While Constantine and Giovanni huddled over Bruce's massive oak desk like two surgeons planning a particularly complicated operation, their voices a low murmur of Latin phrases and magical terminology that would have given most people headaches, Selina caught Bruce's eye and jerked her head toward the study's far corner with the subtle precision of someone accustomed to conducting private conversations in public spaces.
Bruce followed without question, his movements fluid and silent despite his considerable size. Years of training had taught him how to move through a room without drawing attention, even when that room contained people who were professionally paranoid about being observed.
"We need to talk," Selina said quietly, positioning herself so she could keep one eye on Harry, who was currently engaged in what appeared to be a spirited debate with Zatanna about the proper pronunciation of various Latin spell components. The children's voices carried across the study with that peculiar mix of academic intensity and childish enthusiasm that somehow made discussions of necromantic theory sound adorable.
"About Harry's decision?" Bruce asked, his voice pitched low enough that only Selina could hear. "Because I already know what you're going to say, and the answer is—"
"Let me finish before you start with the categorical denials," Selina interrupted, her tone carrying that particular blend of affection and exasperation she reserved for Bruce when he was being particularly stubborn. "I know that look, Wayne. That's your 'I've already made up my mind and no amount of logic will change it' look."
Bruce's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, which Selina had learned to interpret as acknowledgment that she was correct but that he wasn't happy about it.
"Harry just made a decision that's going to fundamentally change who he is," Selina continued, her voice carrying the sort of gentle intensity that suggested she was about to make a point Bruce wouldn't like but needed to hear. "He's choosing to integrate centuries of magical knowledge and strategic thinking from one of the most dangerous wizards in history. He's doing it because he wants to protect people, because he's tired of being reactive, because he understands that good intentions aren't enough when you're facing people who want to hurt others."
"I know all of this," Bruce said, though his expression suggested he wasn't entirely sure where Selina was going with this particular line of reasoning.
"Do you know what that makes him?" Selina asked, her cat-like eyes missing nothing as she studied Bruce's face. "It makes him exactly like you. A child who experienced trauma, who lost his parents to senseless violence, who decided that the only way to prevent that kind of loss from happening to others was to become something more than human. To acquire knowledge and skills and power that would let him stand between innocents and the people who prey on them."
Bruce was very still, the way he got when someone had struck too close to a truth he'd been trying not to acknowledge. "Selina—"
"I'm not finished," she said firmly, though her voice remained gentle. "Harry's planning to use Voldemort's knowledge to become a protector. He's going to have access to strategic thinking, combat magic, advanced spellwork—all the tools he needs to actually make a difference instead of just hoping he survives until the next crisis. But Bruce, magical knowledge alone isn't going to be enough."
She paused, making sure she had his complete attention. "He needs training. Real training. The kind that teaches him how to assess threats, how to plan operations, how to work as part of a team. The kind that helps him understand the psychological toll of constantly putting yourself between danger and innocents. The kind that only someone with extensive experience in exactly that field could provide."
Bruce's expression grew shuttered, defensive in the way it only did when someone was asking him to confront things he'd been avoiding. "You're talking about Batman."
"I'm talking about both of you," Selina corrected gently. "Harry needs Bruce Wayne to give him the resources, the support, the stable family environment that lets him stay grounded. But he also needs Batman to teach him how to actually use all that power and knowledge he's about to acquire. How to be effective without being reckless. How to protect people without losing himself in the process."
"No," Bruce said flatly, his voice carrying the sort of absolute conviction that suggested this was not a topic open for discussion. "I'm not training another child to put themselves in danger. I'm not creating another Robin. Jason—" His voice broke slightly on the name, and Selina's expression softened with understanding and sympathy.
"This isn't about creating another Robin," Selina said quietly, reaching out to rest her hand on Bruce's arm. "Harry's not going to be your sidekick, Bruce. He's going to be his own person, fighting his own battles, following his own path. But right now, he's a six-year-old with access to the magical equivalent of military-grade weapons. He needs someone to teach him responsible use of force, strategic planning, threat assessment—all the skills that Batman has spent years perfecting."
"He has Giovanni and Constantine," Bruce said, though his tone suggested he was already recognizing how weak that argument was. "They can teach him magic, help him understand the threats he'll face in the wizarding world—"
"They can teach him to cast spells," Selina interrupted. "They can't teach him to think like someone who's spent years analyzing criminal psychology, planning complex operations, dealing with the moral and ethical complications of vigilante justice. That's not their expertise. That's yours."
Across the study, Harry's laughter rang out as Zatanna apparently won their pronunciation debate through the expedient of making her wand produce sparkles that spelled out the correct Latin declension. The sound was bright and genuine and completely at odds with the heavy conversation happening in the corner.
Bruce looked toward the children, his expression complicated in ways that Selina had learned to read over years of knowing him. There was fear there—fear of loss, fear of failure, fear of being responsible for another child's death. But there was also something else, something that looked like recognition and reluctant admiration.
"He reminds you of yourself," Selina said softly, voicing what Bruce wouldn't. "Not just because of the trauma or the determination to protect people. But because he's making the same choice you did—to become something more than human, to acquire power and knowledge that will let him stand against evil. The only difference is that he's doing it at six instead of eight."
"That's not a difference," Bruce said roughly. "That's a disaster waiting to happen. He's too young, Selina. Too young to be making these kinds of choices, too young to understand what it means to dedicate your life to fighting darkness—"
"He's already dedicated his life to it," Selina pointed out with characteristic bluntness. "That decision was made for him the night Voldemort murdered his parents. The only question is whether he faces that reality with proper training and support, or whether he tries to figure it all out on his own through trial and error until he makes a mistake that gets him killed."
Bruce's hands clenched at his sides, and Selina could see the war playing out behind his eyes—the part of him that wanted to protect Harry from this life, from this burden, from the darkness that came with fighting evil. And the part that understood Harry was already committed to this path, that the only responsible thing to do was make sure he survived it.
"I swore after Jason," Bruce said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of grief that still hadn't fully healed, "that I wouldn't do this again. Wouldn't train another child, wouldn't put another kid in danger—"
"You didn't put Jason in danger," Selina said firmly, her voice carrying absolute conviction. "Jason made his own choices, Bruce. He was brilliant and brave and reckless and determined to prove himself, and what happened to him wasn't your fault. It was the Joker's fault, and Garzonas's fault, and the fault of a world that creates monsters like them."
She squeezed his arm gently. "But Bruce, Harry's going to be in danger whether you train him or not. The difference is that with your training, with your guidance, he might actually survive it. Without it, he's going into battle with magical weapons he doesn't fully understand how to use strategically."
Constantine's gravelly voice cut across the study, pulling their attention back to the magical discussion happening at the desk. "Right, so the integration ritual requires a secure location with strong magical protections, a circle inscribed with protective runes using dragon's blood ink, and approximately six hours of uninterrupted time for the actual procedure."
"Dragon's blood ink," Harry repeated thoughtfully from his position near the windows. "That sounds both expensive and potentially difficult to source on short notice. Do we have a supplier, or should I start looking into the practicalities of dragon procurement?"
"We have a supplier," Giovanni assured him with obvious amusement. "Though I appreciate your forward thinking regarding magical ingredient logistics."
"I find it's always good to have a backup plan," Harry replied with the sort of practical wisdom that belonged on someone decades older. "Particularly when dealing with procedures that could go catastrophically wrong if you're missing key components."
Selina looked at Bruce, her expression carrying a question that didn't need to be voiced aloud: Are you really going to let this child face the world without every advantage you can give him?
Bruce was quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on Harry with that intense focus he used when making tactical assessments. The boy was brilliant—that much was obvious. Sharp, resilient, possessing a kind of moral clarity that most adults lost somewhere along the way. But he was also six years old, about to integrate the memories and knowledge of a mass murderer, preparing to face threats that would challenge experienced adult wizards.
"If I do this," Bruce said finally, his voice so quiet that only Selina could hear, "if I agree to train him in tactics and strategy and threat assessment... it's not because I'm creating another Robin. It's not because I'm building a team or recruiting a protégé."
"I know," Selina said gently.
"It's because he's going to do this with or without my help," Bruce continued, his jaw set in that particular way that meant he'd made a decision he didn't like but recognized as necessary. "And if he's going to fight, if he's going to put himself at risk protecting others, then I'm going to make damn sure he knows how to do it as safely as possible."
Selina smiled, though there was something sad in her expression. "That's all anyone can ask for, Bruce. Help him be smart about it. Teach him to think strategically, to assess risks properly, to understand when he's in over his head and needs to call for backup."
"He won't want backup," Bruce said with absolute certainty. "Kids like us—kids like Harry—we're too used to handling things on our own. Too convinced that asking for help is a weakness."
"Then teach him it's not," Selina said simply. "Teach him what you wish someone had taught you when you were eight years old and convinced you could save Gotham single-handedly through sheer force of will and expensive equipment."
Bruce almost smiled at that, though the expression was tinged with too much complicated history to be entirely happy. "Someone did try to teach me that. Alfred spent years trying to convince me that asking for help wasn't weakness."
"And did you listen?"
"Eventually," Bruce admitted. "After making enough mistakes to fill an encyclopedia and nearly getting myself killed a dozen times. Harry doesn't have that luxury—he's facing threats that won't give him the chance to learn from his mistakes. He needs to get it right the first time."
"Which is why he needs you," Selina said with satisfaction. "Both of you. Bruce Wayne to give him the stability and resources and family support he needs. Batman to teach him how to actually survive the life he's choosing."
Across the room, Constantine had begun drawing complex diagrams on a large piece of parchment, his cigarette dangling precariously from his lips as he sketched out the ritual circle. Harry and Zatanna had abandoned their Latin debate in favor of watching the preparations with obvious fascination.
"The integration will take approximately six hours," Giovanni was explaining to the children, his voice taking on that particular tone adults used when discussing dangerous procedures with young people—serious but not frightening, informative but not overwhelming. "During that time, Harry will be unconscious while his soul and the soul fragment merge. Constantine and I will be monitoring the process to ensure nothing goes wrong."
"What could go wrong?" Harry asked with the sort of casual curiosity that suggested he was conducting a risk assessment rather than expressing fear.
Constantine looked up from his diagrams, meeting Harry's eyes with unexpected respect. "Magical overload if your soul can't handle the additional knowledge. Personality fragmentation if the integration isn't clean. In worst-case scenarios, complete magical core collapse or permanent psychological damage."
"Ah," Harry said thoughtfully. "So basically, we're looking at a range of outcomes from 'slight headache' to 'catastrophic failure of fundamental self.' Good to know. What are the odds we're aiming for here?"
"Ninety-two percent chance of successful integration with minimal complications," Giovanni said with professional confidence. "Five percent chance of moderate complications requiring additional intervention. Three percent chance of serious complications that would require emergency medical and magical treatment."
"And the remaining percentage?" Harry asked, demonstrating exactly the kind of attention to detail that Bruce recognized from his own tactical planning.
"Best not to dwell on worst-case scenarios," Constantine said diplomatically. "Particularly when the odds are overwhelmingly in your favor."
"But you should be aware of them," Bruce interjected, moving away from his corner conversation with Selina to join the group around the desk. His voice carried the sort of calm authority that made people listen even when they didn't want to hear what he was saying. "Harry, if we proceed with this—if you go through with the integration—you need to understand that there's a very small but real chance of serious complications. Complications that could leave you with permanent magical damage or psychological trauma."
Harry met his gaze steadily, those green eyes holding depths that no six-year-old should possess. "I understand, Bruce. But I also understand that the risk of *not* doing this—of going into battle against dark wizards with only my current knowledge and abilities—is considerably higher than three percent. This is about choosing between different kinds of risk, and I'm choosing the one that gives me the best chance of actually surviving long enough to make a difference."
The adult silence that followed was weighted with recognition and reluctant admiration.
"Right then," Constantine said after a moment, stubbing out his cigarette with more force than strictly necessary. "Since Potter here has his head screwed on straight despite his unfortunate vertical disadvantage, let's talk logistics. Giovanni and I will need approximately three hours to prepare the ritual space. That means inscribing the circle, placing the ward anchors, preparing the magical catalysts—"
"And giving Harry time to reconsider if he wants to," Giovanni added gently. "There's no shame in changing your mind, mijo. This is not a decision to make lightly."
"I'm not changing my mind," Harry said with quiet conviction. "But I appreciate the option. It shows you actually respect my judgment rather than just humoring me because I'm small."
"Oh, we're definitely not humoring you," Constantine said with a grin that was equal parts respect and dark amusement. "Anyone who can hold their own in conversation with me while discussing soul magic integration isn't someone to be humored. You're either brilliantly mad or madly brilliant, Potter, and I haven't decided which yet."
"Can't I be both?" Harry asked with that characteristic mix of sass and genuine curiosity.
"You're definitely both," Selina said with affection, rejoining the group after her conversation with Bruce. "The question is whether that's going to be an asset or a liability."
"Asset," Harry said immediately. "Definitely asset. Brilliant madness is what changes the world. Boring sanity just maintains the status quo."
Alfred appeared in the doorway with his characteristic perfect timing, carrying a silver tray laden with tea service and what appeared to be an impressive array of biscuits. "If I might suggest," he said in his perfectly modulated voice, "perhaps Master Harry could benefit from a proper meal before undergoing a six-hour magical procedure? I find that major life changes are considerably more manageable on a full stomach."
"That's actually quite wise," Giovanni agreed. "The integration will require significant magical energy, and Harry's own reserves will be under considerable strain during the process. Proper nutrition beforehand will help stabilize his core."
"Plus," Zatanna added cheerfully, "biscuits are delicious. That's reason enough right there."
Harry's expression brightened considerably at the mention of food, which reminded everyone present that despite his remarkable maturity and strategic thinking, he was still fundamentally a six-year-old who could be distracted by the promise of treats.
"I do like biscuits," Harry admitted. "Particularly the chocolate ones. Alfred, do those happen to be the Belgian chocolate biscuits you mentioned earlier, or are we dealing with inferior British alternatives?"
"Master Harry," Alfred replied with dignified reproach, "I would never serve inferior biscuits. These are, in fact, handmade Belgian chocolate biscuits using a recipe that I acquired from a chocolatier in Brussels who insisted they were the finest biscuits in all of Europe."
"Then I retract any implications of inferiority and accept your biscuits with gratitude and enthusiasm," Harry said formally, though his eyes were dancing with mischief. "Though I maintain my right to provide detailed critique afterward."
"I would expect nothing less, Master Harry."
As the group moved toward the more comfortable seating area where Alfred had arranged the tea service with his usual impeccable presentation, Bruce caught Constantine's eye and jerked his head toward the hallway in a gesture that clearly meant "we need to talk privately."
Constantine followed with the resignation of someone who knew they were about to have a serious conversation but couldn't reasonably avoid it. They stepped into the hallway, leaving the others to their tea and biscuits and magical preparation discussions.
"Right then, Wayne," Constantine said, lighting up another cigarette with practiced ease. "What's on your mind? Because that's your 'I have concerns and I'm going to voice them whether you like it or not' face."
Bruce's expression was serious, his voice pitched low enough that it wouldn't carry back to the study. "After the integration—after Harry has access to all of Voldemort's knowledge and strategic thinking—he's going to want to act on it. He's going to want to start using that knowledge to track down Horcruxes, hunt Death Eaters, prepare for Voldemort's eventual return."
"Probably, yeah," Constantine agreed. "Kid's got the kind of determination that doesn't sit still well. Give him the knowledge to actually make a difference, and he's going to want to make a difference. That's rather the point."
"He's six years old," Bruce said flatly.
"Nearly seven," Constantine corrected with a smirk that suggested he was deliberately being difficult. "And age isn't always the best indicator of capability, mate. I've met adults twice your age with half your tactical thinking, and I've met teenagers who could run circles around experienced Aurors. Potter's already demonstrated more strategic sense and moral clarity than most adult wizards I know."
Bruce's jaw tightened. "That doesn't mean he's ready to face the kind of threats he's planning to engage with."
"No," Constantine agreed, his tone becoming more serious. "But it means he's going to try regardless of whether anyone thinks he's ready. The question isn't whether Potter's going to put himself at risk—the question is whether we're going to help him do it as safely as possible, or whether we're going to let him figure it out on his own through trial and error until he makes a mistake that gets him killed."
The echo of Selina's earlier argument wasn't lost on Bruce.
"I've already lost one child to this life," Bruce said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of grief that hadn't healed and probably never would. "I'm not losing another one."
Constantine studied him for a long moment, his sharp blue eyes missing nothing. "Jason Todd," he said finally. "Died fighting the good fight, if the rumors I've heard are accurate. Murdered by the Joker after trying to stop a monster from creating more victims."
Bruce didn't respond, but his expression confirmed Constantine's assessment.
"Look, Wayne," Constantine said, his voice taking on a gentleness that seemed incongruous coming from someone who looked like he'd been chain-smoking since birth. "I get it. You trained a kid, gave him the tools to fight evil, and he died anyway. That's a weight that doesn't go away, and it's not supposed to. But here's the thing about kids like Todd, like Potter—they're going to fight regardless. The only question is whether they fight with proper training and support, or whether they fight alone and make mistakes that cost them everything."
He took a long drag from his cigarette. "Potter's not Todd. Different circumstances, different threats, different kind of danger. But they've got one thing in common—they both decided that protecting others was worth risking their own lives. You can't train that into someone, and you can't train it out of them. It's who they are at their core."
"So what am I supposed to do?" Bruce asked, and there was something raw in his voice that he rarely let show. "Train him to fight? Teach him tactics and strategy and how to survive against enemies who want to kill him? That's what I did with Jason, and it wasn't enough."
"No," Constantine said bluntly. "You teach him to think strategically. You teach him to assess risks and call for backup when he needs it. You teach him that there's no shame in retreat, no weakness in asking for help, no failure in recognizing when he's outmatched. You teach him all the things that experience taught you, but you teach them to him *before* he has to learn them the hard way."
He paused, meeting Bruce's eyes with surprising intensity. "And you make damn sure he knows that he's not alone. That he's got people who'll back him up, who'll come running when he calls, who'll help him survive the battles he can't win on his own. Because that's the thing about kids like Potter—they're so used to handling everything alone that they forget they don't have to anymore."
Bruce was quiet for several minutes, processing this advice and measuring it against his own experiences and fears.
"I'm not creating another Robin," he said finally. "Harry's not going to be my sidekick or my protégé or my responsibility to manage and direct."
"Good," Constantine said with obvious approval. "Because Potter doesn't need another father figure trying to control his choices. He needs a mentor who understands what he's planning to do and can teach him how to do it without getting himself killed in the process."
"A mentor," Bruce repeated slowly.
"Someone who's been where he's going," Constantine clarified. "Someone who understands the psychological toll of constantly putting yourself between innocents and danger. Someone who can teach him the practical skills he'll need without turning him into a weapon or a tool or a symbol. Someone who respects his autonomy while making sure he survives his own heroism."
Bruce looked back toward the study, where Harry's laughter could be heard mixing with Zatanna's as they apparently engaged in some sort of magical demonstration involving the levitation of biscuits. The sound was normal, happy, completely at odds with the heavy conversation happening in the hallway.
"If I do this," Bruce said quietly, "if I agree to mentor him in tactics and strategy... it's on his terms. His pace, his choices, his decisions about what risks he's willing to take."
"As it should be," Constantine agreed. "Though I imagine you'll have opinions about said choices, and you should absolutely voice those opinions. Part of good mentorship is telling someone when they're being an idiot, even if they don't want to hear it."
Bruce almost smiled at that. "Harry strikes me as someone who'll have strong opinions about being called an idiot."
"Oh, absolutely," Constantine said with a grin. "Kid's got more sass than a drag queen at a political protest. But he's also smart enough to listen to good advice, even when it comes wrapped in criticism. That's rare, especially in someone his age."
From inside the study came the sound of Giovanni calling out in Spanish—probably something about magical theory that only another practitioner would understand—followed by Harry's voice responding with what sounded like a reasonably competent attempt at the language.
"The kid speaks Spanish too?" Constantine asked with raised eyebrows.
"And French, apparently," Bruce replied. "Along with enough Latin to hold his own in discussions about magical theory. Private tutors, expensive education, the whole upper-class British experience before his relatives decided he was too expensive to maintain."
"Christ," Constantine muttered. "So we're looking at a magical prodigy who's also multilingual, tactically brilliant, and possessed of enough moral clarity to make saints jealous. The wizarding world is either going to worship him or try to kill him. Possibly both simultaneously."
"Which is why he needs training," Bruce said with growing conviction. "Not to turn him into a weapon, but to give him the skills to survive being a target."
Constantine nodded slowly. "Right then. After the integration, after Potter's had time to process all that new knowledge, you and I should sit down and work out a proper training regimen. Magical theory and practical spellwork from me and Giovanni, tactics and strategy from you, probably some physical training because even wizards benefit from knowing how to throw a proper punch."
"And psychological support," Bruce added firmly. "He's going to need help processing the memories and knowledge he's integrating. Access to therapists who understand trauma—"
"Magical therapists," Constantine corrected. "Mind healers who understand the specific complications of soul magic integration. I know a few who owe me favors. Good people, discrete, experienced with unusual cases."
Bruce nodded, filing that information away with the systematic precision he used for all tactical planning. "What about the political complications? When word gets out that Harry Potter has been found, that he's under the protection of non-magical guardians with significant resources..."
"Shitstorm of epic proportions," Constantine said bluntly. "The Ministry will want custody, claiming they have jurisdiction over all British magical children. The International Confederation of Wizards will probably want to weigh in because Potter's considered important to international magical security. Various dark wizards and Death Eater sympathizers will try to track him down. The press will turn his life into a media circus."
He paused to light another cigarette. "Which is why we need to be strategic about when and how that information gets released. Control the narrative before it controls us."
"You're thinking media management," Bruce said with growing approval. "Carefully managed public appearances, prepared statements, strategic alliances with influential magical families and organizations..."
"Exactly," Constantine confirmed. "Potter's famous whether he likes it or not. The question is whether we let other people define what that fame means, or whether we help him define it himself. Kid wants to be someone who protects people? Let's make sure that's the story the magical world hears—Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, dedicated to making sure no one else has to experience the kind of loss he did."
Bruce nodded slowly, his strategic mind already working through possibilities and complications. "That kind of narrative management requires resources, connections, people who understand both magical and non-magical media..."
"Which is where Bruce Wayne comes in," Constantine said with satisfaction. "Wayne Enterprises has the kind of PR machine that could sell ice to eskimos. Use those resources to help Potter control his own story before other people try to write it for him."
"And Batman?" Bruce asked quietly.
Constantine met his eyes with unexpected understanding. "Batman teaches him how to survive when the story breaks, when the threats emerge, when good intentions aren't enough against people who want to use him or hurt him or turn him into a weapon. Batman teaches him to be smart, to be careful, to understand that heroism doesn't mean being invincible—it means being prepared."
Bruce was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice carried the weight of a decision that would change everything.
"Alright," he said finally. "After the integration, after Harry's had time to recover and process, we start training. Tactics, strategy, threat assessment, all of it. But Constantine—"
"Yeah?"
"If this goes wrong, if I make the same mistakes I made with Jason..." Bruce's voice trailed off, but the implication was clear.
"Then we fix it," Constantine said firmly. "Together. That's what having backup means, Wayne. You're not doing this alone, and neither is Potter. We're all in this together—you, me, Giovanni, Selina, Alfred, the kid with enough sass to fill a library. Nobody faces the darkness alone unless they choose to."
Bruce nodded slowly, then extended his hand. Constantine took it, and they shook with the solemn gravity of people who understood they were making a commitment that would affect not just Harry's future, but potentially the fate of the entire magical world.
"Right then," Constantine said, releasing Bruce's hand and taking a final drag from his cigarette. "Let's go tell Potter that he's about to have more mentors than he knows what to do with. And Wayne?"
"Yes?"
"Try not to look quite so much like you're heading to a funeral. Kid's perceptive enough to pick up on doom and gloom, and that's not the energy we want before a major magical procedure."
Bruce's expression shifted slightly, losing some of its heavy seriousness. "I'll work on my encouraging mentor face."
"Christ, that's going to be terrifying," Constantine said with a grin. "Bruce Wayne trying to look encouraging. The kid's either going to be inspired or deeply concerned about your mental health."
"Probably both," Bruce admitted with something that was almost humor.
They returned to the study to find Harry engaged in what appeared to be a demonstration of wandless magic for Zatanna's benefit—specifically, making Alfred's carefully arranged tea service perform a synchronized ballet that would have impressed professional choreographers.
"Master Harry," Alfred said with fond exasperation, "while I appreciate the artistic merit of your presentation, I do believe the teapot was not designed with aerial acrobatics in mind."
"But it's so graceful," Harry protested, guiding the teapot through a particularly elaborate spiral. "Look at how the steam trails behind it like a comet's tail. That's practically poetry in motion."
"That's practically a disaster waiting to happen," Alfred corrected. "And I have very strong feelings about disasters involving my tea service."
Harry gently guided the teapot back to its proper position with obvious reluctance. "Fine, but only because I respect your feelings about disasters, Alfred. Not because I think the teapot ballet was anything less than magnificent."
"Your restraint is deeply appreciated, Master Harry."
Bruce and Constantine exchanged glances, and Bruce could see the same thought reflected in Constantine's expression: *This kid is going to be absolutely terrifying when he's older.*
And Bruce found, somewhat to his surprise, that he was looking forward to helping Harry become exactly that kind of terrifying—the kind that protected people instead of harming them, the kind that used power responsibly instead of selfishly, the kind that changed the world for the better instead of leaving it broken.
"Right then, Potter," Constantine announced, stubbing out his cigarette in Alfred's pristine crystal ashtray (which earned him a look of dignified disapproval). "Time to get serious about this integration business. You ready to spend six hours unconscious while Giovanni and I do arcane things to your soul?"
Harry set down his tea cup with deliberate care, his expression shifting from playful to focused with remarkable speed. "I'm ready, Constantine. Let's do this properly."
"That's what I like to hear," Constantine said with approval. "Proper planning, proper procedure, proper respect for the magnitude of what we're about to do. You're going to fit right in with this lot, Potter."
Harry looked around the study at the assembled group—Bruce and Selina, Constantine and Giovanni, Alfred and Zatanna—and his expression softened into something that might have been gratitude mixed with wonder.
"You know," Harry said quietly, "a month ago I was living in a cardboard box behind a dumpster, convinced I was fundamentally broken and that no one would ever want me. Now I'm about to integrate a dark wizard's soul while surrounded by people who actually believe I can handle it. That's... that's actually quite remarkable."
"You are quite remarkable," Bruce said firmly. "And Harry? After this is done, after you've recovered from the integration... we need to talk about training. Proper training in tactics and strategy and how to survive against people who want to hurt you."
Harry's eyes widened slightly, then filled with something that looked like hope mixed with determination. "You'd do that? Teach me how to actually fight instead of just surviving by luck and improvisation?"
"I'd do that," Bruce confirmed. "On one condition—you promise me that you'll actually use that training. That you'll think strategically, assess risks properly, and call for backup when you need it instead of trying to handle everything alone."
"I promise," Harry said without hesitation. "Though I should warn you, I'm going to have very high standards for what constitutes 'proper' training. I expect comprehensive curriculum, regular assessments, and absolutely no sugar-coating of the harsh realities involved."
Constantine laughed, the sound rough but genuinely amused. "Christ, Wayne, the kid's negotiating terms before he's even agreed to be your student. You sure you can handle training someone with that much cheek?"
"I think I can manage," Bruce said with something that might have been the beginning of a smile. "After all, I've had practice dealing with difficult personalities."
"Are you calling me difficult, Bruce?" Harry asked with mock indignation.
"I'm calling you determined, intelligent, and possessed of enough sass to make grown men question their life choices," Bruce replied. "Also difficult. But difficult in the best possible way."
Harry considered this assessment, then nodded with satisfaction. "I accept 'difficult in the best possible way' as an accurate description of my personality. It's considerably better than 'freakish and fundamentally wrong,' which is what I was working with previously."
"Well," Selina said with obvious affection, "we've definitely established that you're neither freakish nor fundamentally wrong. Occasionally exasperating, perhaps. Prone to making teapots perform aerial ballet without permission, certainly. But never wrong."
"Occasionally exasperating," Harry repeated with delight. "I'll add that to my collection of descriptors. It's shaping up to be quite a comprehensive list."
As the group began making final preparations for the integration ritual—Constantine and Giovanni discussing technical details about runic inscriptions and magical catalysts, Alfred ensuring that medical supplies were readily available, Zatanna helping Harry understand what to expect during the procedure—Bruce found himself feeling something he hadn't expected to feel again after Jason's death.
Hope.
Hope that maybe, just maybe, he could help this remarkable child navigate the impossible circumstances he'd been born into. Hope that proper training and mentorship could make a difference between Harry becoming a force for good versus becoming another tragic casualty of magical warfare. Hope that together—all of them working as a team—they could give Harry the tools he needed to survive and thrive despite everything the world threw at him.
It wasn't the same as taking on another Robin. Harry wasn't going to be his sidekick or his responsibility to manage and direct. But he would be Bruce's student, his protégé in the art of strategic thinking and tactical planning. And maybe, with the right guidance and support, Harry Potter could become exactly what the magical world needed—someone with the power to fight darkness and the wisdom to use that power responsibly.
---
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