Chapter 5
Damian was acting oddly at breakfast the next morning. He had barley even glanced down at his eggs, instead staring openly at Harry and Tim.
“How would you feel about going suit shopping today?” Bruce said from over his coffee, breaking the intense silence.
“What would be the cause, father?” Damian asked, turning his head slightly in Bruce’s direction.
Bruce took another sip of coffee, “I’ve been planning a gala to introduce you to formal society. We can keep it small, just a few approved reporters and guests. What do you think?”
Damian paused. “I would be amenable to that,” he said.
“You wont be allowed to stab any of the guests,” Jason pointed at Damian with his fork.
“He doesn’t need to stab them. I bet most of the Bristol crowd would run away screaming from those little murder eyes,” Dick said around a mouthful of colourful cereal.
Damain glared at him.
“Yeah, just like that,” Dick said, “I feel like he’s imagining me without skin.”
“Boys,” Bruce sighed.
“I am in need of a new suit,” Damian turned deliberately away from Dick and Jason.
“What about the rest of you?” Bruce addressed the table at large.
“I don’t want to go with them,” Damian protested, pushing his breakfast away.
“We’re not getting into this today,” Bruce’s voice dipped slightly into Batman’s lower register, “You don’t have to like each other but you are all my children. End of argument.”
Damian crossed his arms and pouted.
“The suit you got my last year still fits,” Jason said and Dick nodded along with him.
“The demon child’s all yours.”
Bruce rubbed the bridge of his nose. “And Tim, Harry? Do you have something to wear?”
Harry had been mostly ignoring the conversation, not wanting to intrude on a family moment. He didn’t expect Bruce to directly call on him.
“Sorry,” Harry said guiltily, “what were you asking?”
“Do you have a suit you could wear to a gala this upcoming week?”
“Oh,” Harry said, “um, I don’t think the Drakes would like me to go to a formal gala.”
“What?” Jason exclaimed, “Why not? I’ve seen Timbo at galas before.”
Harry frantically tried to think of an answer that wasn’t suspicious. “It’s not a big deal,” Harry said, thinking back to all Tim’s tips about lying, “I just never learnt the proper ways to do things like Tim, you know since I was in boarding school. The Drakes, uh, my parents don’t want me to make them look bad.”
For some reason, Dick and Jason seemed upset about that. Harry thought it was a perfectly reasonable excuse. The Dursleys would always let Dudley attend parties while he stayed with Aunt Marge or Mrs Figg and no one ever said anything about that.
“Actually,” Bruce cut through Harry’s thoughts, “I wasn’t planning on inviting the Drakes. It seems that they’re still attending a dig in Argentinian. I’d hate to disturb them at such short notice.” His eyes flashed at that last sentence for some reason.
“Why would we need suits then?” Tim asked, eyebrows furrowed.
“Because this is your house too,” Bruce said patiently.
“We could just stay in the attic for the gala,” Harry didn’t see what the problem was.
“That’s not…I’m trying to say that you’re family too,” Bruce leaned forward, looking straight at Tim and Harry, “I want you there.”
Harry had nothing to say to that. Jason and Dick may call him their little brother. He might fantasy about having them as his family but he still wasn’t a Wayne. He wasn’t even really a Drake.
“We might need new suits,” Tim spoke for him, “I don’t think our old ones still fit.”
“Alright then,” Bruce stood up from the table, “get dressed. We’ll leave in an hour.”
A little dazed, Harry swallowed the last of his bacon and excused himself. Tim and Harry headed up the stairs to their bedroom, not realising that they were being followed until Damina pushed them into Harry’s room and closed the door.
“I saw you last night,” Damian got right to the point.
Well, that explained whether or not Damian knew their secret identities.
“I didn’t know there were any owl species native to Gotham.”
Harry brightened. “That reminds me, have I introduced you to Hedwig?”
“I don’t know if…” Tim started to say but Harry was already hurrying over to the perch just inside his half open walk in closet. It was Hedwig’s favourite space to nap.
“Jason and Dick already know,” he dismissed, stroking Hedwig’s feathers. The bird opened her large, yellow eyes and blinked up at him. “This is Hedwig,” Harry beckoned Damian over.
“Can I touch her?” Damian’s permanent glare had softened at the sight of the bird.
“Go ahead,” Harry encouraged, “she’s very friendly. If you give her bits of bacon, she’ll love you forever.” Damian moved his hand slowly over to Hedwig. The bird gave an impatient hoot and hopped off her perch onto Damian’s arm. She stuck her head under Damian’s hand and let herself be stroked. “Oh, and that is Ava.” Harry pointed to the little white snake curled up on the warming stone Ester had bought her for Christmas. “She likes pats too. Tim has a raven, Mortimer but you should be careful with him. He bites.”
“I’ve never been allowed a pet,” Damian’s voice was soft. “There was a rabbit once. I called her Sukar but she died.” Hedwig nuzzled Damian’s cheek. The contact seemed to draw him out of whatever memory he had disappeared into. He turned to Harry, his usual glare returning.
“I’ve never seen owls that could deliver messages,” he said, “last night, that owl had a newspaper in its claws.”
“They’re trained,” Tim glanced for a second at the floor boards that hid their copies of the Daily Prophet.
“Tt,” Damian clicked with his tongue, “Of course.” He let Hedwig hop back onto her perch and turned on his heels, striding out of the room. The door closed behind him and Harry and Tim were left inside.
“You don’t think he knows anything about wixen, do you?” Harry asked.
“I think we should be careful what we say around him,” Tim said, picking up Harry’s black school shoes and handing them to him. “Put these on. They should work as formal wear for a gala.” Harry hesitated with the shoes in hand.
“I don’t know if I should go to the gala. The Drakes might still find out about it. They’ll probably be furious to know they weren’t invited and we were.
“Screw them,” Tim said, pulling on his own shoes a little aggressively, “we’re going to that gala and we’re going together. They’re not here, they don’t get to have a say in it.”
A warmth blossomed in Harry’s chest. He slipped into his formal shoes and tied up the laces. “Ok,” he said, “let’s go get a suit.”