a fraud?"

Wally held out a hand, counting off his points. "One, Flash isn't my boss. He's my mentor. Two, I'm not saying Zatara isn't a hero. But whatever he does isn't 'magic'. Trust me, I've fought guys like Abra Kadabra and Weather Wizard for years. They're just flashy showmen with some advanced technology and flair for drama. I don't know how Zatara does what he does, but it's 100% explainable with science."

Harry raised an eyebrow at how vehement the rant was. He didn't exactly blame the speedster for his skepticism. He'd been pretty skeptical too, when Hagrid had first told him he was a wizard. It had taken quite the demonstration before he'd believed the half-giant, and he suspected Wally was at least as stubborn as he'd been. As fate would have it, though, he spotted an opportunity to show off almost instantly. As Alfred brought a plate of steaming lasagna over, he focused his will and reached for the magic within him.

"Doof lliw eelf morf uoy," he said. Mindful of Zatara's lessons, he kept his intentions fixed clearly on a specific outcome. His magic ran up against reality and, under the force of his will, it was reality that bent. The spell snapped into place around Wally with a metaphorical click and a shimmer of green light.

"Nice try," the redhead snorted as he moved to spear a fork full of lasagna. "You're gonna need more than some weird mumbling and a light show to- hey!"

As his fork moved towards his food, the plate shuddered and scooted back. Each time he tried to get at the lasagna, it moved away, no matter how fast he was.

"What the-"

"Having difficulties?" Harry asked with perfect innocence. Dick looked like he was about to die from laughing. Alfred affected not to notice.

"I- what did you do?" Wally cried. Even with his super-speed, his fork never got within an inch of the delicious-looking pasta before it skittered away.

"Obviously something scientific," Harry said. "After all, you just assured us that there's no such thing as magic."

Wally growled at him, but his main focus was clearly on his food, which was now making a break for the door. He sped around to intercept it, but the plate neatly reversed direction and zoomed back to the table. It slid to a stop right in front of Harry, who conjured himself a fork and dug in.

"Mmm. Delicious. Thanks, Alfred."

"My pleasure, sir."

Wally sunk to his knees, mourning the loss of his lunch. Dick finally lost it and laughed so hard he fell out of his chair.

"Mischief managed," Harry muttered to himself with a grin. Sirius was going to have a fit when he heard he'd missed this.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

I went back and forth a lot on what to include in this chapter and what to leave out. I had ideas for multiple lessons from both Batman and Zatanna, Harry having more in depth meetings with various Leaguers, a few adventures with Sirius, etc. Ultimately, though, that's not what this story is about, because that's not what Young Justice was about. It's about the Team. The League is in the background. As such, I want to get to the formation of the Team as quickly as possible. Harry and the others will have arcs with the League and its members, but I want that to happen in the context of the Team already existing and supporting each other. Too many stories tagged as Young Justice are really just generic DC taking advantage of the popular YJ label.

Perhaps the decision I agonized over more than any other, and certainly the one I am still least sure of, is my decision to have Zatanna be antagonistic towards Harry at first. I don't plan on that lasting forever, or even for very long, but I didn't want Harry to get along with everyone he meets right off the bat. That's not how teenagers work, and Harry can be a little abrasive or brash. Please let me know what you think.