A Family Renewed
The early morning light streamed through the towering windows of Wayne Manor, painting the walls in a muted golden hue. The household stirred with the quiet rhythm of a new day, each member caught in their routines. Harry, however, was already awake. Sleep had eluded him for much of the night, his mind tangled in memories of the war, faces he could never forget, and the Waynes’ unwavering presence as they listened to his confession.
He found solace in work. It was an ingrained habit, a way to stay grounded amidst chaos. With quiet determination, Harry set about cleaning the manor's common spaces. His hands moved methodically, dusting shelves lined with artifacts and polishing the long dining table until it gleamed.
As he straightened the cushions in the living room, Harry paused to admire the room’s warmth. It wasn’t just the rich mahogany furniture or the crackling fireplace that exuded comfort; it was the essence of family that lingered in every corner.
The faint sound of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. Turning, he saw Alfred standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable but his eyes kind.
“You’ve been busy this morning, Mr. Black,” Alfred remarked, stepping into the room with a measured pace. “One might think you’re trying to outrun your thoughts.”
Harry offered a small, sheepish smile. “Something like that. Keeps my hands busy.”
“Indeed.” Alfred approached, placing a steadying hand on Harry’s shoulder. “But remember, even the most diligent worker needs rest. You’ve earned that much.”
Harry nodded, though he wasn’t sure he believed it. The scars etched into his skin, the memories burned into his mind—they were reminders of battles fought and lives lost. Did someone like him truly deserve rest?
Alfred seemed to sense his hesitation but said nothing further. Instead, he handed Harry a steaming mug of tea. “Breakfast will be ready shortly. Perhaps you could join us today?”
Harry hesitated, the idea of sitting down with the entire family still unnerving, but Alfred’s expectant gaze left little room for refusal.
“I’ll be there,” Harry said quietly, his voice carrying a note of resolve.
As Alfred left the room, Harry took a long sip of the tea, savoring the warmth that spread through him. For the first time in a long while, he wondered if he might find a semblance of peace here, within these walls.
Harry arrived at the dining room just as Alfred was setting down plates of scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and stacks of toast. The rest of the family filtered in one by one. Bruce, ever composed, took his seat at the head of the table, his sharp gaze briefly landing on Harry with a flicker of approval. Damian trudged in with a scowl, still fighting off the remnants of sleep, while Tim entered with a tablet in hand, clearly reading something as he walked. Dick and Jason followed, exchanging quiet banter that only occasionally dipped into lighthearted insults.
Harry hesitated by the doorway, still adjusting to the idea of sitting at a table surrounded by people. It wasn’t like Hogwarts, where meals were loud and chaotic. This was quieter, more intimate—a family.
“Harry,” Bruce said, gesturing to an empty seat between Tim and Damian. “Take a seat. You’re part of the household.”
The words caught Harry off guard. He gave a small nod and sat, feeling an odd mix of gratitude and discomfort. As plates were passed around, he quietly helped himself, mindful not to take too much.
The first few minutes of breakfast passed with idle chatter. Tim was discussing a recent case with Bruce, while Dick and Jason argued over who had won their last sparring match. Damian mostly ignored them, though he occasionally muttered something under his breath about how immature they were.
It wasn’t until Jason turned to Harry that the conversation shifted. “So, Black,” Jason began, leaning back in his chair. “You were holding out on us during that workout yesterday. Where’d you learn to move like that?”
Harry glanced up, startled by the question. “Oh, uh…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “Just…picked things up over time, I suppose.”
Jason raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “That wasn’t just ‘picking things up.’ You’ve got training. Real training.”
“Jason,” Bruce said in a warning tone, but the curiosity in his eyes mirrored his son’s.
“It’s fine,” Harry said quickly, setting down his fork. He’d known this question would come eventually. Clearing his throat, he added, “I had to learn how to defend myself. The way I grew up…it wasn’t exactly safe. My aunt and uncle…they weren’t the kindest people. I also had a man train me…He was a great man who was even better at fighting”
Damian, who had been quiet until now, glanced up from his plate. “That much is obvious. You fight like someone who’s used to being outnumbered.”
Harry gave a small, humorless laugh. “You’re not wrong.”
The table fell silent for a moment, the weight of Harry’s words settling over them. It wasn’t pity he saw in their expressions—thankfully—but a quiet understanding.
“Were you in danger a lot?” Tim asked, his voice softer than usual.
“More than I’d like to admit,” Harry replied, his gaze dropping to his plate. “There was…that man who was after me for most of my life. He was dangerous and powerful. And he had a lot of followers willing to do whatever it took to carry out his orders.”
“What did he want from you?” Dick asked carefully.
Harry’s jaw tightened. “He wanted me dead,” he said bluntly. “He killed my parents when I was a baby. Came after me when I was eleven. And he didn’t stop.”
Damian frowned. “Why you?”
Harry hesitated, his fingers tightening around his fork. The truth felt like a weight pressing on his chest, but he’d come this far. “He believed I was the only one who could stop him. So he wanted me dead. Simple as that.”
The room was quiet again, the gravity of Harry’s words hanging heavily in the air. It was Tim who finally broke the silence, his analytical mind piecing things together. “You’ve been fighting him for years, haven’t you?”
Harry nodded. “Since I was fourteen, I knew it was only a matter of time before he came back. I started training myself—anything I could do to prepare. When he finally did come back, it was worse than I’d imagined. People died. Children. Families. He didn’t care who he hurt, as long as it got him closer to his goal.”
The room seemed to shrink around him, the walls closing in as the memories flooded back. He forced himself to take a deep breath, grounding himself in the present.
“I’m sorry,” Harry said suddenly, looking up at them. “I didn’t mean to bring this kind of stuff to your table.”
“Don’t apologize,” Bruce said firmly. “We asked. And we’re listening.”
Harry met his gaze, finding nothing but sincerity there. It was unsettling, but also oddly comforting.
“Thank you,” Harry said quietly.
The tension in the room didn’t dissipate, but it softened into something else—an understanding, a shared weight that each member of the Wayne family seemed to take on in their own way.
Jason was the first to break the silence, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “You’re tougher than you look, Black. Not that you look like a pushover or anything, but…you get what I mean.”
Harry gave a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks. I think.”
Damian, always the blunt one, crossed his arms. “If this man was so dangerous, how are you still alive? Surely he had more resources than you did.”
“He did,” Harry admitted. “More people, more money, more power. But I had…help. Friends. People who were willing to stand by me, even when it felt hopeless.”
The air shifted again, curiosity mingling with the weight of his words.
“Friends?” Tim prompted, leaning forward slightly.
Harry’s gaze dropped to his plate, his grip tightening on the edge of the table. “Their names were Hermione and Ron. I mentioned them earlier. They were the closest thing I had to family for a long time. We fought together, trained together, survived together. They were…” His voice caught, and he had to take a moment to steady himself. “They were captured…like I said.”
The sharp intake of breath from Dick and Jason was almost simultaneous. Damian’s expression, usually one of detached skepticism, shifted to something more somber.
“They were tortured for information,” Harry said, his tone hollow. “For days. And when they didn’t give up anything, they were—” He stopped, swallowing hard. “They didn’t make it.”
The room fell silent again, the weight of his confession settling heavily over the table.
“I’m so sorry,” Tim said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Harry shook his head, forcing a weak smile. “It’s not your fault. It’s just…how it was. They died because they believed in what we were fighting for. Because they refused to let him win.”
Jason’s hand clenched into a fist on the table, his jaw tight. “That’s messed up. No one should have to go through that, especially not kids.”
Harry gave a bitter laugh. “We weren’t kids anymore, not by the end. We couldn’t afford to be.”
Damian frowned, his sharp gaze studying Harry intently. “And now? Do you think it’s over?”
Harry hesitated, his mind flashing back to the final battle, the chaos, the destruction. “He’s gone,” he said finally. “I made sure of it. But the scars he left behind…those don’t just disappear.”
For a moment, no one spoke. The weight of Harry’s words hung heavily in the air, a stark reminder of the darkness he had endured.
“Harry,” Bruce said after a long pause, his voice steady and resolute, “you don’t have to carry this alone anymore. You’re here now. With us. And we don’t turn our backs on family.”
Harry’s throat tightened at the word. Family. It felt foreign, almost unattainable. But the sincerity in Bruce’s voice, the unwavering support he saw in their eyes—it was enough to make him believe, if only for a moment, that maybe he could belong here.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.
The silence following Harry’s quiet gratitude was not uncomfortable—it was weighted, yes, but also filled with an unspoken agreement: they wouldn’t press him further unless he wanted them to. The Waynes weren’t strangers to trauma, and the collective understanding of boundaries hovered in the air like a shield.
Jason leaned back in his chair, breaking the moment with a light scoff. “Well, you’re full of surprises, Harry. I don’t know if I should be impressed or worried that you’re tougher than you look.”
“I’d take that as a compliment,” Harry said, managing a wry smile, though his fingers fidgeted slightly with the edge of his sleeve.
“Why don’t you take a walk, Harry?” Bruce suggested, his voice calm but firm. “Clear your head. You’ve shared enough for tonight. You don’t have to push yourself.”
Harry hesitated, caught between relief and guilt, but nodded. He excused himself, rising from the table. As he headed for the door, Alfred appeared quietly by his side, offering a hand to steady him as if sensing the unsteadiness in Harry’s step. “A good stroll about the gardens might do you some good, Mr. Black. The fresh air always helps clear one’s thoughts.”
Harry didn’t answer, but he gave Alfred a small nod before stepping out into the cool night.
Inside, the Waynes remained seated, exchanging glances. Tim’s analytical mind was already racing, piecing together the fragments Harry had revealed.
“He’s been through hell,” Jason said bluntly, breaking the silence. “I mean, we knew he wasn’t just some normal guy, but this? He’s a soldier. A kid soldier, by the sound of it.”
Bruce’s expression hardened. “And yet he still kept his promise to me. When I hired him, I told him he was responsible for protecting this family if it ever came to it. He didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second.”
Damian, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke. “He has the instincts of a warrior,” he said simply, his tone devoid of his usual arrogance. “That doesn’t come naturally. It’s trained. And it’s earned through survival.”
“Survival,” Dick echoed softly, his brow furrowed. “He was talking about war, but…it’s not the kind of war we know. It sounds…personal. Intimate, almost.”
Tim tapped his fingers on the table, his thoughts racing. “He said most of it was classified. That means there’s a government cover-up involved. But it doesn’t add up—there’s no record of any recent British military conflicts that would explain what he went through.”
“Which means it’s not public knowledge,” Bruce said grimly. “And if it’s classified, we’ll have to tread carefully. The last thing we need is to put Harry in more danger by digging too deeply.”
Jason shook his head. “Danger? He seems to be doing just fine handling danger on his own. You saw what he did today.”
“He shouldn’t have to,” Tim interjected, his voice sharp. “He’s not invincible, Jason. And he shouldn’t have to keep fighting battles from his past just to prove he belongs here.”
A silence fell over the table again, this time filled with a mix of determination and quiet concern.
“He belongs here,” Bruce said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And we’ll make sure he knows that.”
Outside, Harry walked along the gravel paths of the garden, his breath misting in the cool air. The weight of the evening’s conversation hung heavy on his shoulders, but there was also an odd sense of relief. For the first time in years, he had spoken about his past—not in vague, evasive terms, but openly.
He stopped near a bench and sat down, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His thoughts wandered back to Ron and Hermione, to the laughter they used to share before the war had stolen so much from them. The ache of loss flared in his chest, but there was a bittersweet comfort in remembering them.
For the first time in a long while, Harry allowed himself to feel the full weight of his grief—and the smallest flicker of hope.
Would you like me to continue the next planned development or focus on Harry’s reflections?
Harry stayed in the garden longer than he intended, his mind cycling through fragmented memories. Flashes of Hermione’s bright smile as she buried her nose in a book, Ron’s laugh as he tossed a Quaffle in the Gryffindor common room, the three of them huddled together in the middle of a raging storm, trying to plan their next move against Voldemort.
The weight of their absence was a familiar ache, but tonight it felt sharper, rawer, like a fresh wound. He rubbed at his chest absentmindedly, as if that would dull the phantom pain.
Eventually, the chill of the night air started to seep into his bones, and he decided to head back inside. The quiet of Wayne Manor greeted him as he stepped through the back entrance, though he could hear faint murmurs coming from the direction of the kitchen.
As he approached, the voices grew clearer.
“I still think we should look into it,” Tim was saying, his tone insistent. “If he’s been through something as serious as he described, we need to know who might still be after him.”
“And risk breaking his trust?” Dick countered. “We can’t just go digging into his past without his permission. He’s already opened up more than I expected tonight. That’s huge for him.”
Jason let out a low whistle. “Yeah, but if his past is as dangerous as it sounds, it’s not just about trust. It’s about keeping all of us safe too.”
Bruce’s voice cut through the conversation like a blade. “We don’t do anything without his consent. He’s part of this family now, and we respect his boundaries. Understood?”
Harry froze in the hallway, his heart pounding. They were talking about him, of course, they were—but there was no malice in their words. Only concern, frustration, and an undercurrent of protectiveness he wasn’t used to.
Swallowing hard, he stepped into the kitchen. The conversation halted immediately, and all eyes turned to him.
“Sorry,” Harry said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You’re not interrupting,” Bruce said, his tone softening as he gestured to a chair. “Come, sit.”
Harry hesitated but eventually sat down at the table. The others watched him, their expressions a mix of curiosity and quiet support. He felt the weight of their attention and cleared his throat, trying to break the tension.
“I…wanted to thank you,” he started, his voice low. “For earlier. For not pushing me too hard.”
“You don’t have to thank us for that,” Dick said gently. “It’s your story to tell, Harry. We’re just here to listen when you’re ready.”
Harry nodded, a small smile flickering across his face. He glanced at Tim, who had been uncharacteristically quiet. The younger man was studying him with a look that was almost too perceptive as if he could see right through Harry’s carefully constructed walls.
After a long pause, Harry spoke again. “There’s…a lot I can’t tell you. It’s classified, like I said. But…if you have questions, I’ll try to answer what I can.”
The room fell silent, and Harry braced himself for the onslaught of questions he was sure would come. Instead, Damian spoke first, his voice softer than usual.
“You said you were a soldier,” Damian began, his eyes locked on Harry’s. “Were you trained from a young age?”
Harry exhaled slowly. “Not really, I tried but there’s not much you can get from books and a kid. But I had to learn fast. By the time I was fourteen, I knew war was inevitable. The man who…who killed my parents came back. He had followers, and they started targeting people—kids, families, anyone who got in their way. I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.”
The weight of his words settled over the room like a heavy blanket. Damian frowned, his brows furrowing. “And the government let this happen?”
“It wasn’t that simple,” Harry said, his tone guarded. “He wasn’t…normal. None of them were. They operated in shadows, and most people didn’t even realize there was a war happening. It was…a different kind of fight.”
The room was eerily quiet, save for the faint ticking of the kitchen clock. Jason broke the silence, his voice unusually soft. “You did everything you could, Harry. You know that, right?”
Harry looked down at his hands, his knuckles white from how tightly he gripped the table's edge. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough.”
Bruce reached across the table, resting a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You survived. That’s not nothing, Harry. And you’re here now. That matters.”
Harry didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded, his eyes fixed on the tabletop.
The room lingered in heavy silence, the weight of Harry’s admission settling over them like an oppressive fog. He could feel their eyes on him—concerned, sympathetic, and something else he couldn’t quite place. But he didn’t want to stay in that place of darkness anymore. He’d spent enough time there.
With a deep breath, Harry straightened up and forced a small, bittersweet smile onto his face. “You know,” he said, his voice lighter, “Hermione and Ron... they wouldn’t want me sitting here, brooding like some tragic hero in a bad novel.”
Jason huffed a short laugh at that, and even Damian’s lips twitched, just a little. Encouraged, Harry continued.
“Ron—he was an absolute disaster when it came to schoolwork. Lazy as anything, but when it mattered, when things got serious, you could always count on him to pull through. I remember one time we had to take these exams—huge, life-changing, terrifying—and Hermione had practically written a study guide for the entire year. Ron tried to sneak by with notes he’d scribbled on the back of his hand.”
Tim raised an eyebrow. “And how did that work out for him?”
Harry chuckled, the memory warming him. “Not well. The ink smudged, and he ended up writing the answers to the wrong questions. He tried to argue his way out of it, and said he was ‘thinking outside the box.’ Didn’t work, but you had to admire his creativity.”
A few soft chuckles echoed around the table, the tension easing just a bit. Dick leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Sounds like my kind of guy.”
Harry nodded. “Yeah, he was something else.” He glanced at his hands, then back up at them. “And Hermione... well, she was brilliant. But what people don’t realize is she could be terrifying when she wanted to be.”
Damian tilted his head. “Terrifying how?”
Harry smirked. “One time, we had to sneak into this restricted area—don’t ask why—and we got caught. The guy who found us was twice our size, and Ron and I were ready to bolt, but Hermione? She just stepped up and started lecturing him on the proper procedures and legal implications of keeping students out of restricted zones. She even made up some law that didn’t exist, and the guy bought it.”
Tim blinked. “Wait, she just... talked her way out of it?”
“Oh yeah,” Harry said with a grin. “She had this way of making you feel like an absolute idiot if you questioned her. Ron called it her ‘lecture of doom.’”
Jason snorted. “Sounds like she could’ve had a career in law enforcement.”
Harry smiled, a genuine one this time. “Yeah, probably. She was unstoppable when she set her mind to something.”
The room felt lighter now like the weight of the past had loosened its grip, even if just for a little while. Harry leaned back in his chair, feeling the warm hum of nostalgia in his chest rather than the usual ache.
Bruce, who had been watching silently, gave a small nod. “They sound like good friends, Harry.”
Harry met his eyes and nodded. “They were. And I think... I think they’d want me to be here now. Living.”
Dick clapped him on the shoulder, a reassuring weight. “Well, you’re stuck with us now. And just so you know, we don’t let people brood alone in this house. That’s a rule.”
Harry laughed softly. “Duly noted.”
The conversation shifted then, flowing into lighter topics—Dick sharing a funny story about one of his patrols gone wrong, Tim pulling up a ridiculous meme on his phone that had Jason groaning in second-hand embarrassment.
Harry found himself leaning into the moment, letting the laughter and banter wash over him. He didn’t have to carry everything alone, not here, not anymore.
For the first time in a long while, he felt... okay. Maybe even hopeful.
“I’m not getting fired by the way Mr. Wayne,” Harry’s voice interrupted the laughter with a cutting edge. His eyes seemed to bore into the man.
“What do you mean Harriosn?” Bruce looked at the boy confused, “I would have thought that you would have liked the opportunity to relax,” The man said confused.
“I’ve thought on the matter and I believe I need to keep my hands busy. I have my whole life and I’ve found comfort in keeping things neat. So please let me keep my position.” Harrison’s voice seemed to bleed into the room with an almost pleading tone as he looked at the man with his green eyes. The green eyes were so similar to Jason’s.
Bruce let out a sigh, rubbed his temples with his fingers, looked back at the boy, and nodded. “If you think that is what would be best I do believe that Alfred appreciated your help. If you do need a break please do not hesitate to take one. Alfred has been taking care of this family for years and I doubt he has any plans to stop taking care of our family for many years to come.”
Alfred gave a “hump” In response to bruces words. The man had been correct. Alfred Pennyworth had no intentions of stopping his duties as head butler of Wayne manner until he was forced into a grave six feet into the ground.
“Thank you, Mr. Wayne. I appreciate it.” Harry said with a nod as he gave the man a slight smile as he looked around at everyone in the room and took in the comforting air around him. He could hear Ron’s laughter and Hermoine’s quill scratches in his ears but he couldn’t help but think that they would be pleased at who he had brought into his life.