The private hangar at Gotham International Airport operated with the sort of discretion that came from catering to clients who paid substantial premiums for anonymity. No customs officials, no passenger manifests, no security cameras that couldn't be persuaded to develop temporary blind spots when financially motivated. At 4:47 AM, Bruce Wayne's Gulfstream G650 touched down with barely a whisper on the specially maintained runway reserved for arrivals that officially never happened.
Giovanni Zatara descended the aircraft steps with the fluid grace of someone accustomed to making dramatic entrances, though his usual stage magician's flair was tempered by genuine urgency and what appeared to be mild exasperation. He wore dark traveling clothes that managed to look both elegant and practical, his silver-streaked hair perfectly styled despite the early hour and international flight. Behind him, moving with the cautious dignity of someone who was tired but determined not to show it, came a small figure that Bruce hadn't been expecting.
The girl was perhaps six years old, with her father's dark hair and intelligent eyes, wearing a midnight blue dress that seemed to shimmer slightly in the hangar's artificial lighting. She clutched a stuffed rabbit that had clearly seen better days, and her expression held the sort of alert wariness that came from being awakened at an ungodly hour and told they were going on an important trip that couldn't wait for morning.
"Bruce," Giovanni called out as he approached the waiting sedan, his cultured voice carrying relief mixed with the sort of professional tension that suggested the situation had become more complicated during the flight. "My apologies for the additional passenger. My usual childcare arrangements were unavailable at this hour, and I couldn't leave Zatanna alone in New York while dealing with a magical crisis of this magnitude."
The little girl—Zatanna—peered around her father with curiosity rather than fear, studying Bruce with the sort of direct assessment that suggested she'd inherited her father's ability to read people quickly and accurately. When she spoke, her voice carried a slight accent that was part European sophistication and part six-year-old American confidence.
"Papa says there's another magic child who needs help," she said with the matter-of-fact delivery of someone stating obvious facts. "And that your house is very big and probably has good places to practice levitating things without breaking expensive furniture."
Bruce found himself genuinely smiling for the first time in hours, crouching down to bring himself to her eye level with the practiced ease of someone who'd learned that small children responded better to adults who didn't loom over them like towers. "Your papa's right on both counts. Welcome to Gotham, Zatanna. I'm Bruce."
"I know who you are," she said with the sort of casual directness that only children could manage. "You're the man who collects sad children and makes them happy again. Papa told me about you when we were on the plane."
Giovanni's cheeks colored slightly, but his expression was fond rather than embarrassed. "Zatanna has a tendency to distill complex situations into their essential emotional components," he explained as they climbed into the sedan. "It's either a sign of remarkable insight or a complete inability to understand adult social conventions."
"Probably both," Zatanna said cheerfully, settling into the leather seats with the sort of confident ownership that suggested she was accustomed to expensive transportation and unusual circumstances. "Papa also said the magic boy doesn't know he's magic yet, which seems terribly impractical. How is he supposed to do proper magic if no one's taught him the rules?"
"That's exactly what we're going to figure out," Bruce said as the sedan pulled away from the hangar, heading toward Wayne Manor through Gotham's empty pre-dawn streets. "Though I should warn you both—this situation is more complicated than I initially described, and it's getting more complicated by the hour."
During the drive, Bruce filled Giovanni in on everything he'd learned about Harry's background, his month of homelessness, his emotional state, and the evening's demonstration of accidentally destructive magical ability. Giovanni listened with the focused attention of someone processing tactical information while simultaneously keeping one eye on his daughter, who had fallen asleep against his shoulder clutching her well-worn rabbit.
"The power level you're describing is unprecedented for someone his age," Giovanni said quietly, his voice pitched to avoid waking Zatanna. "Even accounting for his famous heritage and the unique circumstances of his survival, that kind of environmental manipulation without training or conscious control suggests either remarkable natural ability or significant emotional trauma amplifying his magical expression."
"Both, most likely," Bruce replied grimly as they turned through the Manor's gates. "He's been convinced for years that his abilities make him fundamentally defective and dangerous. The people who were supposed to love and protect him treated him like a walking liability that was too expensive to maintain."
"Emotional suppression in magical children often leads to more powerful but less controlled outbursts," Giovanni observed with the sort of clinical detachment that came from years of studying magical psychology. "The magic has to go somewhere, and if it can't be expressed naturally through training and guidance, it builds up until it finds its own outlet. Usually dramatically."
Wayne Manor rose before them in the pre-dawn darkness, its windows glowing with warm light that suggested household activity despite the early hour. Bruce had called ahead to warn Alfred that they would be having additional houseguests, though he suspected Alfred had already prepared for that possibility with the sort of comprehensive efficiency that had made him indispensable to the Wayne family for three decades.
"Impressive," Giovanni murmured as they pulled up to the main entrance, studying the Manor's Gothic architecture with professional appreciation. "The bones of the building are pre-industrial, which means they'll hold magical wards better than modern construction. How much of the original stonework is intact?"
"Most of the foundation and main structural elements date to the 1850s," Bruce replied as they climbed the steps toward doors that Alfred had already opened with his characteristic perfect timing. "Though we've made extensive modern modifications for practical reasons."
"The older the better, for our purposes," Giovanni said, shifting Zatanna carefully as she continued sleeping against his shoulder. "Stone that's had time to settle and age develops better magical resonance. We should be able to establish ward anchors that will keep Harry hidden from magical detection for months, assuming we can get them in place before anyone thinks to look for him here."
Alfred appeared in the doorway wearing an impeccably pressed suit that suggested he'd either been awake all night or had risen at his usual early hour and simply maintained his standards regardless of the circumstances. His expression carried the sort of dignified welcome that made international dignitaries feel honored to be visiting Wayne Manor, though there was genuine warmth in his eyes as he noted the sleeping child in Giovanni's arms.
"Mr. Zatara, welcome to Wayne Manor," Alfred said with quiet formality, his voice pitched to avoid disturbing Zatanna. "I've prepared the Blue Suite for your stay, which includes a connecting room that should be suitable for young Miss Zatara. The rooms have excellent natural light and sufficient space for any... specialized activities you might require."
"You're very kind, Alfred," Giovanni replied with obvious relief. "It's been a long night, and I suspect it's going to be an even longer day once we begin addressing the magical implications of Harry's situation."
Zatanna stirred slightly at the sound of voices, opening dark eyes that held the sort of alert intelligence that suggested she'd inherited more than just her father's magical abilities. She took in Wayne Manor's foyer with obvious appreciation, her gaze lingering on the soaring ceiling and the chandelier that probably weighed more than she did.
"It's like a castle," she said softly, her voice carrying the sort of wonder that only children could manage when faced with something truly impressive. "Papa, can we live in a castle too?"
"Our apartment in New York has excellent views and very reasonable rent," Giovanni replied diplomatically. "Though I admit Wayne Manor has a certain... architectural grandeur that's difficult to replicate in urban settings."
Alfred's expression softened as he watched Zatanna take in her surroundings with obvious delight. "Miss Zatanna, if you'd like, I could show you to your room and perhaps prepare some breakfast? I find that international travel often disrupts one's usual eating schedule, and I have fresh pastries that I believe you might enjoy."
"What kind of pastries?" Zatanna asked with the sort of serious attention that suggested this was an important negotiation rather than a casual offer of hospitality.
"Chocolate croissants, cinnamon rolls with proper icing, and what I believe Americans call 'muffins,' though I prefer to think of them as small, civilized cakes appropriate for morning consumption," Alfred replied with the sort of dignity that made breakfast sound like a diplomatic summit.
Zatanna's eyes widened with obvious interest. "I accept your terms," she said with the sort of formal courtesy that would have made her father proud. "Papa, I'm going to negotiate breakfast arrangements with Mr. Alfred while you discuss boring grown-up things about magic and danger and whatever else is keeping everyone awake at silly hours."
As Alfred led Zatanna toward the kitchen, already engaging her in what appeared to be a spirited discussion about the proper ratio of chocolate to pastry, Bruce and Giovanni made their way to the study where they could discuss magical security measures without worrying about small ears overhearing tactical information that might give her nightmares.
"She's remarkable," Bruce observed as they settled into leather chairs that had probably witnessed more confessions than most police interrogation rooms. "How much does she know about the magical world?"
"Everything appropriate for her age, and probably several things that aren't," Giovanni said with the sort of fond exasperation that came from raising a precocious child with inherited magical abilities. "Zatanna has been doing accidental magic since she was three, and she's remarkably good at understanding complex magical concepts even when she can't perform the more advanced techniques yet. She'll probably be excellent company for Harry once he starts learning about his heritage."
"Assuming we can keep both children safe while Harry's learning," Bruce said grimly. "Giovanni, I need you to be completely honest with me about the level of threat we're facing here. How many people are we potentially dealing with, and what kind of resources do they have access to?"
Giovanni was quiet for a moment, considering the question with the sort of systematic thoroughness that came from years of experience dealing with magical politics and the less pleasant aspects of the wizarding world.
"In terms of immediate physical threats," he said finally, "we're looking at potentially dozens of former Death Eaters who escaped capture or prosecution after Voldemort's defeat. Many of them are wealthy, well-connected, and highly skilled in both combat magic and covert operations. They would see Harry as either a target for revenge or a valuable asset to be captured and used."
He paused, running a hand through his silver-streaked hair as he continued his assessment. "Then there are the international dark wizards who view Voldemort's defeat as either an inspiration or a challenge to be overcome. Harry's fame makes him a symbol, and symbols are always valuable to people who want to make political or ideological statements through violence."
"What about non-hostile threats?" Bruce asked, though his tone suggested he understood that well-meaning interference could be just as dangerous as outright attacks.
"The magical press, for one. When word gets out that Harry Potter has been found, every magical newspaper, magazine, and broadcasting service in the world is going to want exclusive interviews, photographs, and detailed accounts of where he's been and what he's been doing. They'll turn his life into a media circus that could be just as traumatic as direct attacks."
Giovanni's expression grew more serious as he continued. "Then there are the various magical governments who'll want to claim jurisdiction over him. The British Ministry of Magic will insist he's their responsibility as a British citizen. The American magical community will argue that he's been living in American territory and should be subject to their protection and oversight. Other countries might try to offer him asylum or citizenship in exchange for political advantages."
"And the well-meaning rescue organizations?" Bruce prompted.
"Child welfare services from multiple magical communities, all convinced they know better than anyone else how Harry should be raised. Educational institutions that will want to fast-track his magical training according to their own curricula. Healing specialists who'll want to examine him for signs of magical trauma or residual dark magic. Religious organizations who see him as either blessed or cursed." Giovanni shook his head wearily. "The boy could be overwhelmed by people trying to help him long before any actual enemies manage to locate him."
Bruce was quiet for several minutes, processing this information and running through mental calculations of defensive capabilities, security protocols, and the sort of resources that would be required to protect one small boy from what sounded like half the magical world.
"What kind of magical protections can we establish?" he asked finally. "And how quickly can we get them in place?"
"Ward anchors throughout the property, keyed to Harry's magical signature and powered by the natural ley lines that run beneath this part of Gotham," Giovanni replied, his voice taking on the professional tone he used when discussing technical magical applications. "Blood wards similar to what should have been protecting him with his relatives, but powered by chosen family bonds rather than genetic relationships. Concealment charms that will make Wayne Manor difficult to locate using magical means. Detection spells that will alert us if anyone attempts to use magic to find or observe Harry."
"How long to establish all of that?"
"Working alone, probably three days minimum for basic protections, a week or more for comprehensive security." Giovanni's expression became more thoughtful. "But Bruce, there's something else we need to consider. Harry needs to begin magical training immediately, not just for his own development but for his safety. Untrained magical children are vulnerable in ways that have nothing to do with external threats."
"Explain."
"Magic seeks expression, especially in children with Harry's level of natural ability. If he doesn't learn to channel it constructively through proper training, it will continue to find its own outlets through accidental magic. And accidental magic becomes more dangerous as children get older and stronger." Giovanni leaned forward in his chair, his expression serious. "I've seen cases where untrained magical children have accidentally seriously injured themselves or others during particularly intense emotional episodes. House fires, structural collapses, electrical systems overloading to the point of creating actual hazards rather than just inconvenience."
Bruce felt that familiar cold certainty settle in his chest as he considered the implications. Harry had been living with trauma and abandonment issues while his magical abilities grew stronger and less controlled. It was a recipe for disaster that could affect not just Harry himself, but everyone around him.
"What kind of training are we talking about?" Bruce asked. "And how quickly can it begin?"
"Basic magical theory, meditation techniques for emotional control, simple spell work to give him constructive outlets for his natural abilities. Zatanna could actually be helpful with this—she's close to his age and already comfortable with magical concepts. Sometimes children learn better from other children than from adults, especially children who've been let down by adult authority figures."
From the kitchen came the sound of laughter—Zatanna's bright giggle mixed with Alfred's dignified chuckle and what appeared to be an animated discussion about the proper technique for optimal pastry consumption. The sound was warm and normal and completely at odds with the conversation about magical warfare and international conspiracies being conducted in the study.
"There's something else," Giovanni said quietly, his voice taking on the sort of careful neutrality that suggested he was about to share information that was both important and potentially disturbing. "Something I didn't mention during our phone conversation because I needed to see Harry in person to make a proper assessment."
Bruce's predatory instincts engaged with surgical precision, his entire posture shifting into alert attention. "What?"
"The way you described his magical manifestations—the electrical interference, the targeting that avoided harming people, the emotional triggers—it matches a very specific pattern that I've only seen in a few cases throughout my career." Giovanni paused, choosing his words carefully. "Bruce, I think Harry might be what we call a 'natural protection caster.' It's a rare magical specialty that typically manifests in children who've experienced severe trauma or abandonment."
"Natural protection caster?"
"Their magic instinctively focuses on defensive and protective applications rather than offensive ones. They excel at wards, shields, concealment, and magic that keeps people safe rather than magic that hurts or dominates. It's an incredibly valuable ability, but it also makes them even more attractive targets for people who understand what they represent."
Bruce was quiet for a moment, processing this information and its implications. "Because someone with natural protective abilities would be valuable to anyone who wanted to establish long-term magical defenses or security systems."
"Exactly. And because protection casters often develop the ability to enhance and strengthen the magical abilities of people around them. In the right hands, Harry could eventually become someone who makes an entire organization of magical practitioners more powerful and effective." Giovanni's expression grew grimmer. "In the wrong hands, he could be used to create magical fortresses that would be nearly impenetrable or to enhance the abilities of dark wizards to a degree that could destabilize the entire balance of magical power."
"So we're not just protecting him from people who want revenge or fame," Bruce said slowly. "We're protecting him from people who want to use him as a strategic magical asset."
"I'm afraid so. Though Bruce, there is some good news in all of this." Giovanni's expression lightened slightly. "If Harry is indeed a natural protection caster, then his magical training will focus on areas that are inherently safer and more constructive than traditional magical education. He'll learn to create rather than destroy, to defend rather than attack, to strengthen rather than dominate. It's actually an ideal magical specialty for a child who's experienced trauma and needs to rebuild his sense of safety and control."
"And it means he'll be naturally good at protecting the people he cares about," Bruce observed with something that might have been relief. "Which could be reassuring for a child who's spent months convinced that he hurts everyone around him."
"Exactly. Harry's magic has probably been trying to protect people all along—that's why his accidental magic targets objects and systems rather than living beings, even when he's angry or frightened. His instincts are fundamentally protective rather than destructive."
From upstairs came the soft sound of footsteps—light, cautious movements that suggested someone was awake and moving around with the sort of careful quiet that came from years of trying not to disturb sleeping adults or draw unwanted attention. Bruce glanced toward the ceiling, recognizing the particular pattern of movement that belonged to a small person who was either very polite or very accustomed to being invisible.
"That would be Harry," Bruce said quietly. "He mentioned he wasn't particularly good at staying in one place when he's thinking about things, and I suspect he's got quite a lot to think about after yesterday's revelations."
"Should we go talk to him?" Giovanni asked, though his expression suggested he understood this might be a delicate situation requiring careful handling.
"Let's give him a few minutes to decide whether he wants company or solitude," Bruce replied, though he was already listening for any sounds that might indicate distress or the sort of emotional state that could trigger accidental magic. "Harry's been managing on his own for weeks—he's probably accustomed to processing things privately before he's ready to discuss them with other people."
The footsteps above continued their careful pattern, moving from what was probably Harry's bedroom toward the main staircase, then pausing as if the walker was considering whether to venture downstairs or return to his room. After a moment, the steps resumed, heading down the stairs with the sort of deliberate courage that suggested someone had decided to be brave despite being uncertain about what they might encounter.
Harry appeared in the study doorway a few minutes later, wearing pajamas that Alfred had clearly found somewhere in the Manor's extensive storage systems—soft cotton in deep blue that actually fit properly and made him look like a child rather than someone playing dress-up in adult clothing. His dark hair was even more unruly than usual from sleep, and his emerald eyes held the sort of alert wariness that came from waking up in an unfamiliar place and trying to determine whether safety was still available or had been revoked during the night.
"Good morning," he said with careful politeness, his voice carrying the sort of formal courtesy that suggested he was prepared for any possible reaction, from welcome to dismissal. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything terribly important. I heard voices and thought perhaps... well, I thought perhaps someone might be awake who could explain whether I'm still welcome here in the light of day, or whether yesterday's hospitality was more of a temporary emergency measure."
Bruce felt something twist in his chest at the careful way Harry phrased his uncertainty—not asking directly whether he could stay, but inquiring about the status of welcome he'd received as if it were a conditional offer that might have expired overnight. The formal language was clearly a defense mechanism, a way of maintaining dignity while asking questions that were fundamentally about whether he was loved or merely tolerated.
"Harry," Bruce said gently, rising from his chair with the sort of careful movement that suggested he understood small creatures could startle easily, "you're absolutely welcome here, this morning and every morning after that. Yesterday's hospitality wasn't temporary or conditional—you belong here now, for as long as you want to stay."
Harry's carefully controlled expression flickered slightly, showing a glimpse of the vulnerable child beneath the sophisticated facade. "Even after you've had time to properly consider the implications of harboring someone with my particular... complications?"
"Especially then," Bruce said firmly. "Harry, I'd like you to meet someone. This is Giovanni Zatara—he's an old friend of mine, and someone who understands a great deal about the kind of complications you're worried about."
Giovanni rose from his chair as well, moving with the sort of theatrical grace that made even simple actions seem elegant and purposeful. His expression was warm and genuinely interested as he studied Harry with professional attention that somehow managed to feel respectful rather than invasive.
"Harry Potter," Giovanni said with the sort of formal courtesy that suggested he was greeting someone important rather than just making polite conversation. "It's an honor to meet you, young man. Your father would be very proud of the person you're becoming."
Harry went absolutely still, his emerald eyes widening as he processed what Giovanni had just said. When he spoke, his voice was carefully controlled but couldn't quite hide the desperate hope underneath.
"You... you knew my father?"
Giovanni's expression softened, taking on the gentle warmth of someone who understood exactly how significant that question was for a child who'd been told practically nothing about his parents except that they'd died in a car crash and left him with relatives who considered his existence an inconvenience.
"I knew both of your parents, Harry, and they were remarkable people. James Potter was brave and loyal and had a laugh that could fill a room with joy. Lily Potter was brilliant and kind and had the sort of magical ability that made other wizards stop and stare in admiration." Giovanni paused, studying Harry's face with obvious compassion. "They loved you more than life itself, and they died protecting you from someone who wanted to hurt you. They died heroes, Harry, and they died making sure you could grow up to become exactly the person you were meant to be."
Harry's careful composure cracked completely, tears spilling over as he scrubbed at them with hands that seemed too small for the weight of emotion he was carrying. "They were wizards?" he whispered, his voice breaking on the words. "And I'm... I'm a wizard too?"
"You're a wizard, Harry," Giovanni confirmed gently. "A very powerful wizard, with abilities that most magical people would find remarkable. The things that happen around you when you get emotional—the electronics malfunctioning, the lights flickering—that's magic, Harry. Your magic, trying to express itself because no one's taught you how to use it properly."
"I'm not a freak?" Harry asked, his voice so small it barely qualified as sound. "I'm not broken or dangerous or fundamentally wrong?"
"You're magical," Bruce said firmly, crouching down to bring himself to Harry's eye level with the sort of careful attention he'd learned to use with traumatized children. "You're extraordinary, Harry. You're exactly what you're supposed to be, and anyone who told you otherwise was wrong. Completely, utterly, unforgivably wrong."
Harry looked between them with the sort of desperate hope that belonged in churches and hospitals and other places where people waited for miracles. "And you'll... you'll teach me? How to control it properly, so I don't accidentally hurt people or break expensive things?"
"We'll teach you everything you need to know," Giovanni promised with absolute conviction. "Magic, history, how to understand your abilities and use them to help people instead of worrying about accidentally harming them. And Harry, there's someone I'd very much like you to meet—my daughter Zatanna. She's about your age, and she's magical too. I think you two might become excellent friends."
As if summoned by her father's words, the sound of voices from the kitchen grew louder, accompanied by footsteps and what appeared to be Alfred's patient voice explaining something about proper table settings. A moment later, Zatanna appeared in the doorway, carrying a plate of pastries and wearing an expression of obvious curiosity as she studied the new person with sharp, intelligent eyes.
"Papa," she said with the sort of direct attention that only children could manage, "is this the magic boy who doesn't know he's magic yet? Because Mr. Alfred says he's been living with muggles who didn't tell him anything important, which seems terribly inefficient from an educational standpoint."
Harry stared at her—this small girl who spoke about magic like it was perfectly normal, who looked at him with interest rather than fear or disgust, who seemed to think his lack of magical education was a problem to be solved rather than evidence of fundamental deficiency.
"You're magic too?" he asked wonderingly.
"Of course I'm magic," Zatanna replied with the sort of matter-of-fact certainty that suggested this was obviously true and not worth questioning. "Papa's been teaching me since I was little. I can levitate things and make flowers grow faster and sometimes I can make lost objects find themselves again, though that one's still a bit unpredictable."
She studied him with the sort of direct assessment that children used when deciding whether someone might be worth befriending. "Papa says you can make electronics do interesting things when you get emotional, which sounds much more practical than making flowers grow. Electronics are everywhere, but flowers are only in gardens and window boxes."
Despite everything—the revelations about his parents, the confirmation that he was magical, the overwhelming implications of everything he was learning—Harry found himself almost smiling. "I suppose that's one way to look at it, though I should mention that most adults find the electronics thing rather more alarming than practical."
"Most adults find lots of perfectly reasonable things alarming," Zatanna said with the sort of philosophical wisdom that belonged on someone decades older. "Papa says that's because adults have forgotten how to be properly curious about the world. They get scared of things that are different instead of excited about learning new things."
Alfred appeared behind Zatanna, carrying a tea service that probably belonged in a museum and wearing an expression of fond amusement as he observed the children's conversation. "Miss Zatanna has been sharing her theories about adult psychology while we prepared breakfast," he explained to the room at large. "Her observations are quite astute, though I suspect they might make several child development specialists rather uncomfortable."
"Miss Zatanna is clearly a young lady of exceptional insight," Bruce said diplomatically, though there was genuine warmth in his expression as he watched Harry interact with another child for the first time since arriving at Wayne Manor. "Harry, would you like some breakfast? I believe Alfred has prepared something special for the occasion."
"What sort of special?" Harry asked cautiously, though he was clearly interested despite his wariness.
"The sort that involves multiple courses, proper china, and what I like to call 'civilized conversation about topics that matter,'" Alfred replied with dignity that made breakfast sound like a diplomatic summit. "Also chocolate, because Miss Zatanna has convinced me that any meal worth having should include at least one chocolate component."
"I like her already," Harry said with something that was almost a real smile. "Though I should warn you, I have very strong opinions about chocolate hierarchies, and they may conflict with established household preferences."
Zatanna's eyes lit up with obvious interest. "What kind of opinions? Because Papa and I have been having arguments about European chocolate standards for months, and it would be excellent to have another expert perspective."
"Well," Harry said with the sort of serious attention that suggested this was indeed an important topic requiring careful consideration, "I've recently been educated about the relative merits of Belgian versus Swiss chocolate, and I'm prepared to defend my position with both logical arguments and empirical evidence."
"This is going to be a very long breakfast," Giovanni observed with fond amusement as the children began what appeared to be the opening moves of a comprehensive discussion about international chocolate production standards.
"The best kind," Bruce replied, watching Harry engage in normal childhood interaction for the first time since he'd known him. For a few minutes, at least, Harry Potter could simply be a six-year-old boy arguing about chocolate with a new friend, rather than the most hunted child in the magical world.
It wouldn't last—there were too many dangers gathering, too many people who would soon realize where Harry could be found, too many complications that would require careful planning and significant resources to manage safely.
But for now, in this moment, Harry was safe. He was surrounded by people who understood his abilities and valued them rather than fearing them. He was learning about his heritage from people who had loved and respected his parents. He was making his first real friend, engaging in the sort of normal childhood debates that every six-year-old should be allowed to have.
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 had every opportunity to simply be a child, magical abilities and world-shaking significance aside.
The dangerous complications would come soon enough. For now, let there be chocolate debates and new friendships and the sort of ordinary magic that came from belonging somewhere safe.
---
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