The study that served as Bruce Wayne's private office bore no resemblance to the sterile corporate spaces most billionaires used for conducting business. Dark wood paneling absorbed sound and light with equal efficiency, creating an atmosphere more suited to conspiracy than commerce. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling—not the leather-bound props favored by interior designers, but well-worn volumes showing evidence of actual use. Legal texts sat beside treatises on criminal psychology, which neighbored guides to forensic accounting and what appeared to be an entire section devoted to the theoretical applications of applied intimidation.
Bruce sat behind a desk that had probably witnessed more confessions than most police interrogation rooms, his massive frame filling the leather chair like a mountain wearing a designer suit. His fingers drummed against the polished mahogany surface with the precise rhythm of someone calculating risks and variables—each tap deliberate, controlled, the sound of a predator's patience wearing thin. The secure phone—one of seven different communication devices arrayed across his workspace like instruments in a surgeon's kit—sat within easy reach, its red encryption indicator glowing steadily in the dim light.
It was approaching three in the morning, which meant Giovanni Zatara would likely be awake. Stage magicians, Bruce had learned during his years of training in escapology and misdirection, kept hours that made vampire bats seem practically diurnal. More importantly, Giovanni was one of the few people who would take a call from Bruce Wayne at this hour without assuming someone was either dead or about to be.
He lifted the handset with the kind of deliberate movement that suggested every action was being calculated three moves in advance, and dialed a number that existed in no directory and had been changed four times in the past year for reasons that had everything to do with maintaining operational security and nothing to do with avoiding telemarketers.
The phone rang twice before a cultured voice with the rich warmth of Spanish aristocracy and just enough European sophistication to make mundane conversation sound like poetry answered. "Giovanni Zatara speaking, and at this ungodly hour, this is either Bruce Wayne with a crisis that requires immediate magical consultation, or someone has acquired my private number through means that will require me to have several very pointed conversations with security professionals who clearly need to reassess their career choices."
Bruce's mouth quirked into what might charitably be called a smile, though it held all the warmth of a winter morning in Gotham. "Good morning, Giovanni. Sorry to wake you, but I need to discuss something with you. Something involving a child with what appears to be significant untrained magical ability, and before you ask, no, this isn't about Dick's occasional levitation incidents when he gets excited about gymnastics."
The pause that followed was heavy with the weight of implications and years of friendship built on mutual respect and shared secrets that would make most people question their life choices. When Giovanni spoke again, his accent carried the careful attention of someone who'd received similar calls before and knew they rarely ended with everyone going back to bed happy and well-rested.
"Ah, mi amigo, you know how to make an old magician's heart race with anticipation and dread in equal measure. How significant are we talking, Bruce? Floating toys and occasional spontaneous levitation of household pets, or are we dealing with something that might require intervention from people who wear pointy hats professionally?"
Bruce glanced toward the kitchen, where Alfred was presumably still conducting damage assessment on the evening's electrical casualties with the sort of methodical precision that had once made him invaluable to Her Majesty's more secretive government departments. "He destroyed every electronic device in a commercial-grade kitchen without conscious intent or apparent effort. Lights, appliances, digital displays—everything with a circuit board or electrical component. The surge was powerful enough to overload multiple independent systems simultaneously and turn my state-of-the-art culinary setup into very expensive paperweights."
Giovanni's sharp intake of breath was audible even through the encrypted connection, followed by what sounded suspiciously like rapid Spanish cursing that would have made his stage persona's public relations team weep openly. "Dios mío. And you're certain this was accidental magic? Not some sort of technological device wielded by a very small terrorist, or perhaps a metahuman ability that manifests through electronic sabotage?"
"The emotional triggers match everything you taught me about accidental magic patterns during those delightful weeks in Prague when you were convinced I needed to understand 'the mystical arts' to properly escape from magical restraints." Bruce's voice carried the dry humor of someone recalling training that had involved considerably more theoretical education than he'd initially bargained for. "The child was frightened, asked to demonstrate his abilities, and lost control when he accessed traumatic memories. The targeting was selective—he avoided causing physical harm to anyone present, but had no conscious control over the scope or intensity of the electrical interference."
"Selective targeting in a child that young suggests remarkable instinctive control, even in an uncontrolled state," Giovanni mused, and Bruce could practically hear the man's analytical mind shifting into the mode that had made him one of the most respected figures in the magical community's ongoing efforts to protect and train gifted children. "How old is this pequeño mago?"
"Six. Nearly seven, according to him, though he insisted on the precision with the sort of dignity usually reserved for defending doctoral dissertations."
Another pause, longer this time, filled with the sound of Giovanni moving around what Bruce knew was an apartment filled with enough mystical artifacts to stock a small museum and probably curse half of Manhattan if handled improperly. "That's quite young for displays of that magnitude, Bruce. Most magical children don't develop the raw power necessary for large-scale environmental manipulation until they're approaching adolescence. What's the child's background? Are there magical relatives who might have provided some training or guidance, or perhaps a family history that would explain this level of natural ability?"
Bruce's expression darkened as he considered Harry's sparse file—what little information Selina had been able to gather during their brief conversation—and the carefully neutral way the boy had described his living situation with the sort of diplomatic evasion that suggested extensive practice dealing with uncomfortable questions from adults.
"Orphaned at fifteen months. Parents died in what was reported as a car crash, though I'm beginning to suspect that's about as accurate as most official reports involving unusual circumstances. He's been living with maternal relatives who clearly had no understanding of his abilities and apparently viewed them as evidence of mental disturbance or character defects requiring correction rather than guidance."
"Muggles," Giovanni said with the sort of quiet disgust usually reserved for discussing people who kicked puppies, committed tax fraud, or produced reality television shows. "Non-magical relatives who didn't know how to help him and probably made everything worse by treating natural magical expression as behavioral problems. That explains the lack of control—and probably the intensity of the manifestations. Untrained magical children living in suppressive environments often experience what we call 'pressure cooker syndrome.' The magic builds up until it has to escape somehow, and when it does..."
"Expensive electronics become casualties of war," Bruce finished grimly. "Is that dangerous? For him and for people around him?"
"It can be extremely dangerous, yes. Both for the child and everyone in his immediate vicinity." Giovanni's voice grew more serious, taking on the professional tone he used when discussing matters that could result in injury or death if handled improperly. "Magic that's suppressed or ignored doesn't disappear, Bruce—it finds ways to express itself, and those ways aren't always safe or predictable. I've seen cases where untrained children have accidentally caused serious injuries or significant property damage during particularly intense emotional episodes. Fires, structural collapse, electrical systems overloading to the point of creating actual hazards rather than just inconvenience."
Bruce felt something cold and sharp settle in his chest as he considered the implications. Harry had been living on the streets for over a month, dealing with trauma and abandonment and the constant stress of survival in one of the most dangerous cities in America. If his magical abilities were indeed following the pattern Giovanni described, and if his emotional state had been deteriorating...
"The child's been homeless for weeks," Bruce said quietly, his voice carrying the controlled intensity of someone sharing information that changed the entire tactical situation. "Living rough in Gotham, dealing with abandonment trauma and whatever emotional damage comes from being thrown away by the only family he had left."
"Madre de Dios," Giovanni breathed, and Bruce could hear the sound of a chair scraping against floor as the magician presumably stood up with the sort of sudden urgency that suggested this conversation had just shifted from consultation to crisis management. "Bruce, a child in that emotional state, with that level of untrained power, in a city like Gotham... it's a miracle he hasn't accidentally killed someone, including himself."
"He's remarkably well-controlled for someone his age," Bruce said, though he was already running through worst-case scenarios in his mind with the systematic thoroughness that had kept him alive through years of pursuing Gotham's more colorful criminal element. "Intelligent, articulate, shows considerable emotional maturity despite his circumstances. But you're right—the potential for disaster is significant if he continues without proper guidance."
"What's the child's name?" Giovanni asked, his voice taking on the professional tone he used when gathering information for formal magical assessments. "I may be able to consult some resources, perhaps identify his magical heritage or locate family members who might be better equipped to provide appropriate care."
"Harry Potter."
The silence that followed was so profound and complete that Bruce actually checked the phone to make sure the connection hadn't been lost. When Giovanni finally spoke, his voice carried a strange quality—something between awe and disbelief and what might have been carefully controlled excitement mixed with the sort of dread usually reserved for receiving news that would fundamentally alter one's understanding of reality.
"Did you just say Harry Potter?"
Bruce's predatory instincts engaged with the precision of a finely tuned instrument, his entire body shifting into the alert posture of someone who'd just detected a significant threat or opportunity. "Yes. Harry Potter. Age six, nearly seven. Black hair, green eyes, British accent, and an unfortunate tendency to make expensive electronics explode when he gets emotional. Is there something significant about that name that I should know about?"
"Bruce," Giovanni said slowly, his rich voice carrying the weight of someone delivering news that would fundamentally alter the recipient's understanding of reality, "I need you to check something for me, and I need you to do it immediately. I need you to see if this child has a scar on his forehead. Specifically, a scar shaped like a lightning bolt."
Bruce went very still, his massive frame becoming as motionless as a mountain contemplating an earthquake. His voice, when he spoke, carried the dangerous quiet of a predator that had just identified its prey. "Why?"
"Because if Harry Potter has a lightning bolt scar on his forehead, then you're not just harboring a magically gifted child who needs training and guidance, Bruce." Giovanni's accent became more pronounced as his emotional control began to slip, the careful cultivated persona giving way to genuine urgency. "You're harboring the most famous child in the entire magical world, and possibly the most hunted."
The cold thing in Bruce's chest developed teeth and began gnawing with uncomfortable intensity, the sort of sensation he'd learned to associate with situations that were about to become significantly more complicated than they'd initially appeared. "Explain. Now."
"The Harry Potter I'm thinking of—if it's the same child, and Dios help us all if it is—survived something that should have killed him when he was fifteen months old. Something that did kill his parents, along with dozens of other people who tried to stand against the man who murdered them." Giovanni's voice grew quieter, heavy with the weight of old grief and the sort of professional knowledge that came from studying magical disasters for academic and practical purposes. "He's been missing from the magical world for almost six years, and there are people who've been looking for him that entire time."
Bruce was already moving, rising from his chair with the fluid grace of someone accustomed to midnight emergencies and the sort of conversations that required immediate action. "I'll check. Stay on the line, and Giovanni? Start talking. I want to know everything you know about Harry Potter, and I want to know it before I get back to this phone."
He found Alfred in the kitchen, surveying the electrical carnage with the sort of professional assessment usually reserved for crime scenes or particularly challenging dinner party disasters that required both immediate damage control and long-term strategic planning. The older man looked up as Bruce entered, his expression shifting from mild concern to sharp attention as he noted Bruce's tense posture and the sort of urgent movement that typically preceded either very good news or very bad news, with little middle ground between the two.
"Alfred," Bruce said quietly, his voice carrying the sort of controlled intensity that suggested important information was being requested and that the response would determine the course of action for the foreseeable future, "I need you to go upstairs and check Harry for a scar on his forehead. Don't wake him—just look. Specifically, look for a lightning bolt shape."
Alfred's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline with the sort of dignified surprise that suggested he'd heard many unusual requests over the years but this one managed to achieve a new standard of interesting. However, thirty years of working for the Wayne family had taught him that unusual instructions at unusual hours typically had excellent reasons behind them, even when those reasons weren't immediately apparent to outside observers.
"Of course, Master Bruce," Alfred said with the sort of calm efficiency that had once made him invaluable to government departments that didn't officially exist. "Shall I assume this relates to your current phone conversation with Mr. Zatara, and that the presence or absence of said scar will have significant implications for our household's immediate future?"
"You assume correctly, and Alfred?" Bruce's expression grew more serious, taking on the sort of intensity that typically preceded conversations about security protocols and threat assessment. "If you find what I think you're going to find, we're going to need to have a very comprehensive discussion about upgrading our security measures. Significantly."
Alfred's expression shifted subtly, professional concern replacing mild curiosity. "I see. Shall I also take the liberty of conducting a preliminary assessment of our current defensive capabilities, on the assumption that they may prove insufficient for whatever circumstances we're about to face?"
"Do that," Bruce confirmed grimly. "And Alfred? Fast and quiet. If this is what Giovanni thinks it might be, we may not have much time before this situation becomes significantly more complicated."
Alfred disappeared up the main staircase with the silent efficiency of someone who'd spent decades perfecting the art of moving through large houses without disturbing their sleeping occupants or alerting potential observers to his presence. Bruce returned to his phone, where Giovanni was waiting with the sort of patient tension that suggested he was preparing for news that would either relieve his concerns or confirm his worst fears.
"I'm having it checked now," Bruce said, settling back into his chair but maintaining the alert posture of someone ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. "Now talk to me, Giovanni. What do you know about Harry Potter that's got you speaking in apocalyptic terms?"
"While we're waiting for confirmation," Giovanni said carefully, his voice taking on the measured cadence of someone delivering a lecture on a subject that was both academically fascinating and practically terrifying, "let me explain what I know about Harry Potter—the Harry Potter of magical Britain. On Halloween night, 2001, the most dangerous dark wizard in over a century broke into a house in a small village called Godric's Hollow. From what a source of mine from the British Department of Mysteries claims—and this man has never been wrong about matters of historical significance—he was there to kill a fifteen-month-old child who'd been prophesied to have the power to defeat him."
Bruce's hand tightened imperceptibly on the phone, his knuckles whitening slightly as his mind automatically began drawing parallels to his own childhood trauma. "And?"
"He killed the child's parents first. James and Lily Potter—both of them talented wizards, both of them members of an organization called the Order of the Phoenix that had been fighting against this dark wizard and his followers for years. They died trying to protect their son, knowing that their deaths were inevitable but hoping to buy him even a few more moments of life." Giovanni's voice grew quieter, heavy with the weight of old grief and the sort of professional sympathy that came from studying too many cases where good people died protecting those they loved. "But when the dark wizard—a man called Voldemort, though most people still won't say his name even now—turned his wand on Harry Potter and cast the Killing Curse, an Unforgivable spell that had never once failed to kill its target in recorded magical history, something unprecedented happened."
"The spell failed?"
"More than failed, mi amigo. It rebounded. The dark wizard was destroyed—his body obliterated, his followers scattered, his reign of terror ended in an instant by a fifteen-month-old child who should have died but didn't." Giovanni's voice carried a mixture of awe and professional fascination that suggested he'd studied this case extensively for both academic and practical reasons. "And Harry Potter survived with nothing but a lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead to mark what should have been his death."
Bruce felt his own childhood memories stirring—images of a dark alley slick with rain and blood, the sound of gunshots echoing off brick walls, his parents' bodies crumpling to the ground while he watched in helpless terror from behind a dumpster that smelled like urban decay and broken dreams. The parallel wasn't exact, but it was close enough to make his chest tighten with recognition and the sort of sympathy that came from personal experience with childhood trauma.
"What happened to him after that?" Bruce asked quietly, though he suspected he already knew the answer wouldn't be as positive as the magical community might have hoped.
"That's where the story becomes more complicated, and significantly more infuriating," Giovanni said with obvious frustration and the sort of barely controlled anger that suggested he'd had strong opinions about the situation for some time. "The magical government—which operates with about as much competence and oversight as you'd expect from a bureaucracy that's been isolated from the modern world for several centuries—took custody of Harry Potter and placed him with his only living relatives. His mother's sister and her family, non-magical people who were supposed to provide him with a safe, loving home until he was old enough to attend magical school and learn about his heritage."
"But?" Bruce prompted, because there was always a 'but' in stories like this, and it rarely led to happy endings.
"But no one in the magical community has seen or heard from Harry Potter since that night. He's supposed to be protected by powerful magical wards—blood magic that requires him to live with relatives who share his mother's bloodline—but those same wards make it impossible for magical people to locate or contact him directly. The theory was that he would be safe from any surviving followers of Voldemort, hidden away until his eleventh birthday when he would receive his Hogwarts letter and return to the magical world as a properly educated young wizard."
Bruce's expression grew grim as he considered what he knew about Harry's actual circumstances versus what the magical community apparently believed about his upbringing. The contrast was stark enough to make him question the competence of any government department that would place a child without conducting follow-up visits or welfare checks.
"They assume wrong," Bruce said flatly. "Very, very wrong."
"I'm beginning to suspect that, yes," Giovanni agreed with the sort of weary resignation that suggested he'd seen too many cases where well-meaning bureaucrats had made decisions based on theoretical ideals rather than practical realities. "The magical world has been operating under the assumption that Harry Potter is being raised by loving relatives who understand the importance of his eventual return to magical society. There are children's books written about him, for Christ's sake—'Harry Potter and the Magical Adventure,' 'The Boy Who Lived and His Happy Home.' The entire community believes he's living some sort of fairy tale childhood."
"Reality check time," Bruce said grimly. "The people who were supposed to be caring for him abandoned him in a foreign country and left him to survive on the streets of Gotham for over a month because his accidental magic was too expensive and inconvenient for them to manage."
The silence on the other end of the line was profound and dangerous, the sort of quiet that typically preceded either very pointed questions or very pointed violence, depending on the temperament of the person processing the information.
When Giovanni finally spoke, his voice carried the sort of cold fury that typically preceded very pointed conversations with people who'd made very poor choices regarding the welfare of children under their care.
"Repeat that, por favor. I want to make sure I understood you correctly, because what I think I heard suggests that someone is going to need to have a very educational conversation about the proper treatment of children, particularly children who happen to be the saviors of the magical world."
"After deciding that Harry's accidental magic was too expensive and inconvenient to manage—apparently he'd been causing electrical problems at their hotel during a business trip—they simply left him behind and returned to England." Bruce's own voice grew harder as he spoke, his protective instincts engaging with the full force of years of experience dealing with adults who harmed children for their own convenience. "A six-year-old child, in a foreign country, with no identification, no resources, no understanding of why the people who were supposed to love him had thrown him away like garbage, and no idea that he was probably the most important child in the magical world."
"Hijos de puta," Giovanni snarled, and Bruce could hear the sound of movement through the phone—the scrape of a chair being pushed back violently, rapid footsteps across hardwood floors, the rustle of clothing being gathered hastily by someone preparing to travel at speed. "Bruce, I need to get to Gotham immediately. Tonight. Can you arrange secure transport that won't appear on any official manifests or attract attention from people who might be monitoring international travel?"
"My jet can have you here in four hours, private hangar, no customs inspection, no passenger records," Bruce confirmed without hesitation. "Why the urgency? And don't tell me it's just because you want to provide proper magical education—I can hear tactical thinking in your voice, Giovanni."
"Because Harry Potter isn't just famous for surviving the Killing Curse and defeating Voldemort when he was fifteen months old," Giovanni said, his voice tight with urgency and the sort of professional concern that came from understanding implications that weren't immediately obvious to outside observers. "He's famous for being the child who ended the most destructive magical war in recent history. There are people who've been looking for him for years—some who want to study him like a laboratory specimen, some who want to exploit his fame and power for their own purposes, and some who want to finish what their master started six years ago."
Bruce felt his blood turn to ice water, the sort of visceral reaction that came from recognizing a threat level that exceeded normal parameters by several orders of magnitude. "You're saying he's in active danger."
"I'm saying that Harry Potter has been the most hunted child in the magical world since the night he survived Voldemort's Killing Curse. The only thing that's kept him safe for six years is the assumption that he's protected by blood magic and family wards in a location that can't be traced or penetrated by hostile forces." Giovanni's voice grew grimmer, taking on the sort of professional assessment tone he used when calculating odds and variables in life-or-death situations. "But if he's been abandoned by those relatives, if he's no longer under the protection of those blood wards, if he's been living unprotected in the muggle world..."
"Then he's been a sitting duck for over a month, and no one in the magical community even knew to look for him," Bruce finished, his mind already shifting into the analytical mode he used for threat assessment and tactical planning. "How many people are we potentially dealing with here, Giovanni? What's the scope of the threat?"
"Voldemort had dozens of followers—Death Eaters, they called themselves—and while many were captured or killed after his defeat, many more disappeared or claimed they were under magical compulsion and received pardons from the Ministry." Giovanni's voice carried the disgust of someone who'd studied the political aftermath of the magical war and found it inadequate. "Then there are the international dark wizards who saw Voldemort as either an inspiration or a rival, magical researchers who would love to study the child who survived an Unforgivable Curse, government officials who see him as either a weapon or a symbol to be controlled..."
"You're talking about potentially hundreds of people with both the motivation and the magical ability to track down one small boy," Bruce said grimly.
"Exactly. And Bruce, there's something else you need to understand about Harry Potter, something that makes him even more valuable and dangerous than just being the Boy Who Lived." Giovanni's voice dropped to the sort of confidential tone reserved for sharing information that could get people killed if it fell into the wrong hands. "The night he defeated Voldemort wasn't just a lucky accident or a one-time magical phenomenon. According to every expert who's studied the case—and I've spoken with several of them personally—Harry Potter might carry something inside him. A fragment of the dark magic that was supposed to kill him, a piece of Voldemort's soul that got trapped when the Killing Curse rebounded."
"A piece of Voldemort's soul," Bruce repeated slowly, processing the implications of that statement and finding them uniformly disturbing. "Inside a six-year-old child."
"It would explain his remarkable magical power at such a young age, his instinctive ability to perform advanced magic without training, and several other anomalies that have puzzled magical theorists for years. But it also makes him incredibly valuable to anyone who served Voldemort and anyone who might want to use that dark magic for their own purposes. If they could extract it, study it, perhaps even use it to resurrect their master..."
Bruce was already moving again, his mind racing through security protocols, defensive measures, and the sort of contingency planning that had kept Wayne Manor secure against threats both conventional and exotic. "How long do we have before word gets out that he's been found?"
"I don't know, and that's what terrifies me," Giovanni admitted with the sort of professional honesty that came from years of experience with magical crises. "It depends on whether anyone has been actively searching for Harry using magical tracking methods, whether his use of accidental magic tonight was powerful enough to register on any monitoring systems, whether there are people who've been watching for signs of his magical signature."
The soft sound of footsteps on marble announced Alfred's return. Bruce watched as his oldest friend descended the staircase with measured steps, his expression carrying the sort of controlled concern that suggested the news would be significant and probably unpleasant.
"But Bruce," Giovanni continued, his voice growing more urgent, "if word gets out that Harry Potter has been found—if anyone in the magical community learns that he's been living in the muggle world without protection, that he's been abandoned by his guardians and is currently in the care of people who don't understand the magical threats he faces..."
"Then every dark wizard, Death Eater, magical researcher, government agent, and ambitious opportunist on the planet will be heading for Gotham within hours," Bruce finished grimly. "Along with the magical press, well-meaning rescue organizations, and probably several different magical governments who'll want to claim jurisdiction over the most famous child in their world."
"In essence, yes. Which is why I need to get there as quickly as possible. Harry needs proper magical education and protection, and he needs it before word of his location spreads beyond people who can be trusted to keep him safe."
Alfred had reached the study doorway, pausing with the sort of respectful attention that suggested he was waiting for permission to deliver important information but didn't want to interrupt what was clearly a crucial conversation.
"Well?" Bruce asked as Alfred entered the study, his voice carrying the controlled tension of someone who suspected he was about to receive confirmation of his worst fears.
Alfred's voice was quiet but certain, carrying the sort of professional assessment that came from decades of experience observing details that others might miss. "There is indeed a scar on Master Harry's forehead, Master Bruce. Lightning bolt shaped, as you suspected, though I must say it's quite faint—easily overlooked unless one is specifically looking for it, and clearly something the child has learned to conceal with his hair."
Bruce closed his eyes briefly, processing the confirmation and its implications with the sort of systematic thoroughness that had served him well through years of dealing with crises that seemed impossible until they became inevitable.
When he spoke to Giovanni again, his voice carried the weight of absolute certainty and the sort of grim determination that had made him legendary among Gotham's criminal element.
"It's him. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. And Giovanni, the people who were supposed to be caring for him—these relatives who were entrusted with the most important child in the magical world—abandoned him in a foreign country and left him to survive on the streets of Gotham for over a month because his accidental magic was inconvenient for their vacation plans."
The silence on the other end of the line was profound and dangerous, filled with the sort of potential energy that typically preceded either natural disasters or very pointed conversations with people who'd made very poor life choices.
When Giovanni finally spoke, his voice carried the sort of cold fury that made his stage persona's dramatic flair seem positively restrained by comparison.
"Those cabrones abandoned the Boy Who Lived. They abandoned Harry Potter. The child who saved the magical world, and they threw him away like... like..."
"Like he was defective merchandise that was too expensive to maintain," Bruce supplied grimly. "Yes, that's exactly what they did. And Giovanni, based on what Alfred observed during his reconnaissance, Harry has no idea who he really is. He doesn't know about the magical world, doesn't know about his parents, doesn't know that he's famous or important or that there are people who've been looking for him."
"Dios mío," Giovanni breathed, and Bruce could hear what sounded like a fist hitting a wall, followed by more rapid Spanish that was definitely not suitable for his stage show's family-friendly image. "A child that powerful, with that kind of target on his back, and he doesn't even know enough to be properly cautious. Bruce, this is worse than I thought. Much worse."
"It gets better," Bruce said with the sort of grim humor that came from recognizing that impossible situations had a tendency to become more impossible rather than less. "He's been living rough in Gotham—one of the most dangerous cities in America—dealing with abandonment trauma, survival stress, and whatever psychological damage comes from being convinced by the people who were supposed to love him that he was fundamentally defective and unwanted."
"A child in that emotional state, with that level of untrained power, and no understanding of the threats he faces," Giovanni said slowly, clearly running through the implications with the sort of systematic horror that came from professional expertise in magical disaster scenarios. "Bruce, it's not just his safety I'm worried about anymore. If he loses control—really loses control, the way untrained magical children sometimes do when they're pushed past their breaking point—he could accidentally hurt people. Possibly kill people, including himself."
Alfred, who had been listening to Bruce's side of the conversation with the sort of professional attention that came from decades of experience managing Wayne family crises, cleared his throat delicately.
"If I might interject, Master Bruce," Alfred said with the sort of diplomatic formality that suggested he had opinions about the situation that were both strong and well-informed, "Master Harry demonstrated remarkable control during his display this evening. The targeting was precise, the scope was limited to electronic devices, and despite considerable emotional distress, he managed to avoid causing physical harm to anyone present. For a child his age, under those circumstances, that suggests considerable natural ability and instinctive restraint."
Bruce relayed this information to Giovanni, who made a sound that might have been relief mixed with professional interest.
"That's... actually encouraging," Giovanni said thoughtfully. "Natural protective instincts combined with that level of power suggests he might be easier to train than I initially feared. But Bruce, it also confirms that this is definitely Harry Potter we're dealing with. That kind of instinctive magical control, combined with the electrical manifestation pattern and the age... there's no question."
"So what's our next move?" Bruce asked, though he was already mentally reviewing security protocols and defensive capabilities that might need to be implemented within hours rather than days.
"First, I get to Gotham as quickly as possible. Second, we need to establish magical protections around Wayne Manor that will prevent anyone from tracking Harry's magical signature or using scrying to locate him. Third, we need to begin his magical education immediately—not just for his own development, but because trained magical children are much less likely to have accidental displays of power that might alert hostile forces to his location."
"And fourth?" Bruce prompted, because he could hear additional tactical considerations in Giovanni's voice.
"Fourth, we need to decide what we're going to tell the magical community about finding Harry Potter. Because eventually, people are going to realize he's been located, and when they do..." Giovanni trailed off, but the implications were clear.
"When they do, we'll be dealing with every magical government, dark wizard, opportunistic researcher, and well-meaning rescue organization in the world descending on Gotham simultaneously," Bruce finished. "Along with the press, the curious, and probably several people who'll want to use him for their own political purposes."
"Exactly. Which means we need to be prepared to protect him not just from people who want to hurt him, but from people who think they're helping him but don't understand that a child who's been through what Harry has been through needs stability and security, not fame and public attention."
Bruce looked toward the staircase where a small boy was sleeping peacefully in Dick Grayson's old room, probably having the first truly restful night he'd experienced in months. The irony wasn't lost on him—Harry Potter had found sanctuary in Wayne Manor, not knowing that he was possibly the most hunted child in two different worlds.
"Four hours," Bruce said firmly, his voice carrying the sort of absolute commitment that had made him legendary for both keeping promises and making threats. "I'll have transport waiting at Gotham International. Private hangar, no customs, no passenger manifest, no record of your arrival. And Giovanni?"
"Sí?"
"When you get here, we're going to need to have a very comprehensive conversation about exactly what kind of protection Harry's going to need. Magical wards, security protocols, training regimens—everything. Because I'll be damned if I'm going to let anyone hurt that child, magical or otherwise."
"Understood, mi amigo. And Bruce?" Giovanni's voice softened slightly, losing some of its tactical intensity and taking on the warmer tone of genuine friendship and respect. "Thank you. For taking him in, for keeping him safe, for caring about a child you'd never met before tonight. Harry Potter has been alone in the world for far too long. I'm glad he's finally found someone willing to fight for him the way his parents would have."
"He's family now," Bruce said simply, his voice carrying the sort of absolute conviction that had defined every major decision he'd made since his parents' death. "And the Wayne family protects its own, regardless of the cost or the enemy."
After ending the call, Bruce sat in his study for several minutes, processing everything he'd learned and calculating the implications with the systematic thoroughness that had served him well through years of managing crises that seemed impossible until they became inevitable.
Upstairs, Harry Potter—the Boy Who Lived, the child who'd defeated the darkest wizard of the modern age, the most hunted and most famous child in the magical world—was sleeping peacefully in a bed that was probably the first safe place he'd known since infancy. By morning, that peace would be complicated by the reality of his true identity and the dangers that came with it.
But tonight, Harry was simply a small boy who'd found a family willing to accept him exactly as he was, electrical catastrophes and potentially world-shaking magical significance aside.
And Bruce Wayne, who understood better than most what it meant to lose everything and have to rebuild from ashes, was determined to make sure Harry Potter never felt abandoned or unwanted again.
No matter what it cost, no matter who came looking for him, no matter how dangerous the magical world might prove to be—Harry Potter was family now. And the Wayne family had never been particularly good at backing down from a fight, especially when children were involved.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!