Chapter 8
In the days coming up to the galla, Damian withdrew into himself even more. He stopped coming to the movie nights and barely acknowledged Jason and Dick. Instead, Damian followed Tim and Harry around like a deadly, baby duckling. Harry would wake up and find Damian outside his bedroom, eyes wide at being caught.
He always seemed on the verge of asking a question but he never said anything. Harry kept waiting. He wondered if he should confront Damian, demand to know what he was going to do with the information or how his grandfather knew about magic in the first place but, just like Damian, he stayed silent.
Tim was the only one who appeared unaffected by this stalemate. He was too busy sorting through the photographs, enlarging them on his computer screen and downing cup after cup of coffee. Amelia had refused to let Tim give her a room in Drake Manor. She promised Tim and Harry that she’d be careful and would stay off the streets until the danger died down. It didn’t matter how many times Tim insisted, Amelia said she had been taking care of herself since she was fifteen and that Tim and Harry were children. It wasn’t their responsibility to protect her. She did agree to message them if anything happened but mostly spammed their burner phones with pictures of tiny animals that she swore looked like them.
Every night, Tim and Harry detoured from Batman and Robin straight to wherever Amelia was staying. No one had tried to shoot her since Damian cut off the last guy’s fingers but Harry glared at every shadow, one hand on his knife, the other channelling his magic.
A full seven days after getting their suits, Harry woke to the sounds of people moving around Wayne Manor. He hurried into a pair of jeans and a red t-shirt and sneaked downstairs. The foyer and dining room were being transformed. Harry watched the table and chairs being removed and replaced with a champaign tower and bar setup.
“Seems like a lot of alcohol for a six year old’s party,” Harry turned to Jason who had come downstairs beside him.
“Can’t have a gala without alcohol.” Jason said, “it’s the only thing that makes them enjoyable.”
“You drink?” Harry stared at Jason. He was sure the legal drinking age in America was twenty-one.
“Nah, Bruce won’t let me,” Jason pouted, “but someone always gets way too drunk and starts causing drama.”
“Yeah?” Harry looked over at the hundreds of glittering champagne glasses, “What’s the best thing you’ve seen?” Aunt Petunia had hosted quite a few dinner parties but they always seemed drab and uneventful from Harry’s cupboard. Uncle Vernon wouldn’t stop talking about drills and Aunt Petunia kept laughing a tinkly fake laugh.
Jason grinned. “Last galla, Mrs Westcott got into this huge argument with her husband. Mind you, she’s like eighty and takes her poodle everywhere. So here’s this old lady in pearls and a tiny dog in her purse, red in the face yelling at her husband. But…” Jason paused for dramatic effect. “It wasn’t her husband. She was just screaming her head off at this deaf old man that had barely noticed her.”
“That’s not the best story,” Dick had joined them, pulling on a Green Lantern hoodie.
“You said I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone about the incident with the chocolate fountain.”
“And you still can’t,” Dick wiggled his finger at Jason, “I was talking about the time the Riddler broke into a gala and Bruce had to quick change between Brucie and Batman like five times. I almost ruined the whole thing by laughing.”
For the rest of the morning, Dick and Jason kept trying to outdo each other with gala stories. Harry was able to drag Tim away from his computer for once and the four of them swapped stories in the kitchen while helping Alfred make a mix of fancy and kid-friendly foods.
After a quick lunch where Bruce unsuccessfully tried to engage Damian in another conversation and an afternoon playing or more accurately losing a series of board games to Dick and Tim, Harry headed up to put his suit on.
“You look very smart Master Harry,” Alfred said, brushing down his shoulders. Harry still didn’t know if it was a great idea for him to show up to this gala. Mrs Drake would be furious and legally she was his mother since Tim had hacked his government records. They didn’t live at Drake Manor anymore and as a muggle she couldn’t stop them from going to Hogwarts but Harry knew that Tim loved her. He didn’t want Tim to get hurt if Mrs Drake took out her anger on either one of them.
“Should we go down?” Harry asked Alfred. He could hear guests start arriving downstairs but knew that Jason, Dick, Damian and Tim were still in their rooms.
“It’s usually polite for the hosts to welcome each new guest,” Alfred said, “but Master Bruce has always preferred to be fashionably late, even to his own galas.” He sighed. “I will go down to help with the food but I believe you should wait for the others.”
Harry nodded. No matter how much Bruce insisted he had a place here, Harry knew it would be best to stay invisible in the background. He should probably have gotten a less noticeable suit but he loved the colours. Harry ran a hand down it and felt the expensive fabric. He would head down behind Tim, Jason and Dick and try to copy them.
It was a whole hour after guests started to arrive before Jason emerged from his room. He was in a simple black suit without a tie and slightly scuffed boots rather than dress shoes.
“Ready?” He asked Harry. Jason said the word like they were about to go to battle.
“I think so,” Harry said.
“Good,” Jason clapped him on the shoulder, “now just remember the three most important gala rules.”
Harry perked up. He knew about rules.
“Rule one,” Jason said, raising one finger, “don’t accept sweets from old ladies. They are always stale and taste like saw dust.” He raised a second finger, “Two, don’t try to argue with drunk people. You will never win. It doesn’t matter if they’re misquoting Shakespeare and you have the book right in front of them, they won’t change their minds. And the final rule,” Jason held up a third finger, “don’t try and take any of the champagne. Alfred will descend upon you faster than you can take a sip and he will give you a talk about underage drinking that is hours long,” Jason stared directly into Harry’s eyes, “hours.”
Harry nodded. He hadn’t planned to break any of those rules anyway.
Tim, Dick and Damian came out of their rooms, fully dressed.
“Let’s go,” Dick said, putting his arms around Tim and Harry. His pastel blue suit was made of some silk fabric that felt a bit like the invisibility cloak Dumbledore had given him. Bruce was waiting for them at the top of the stairs.
He turned to Harry and Damian. “I know galas can be a bit overwhelming,” he said to them, “you don’t have to stay the whole time. Just let me know before you go back upstairs.”
“I’ve been to a gala before father,” Damian had a hand in one of his pockets. Harry was sure he had it wrapped around a knife.
“All the same,” Bruce said patiently, “this is your gala. I want you to have a good time.”
“And don’t stab anyone,” Jason joked.
Damian just ignored him.
The five of them headed down the stairs and Harry watched Bruce transform into his Brucie persona. He relaxed, an easy grin replacing his usual stoic mask. As he came into view of the party guests, he spread his arms wide and started greeting everyone by name.
The foyer and dining room was full of people, all well dressed and clasping a glass of champagne or other spirits. Harry couldn’t see any other children. Jason dragged him straight over to the food table and loaded a plate with tiny crumbed chicken balls, pieces of rock melon wrapped in prosciutto and chocolate dipped strawberries.
“Try these,” he said, “they’re my favourite.”
Harry cautiously took a bite of the rock melon and it seemed to dissolve in his mouth. The saltiness of the prosciutto went perfectly with the sweet melon. He glanced at the table and saw thin crackers covered in some tiny, black orbs.
“Is that caviar?” Harry asked. Aunt Petunia would be insanely jealous if she saw him here.
“Yep,” Jason peered at the pearl spoon in the caviar mixture, “you can try it if you want. I’ve found that it doesn’t taste as good as it looks.”
Harry took the spoon and ladled out a single black ball onto a cracker. He took a tiny bite of the cracker and wrinkled his nose at the taste. It was weird. Sort of salty, sort of nuttery. It was a very strong flavour and Harry wasn’t sure if he liked it.
“Hello dears,” a woman in an old fashioned pale pink, frilly dress came up to them.
“Mrs Joans,” Jason held out a hand and clasped hers.
“You’ve grown so big,” Mrs Joans said, pinching Jason’s cheeks. Harry saw Jason wince but he kept smiling. “You were so thin when Brucie first got you.” She looked over at Harry. “And you must be Drake’s boy. Are they back from-where was it they were travelling?”
“Um, Argentina,” Harry said, trying to mimic Jason’s posture and mannerisms.
“That was it,” Mrs Joans laughed like Aunt Petunia, “I can’t blame Janet for staying away from here. It’s truly dreadful weather this time of year. Did you like Argentina?”
“Eh, yes,” Harry didn’t bother to correct her. He just hoped she knew about as much about Argentina as he did.
“We best continue around the room,” Jason put his hand in Harry’s.
“Of course, dears,” Mrs Joans said, “I better go and found Brucie.”
Jason pulled Harry away and into the crowd.
“She seemed…” Harry didn’t quite know what to make of Mrs Joans.
“At least she didn’t call me exotic this time,” Jason’s smile dropped into a scowl, “I’m not a peacock Bruce took in to decorate his garden.”
Harry stifled a giggle. “I have to tell you about one of the kids from our boarding school.”
Jason kept leading Harry around the gala until they ran into an unusual…Harry wasn’t sure it was a problem but it was certainly something.
“Oh, Jason,” another old lady came up to them in pearls and too much perfume.
“Mrs Simons,” Jason said, wincing at yet another pinch to his cheek.
“And I’ve already said hello to you,” Mrs Simons looked at Harry and her eyebrows furrowed, “though I was sure you were wearing green with a red tie.”
Harry froze. He peered at Jason, wondering what he should say. A wide grin spread across Jason’s face and he pulled Harry closer to him.
“Oh no,” Jason said, “you must be confusing Tim here with someone else. He’s quite attached to the colour red.”
“My mistake,” Mrs Simons said, giving that same tinkly laugh though it sounded more forced than the others he’d heard tonight. “I must be remembering wrong. Nice to meet you again Timothy.”
“You too, Mrs Simons,” Harry said, casting Jason a questioning look.
Jason dragged Harry away and broke into laughter.
“This is just perfect,” Jason grinned, “I’ve got the best idea.”
Harry thought he already knew what this idea was going to be. It might work out for the better if everyone thought he was Tim. Mrs Drake wouldn’t have to answer questions about their new “son” and make up excuses that wouldn’t tarnish their image.
Throughout the rest of the gala, Harry stayed away from Tim. He swapped his glasses for contact lenses and tried to copy Tim’s rigid posture and posh way of speaking. Jason came up with more and more absurd reasons why Tim was apparently wearing different clothes.
“He spilled some apple juice on his.”
“Huh, it must just be the light.”
“It’s actually a new colour changing technology.”
Tim had clearly picked up on the game making up his own excuses. Dick went between both of them, explaining people’s reactions in detail. It seemed that the few people that knew Tim was supposedly a twin from their children at school, had forgotten after a year with them both away.
“Have you ever considered that you could be colour blind?” Jason asked Mr Jackson who was clearly already pretty drunk.
Harry hid a giggle behind his hand at the perplexed look on Mr Jackson’s face. As fun as it was to confuse drunk people, he was starting to get tired. Another middle aged man came up to him, smiling in a way that made his skin prickle. He held Harry's hand a touch too long and insisted Harry call him by first name: Roman, his black eyes glistening intently. Withdrawing his hand quickly, Harry found Bruce in the crowd and wondered if it was too early to head back up to bed.
The doorbell rung and Harry reluctantly turned to it. He had to have met over a hundred people by now and he couldn’t remember any of their names. Brucie excused himself from a pair of pretty ladies batting their eyelashes at him and headed over to the door, Damian following behind him.
"Welcome," Brucie said a little loudly. Harry would have thought he was tipsy if he didn’t know Bruce.
“Good evening,” a familiar voice answered back. Harry tried to duck behind a table but it was too late. Across the hall, Harry’s eyes met with a pair of pale, blue ones rimmed by half-moon spectacles. Professor Dumbledore stepped into the room, looking strange in a muggle suit. He shook Bruce’s hand. “What a lovely home you have.”