The first thing Harry became aware of was the smell—not unpleasant, but distinctly medicinal. Antiseptic mixed with something herbal that his newly integrated memories identified as essence of dittany, a healing potion ingredient. The second thing was the feeling of absolute exhaustion, as though he'd run a marathon while simultaneously solving complex mathematical equations and translating ancient texts.
The third thing was the knowledge.
It hit him like a wave—not overwhelming, not painful, but *present* in a way that made his previous understanding of magic seem like looking at shadows on a cave wall. Spell theory that had been abstract concepts now made perfect, intuitive sense. Strategic frameworks he'd glimpsed in books suddenly clicked into comprehensive understanding. Languages he'd struggled with—Latin, ancient runes, Parseltongue—were now accessible as easily as English.
He could feel the integration in his mind like a new room that had always been there but previously locked. Tom Riddle's memories sat separate enough that Harry knew they weren't his own experiences, but integrated enough that he could access them as easily as his own knowledge. It was like having a comprehensive library installed directly into his consciousness, fully catalogued and cross-referenced.
Harry's eyes fluttered open to find several faces hovering above him with varying expressions of concern and curiosity. Alfred's dignified worry, Bruce's carefully controlled anxiety, Selina's sharp assessment, Constantine's professional interest, Giovanni's warm relief, and Zatanna's bright-eyed fascination.
"Well," Harry said, his voice coming out scratchy from disuse, "that was certainly an experience. Is there water? I feel like I've been gargling sandpaper mixed with regret."
The tension in the room broke immediately. Constantine barked out a laugh while Alfred produced a glass of water with the efficiency of someone who'd anticipated this exact request.
"Master Harry," Alfred said as he helped Harry sit up enough to drink, "how are you feeling? Any disorientation, headaches, unexpected urges to conquer the wizarding world?"
Harry took a long drink before responding, his newly integrated knowledge helping him assess his own condition with surprising accuracy. "Exhausted, definitely. Like I've been studying for exams for six hours straight without breaks. But mentally clear—no confusion about who I am, no personality fragmentation, no sudden desires for world domination. Though I have to say, Tom Riddle had *terrible* interior decorating taste. The memories of his hideouts are aesthetically offensive."
"Tom Riddle?" Bruce asked carefully, moving closer. "You're referring to the soul fragment's consciousness by name?"
"He introduced himself as Tom," Harry explained, accepting Alfred's help to sit up fully. The blanket pooled around his waist, and he realized he was still wearing the white ritual robes. "Quite polite about the whole thing, actually. We had a rather philosophical discussion about power, purpose, and the importance of maintaining one's humanity while acquiring dangerous knowledge."
Constantine exchanged glances with Giovanni, both practitioners clearly reassessing their expectations about how soul fragment integration typically proceeded. "Potter," Constantine said slowly, "most people don't have *conversations* with the consciousness they're integrating. Usually it's more of a... violent absorption process. Lots of metaphorical fighting, struggling for dominance, that sort of thing."
"That sounds exhausting and counterproductive," Harry replied with his characteristic practicality. "Tom and I came to an understanding—he provided access to his knowledge and abilities in exchange for me promising not to repeat his mistakes regarding the whole 'fragmenting one's soul and becoming a snake-faced monster' situation. Seemed like a reasonable arrangement."
"A reasonable arrangement," Selina repeated with obvious amusement. "Harry, you just negotiated terms with a piece of the darkest wizard in modern history. That's either brilliantly strategic or completely insane."
"Can't it be both?" Harry asked, echoing his earlier comment about being brilliantly mad. "I find that most effective strategies have an element of controlled insanity."
Zatanna, who had been watching this entire exchange with wide eyes, suddenly grinned. "You sound different," she observed. "Not your voice, but the way you talk. More... I don't know, grown-up? But still you."
Harry considered this carefully, running a self-diagnostic that Tom's memories suggested was standard practice after any major magical transformation. "I do feel different," he admitted. "More certain about things, I suppose. Like I understand contexts and implications that were previously just theoretical. But I'm still me—still Harry Potter, still six years old, still deeply invested in proper chocolate hierarchy and the ethical treatment of house-elves."
"The fact that you can identify the changes while maintaining continuity of self is a very good sign," Giovanni said with obvious relief. "It suggests the integration was clean—your personality and values intact, Tom's knowledge and abilities accessible but filtered through your perspective."
"Exactly," Harry agreed. "It's like... imagine reading every book in a library versus having someone who's read every book in a library available to answer questions. I have Tom's knowledge, but I'm asking the questions and deciding which answers are actually useful versus which ones are morally horrifying."
He paused, his expression growing more serious. "And there are quite a few morally horrifying answers in there. Tom Riddle was brilliant, strategic, magically gifted—but he was also completely divorced from basic human empathy. The memories of what he did to people, how he justified it, the casual cruelty... it's appalling."
"But you're not tempted to emulate those aspects?" Bruce asked, his voice carrying the weight of someone who needed absolute clarity on this point.
Harry met his gaze steadily, and there was something in those green eyes that was both ancient and utterly young. "I'm tempted to understand them," he said honestly. "To comprehend how someone could become that way, what psychological and philosophical frameworks enabled such cruelty. But tempted to repeat them? No. Tom showed me where that path leads, and it's not somewhere I have any interest in going."
He shifted position, testing his physical coordination and finding it satisfactory despite the exhaustion. "Tom made me a promise before the integration completed—he said power without purpose is just destruction wearing a crown. That's... actually quite profound. All his knowledge, all his magical abilities, they're only valuable if I use them to protect people rather than control them."
Constantine stubbed out his cigarette, immediately reaching for another one—a gesture that Harry now recognized as Constantine's standard response to complex emotional situations. "Christ, Potter," Constantine said with something that might have been respect. "Most adults don't achieve that level of moral clarity. You're six years old with access to a dark lord's memories, and you're already philosophically categorizing which aspects are useful versus horrifying."
"Nearly seven," Harry corrected automatically. "And Constantine, I spent years being told by the Dursleys that I was fundamentally wrong, fundamentally broken, fundamentally undeserving of basic human decency. I know what it feels like to be treated as less than human. I would never, ever inflict that experience on someone else, regardless of how much strategic advantage it might provide."
The room fell quiet for a moment, the weight of Harry's words settling over everyone present.
Alfred broke the silence by producing a tray that somehow contained fresh tea and biscuits despite the fact that he'd been standing by the ritual circle for the past six hours. "Master Harry," he said gently, "perhaps we might discuss your newfound knowledge over proper refreshment? I find that philosophy is considerably more manageable when accompanied by adequate caffeine and sugar."
"That's remarkably wise, Alfred," Harry said, accepting a cup of tea with obvious gratitude. "Tom never understood the value of proper breaks for contemplation. He just pushed through everything with grim determination and an unfortunate lack of snack breaks. No wonder he went mad—anyone would go mad without regular access to biscuits."
This observation, delivered with perfect seriousness, made Selina laugh outright. "Harry, you've just integrated memories of torture, murder, and dark magic experimentation, and your primary criticism is insufficient snack breaks?"
"Well, it's a valid criticism," Harry defended, taking a bite of biscuit with the satisfaction of someone who'd earned their treats. "Proper nutrition and rest breaks are essential for maintaining mental health and decision-making capacity. If Tom had taken more tea breaks and fewer 'let's fragment my soul' breaks, history might have turned out very differently."
"He's not wrong," Constantine admitted grudgingly. "Most dark wizards could benefit from better work-life balance. Though I'm not sure 'take more tea breaks' is typically considered an effective strategy for preventing descent into evil."
"It's a starting point," Harry said with conviction. "Though I imagine proper therapy and genuine human connections would also help. Tom's fundamental problem was isolation—he cut himself off from anyone who might challenge his worldview or provide emotional support. That's... that's actually the trap, isn't it? The thing that makes dark magic so dangerous isn't the spells themselves, it's the philosophical framework that encourages viewing other people as tools or obstacles rather than as individuals with their own worth."
Giovanni was staring at Harry with something approaching awe. "Mijo, you've just articulated in two minutes what takes most magical philosophers entire books to explain. The corruption of dark magic isn't primarily about the spells—it's about the dehumanization that enables their use."
"It makes sense when you think about it," Harry replied, warming to the topic with the enthusiasm of someone who'd just gained access to centuries of magical philosophy and strategic thinking. "The Killing Curse, for instance—you can't cast it successfully unless you genuinely want the target dead, unless you've dehumanized them enough that their death feels justified or even desirable. That's not a spell you can use casually or accidentally. It requires a specific psychological state that's fundamentally incompatible with viewing other people as fully human."
He paused, taking another sip of tea. "But understanding how it works, knowing the theory and magical mechanics—that doesn't require me to adopt the psychological framework that would make me capable of casting it. I can understand the Killing Curse without being capable of using it, which is actually strategically valuable. You can't defend against something you don't understand."
Bruce had been watching this entire discourse with the intense focus he used when processing new tactical information. "Harry," he said carefully, "you're talking about dark magic—spells designed to kill, torture, control—with the analytical detachment of a scholar rather than the moral horror most people would feel."
"Because I'm accessing Tom's understanding of these spells," Harry explained, recognizing Bruce's concern and addressing it directly. "His memories don't carry the emotional weight of horror that someone learning about these things secondhand would experience. To Tom, these were just tools—advanced magical techniques that required specific knowledge and skill. But I'm not Tom. I can access his technical understanding while applying my own moral framework."
He set down his teacup with deliberate care. "Bruce, I'm horrified by what Tom did with this knowledge. But I'm not going to pretend I don't have access to it, or that understanding how dark magic works makes me somehow corrupted. It's what I choose to do with that knowledge that matters, not the knowledge itself."
"And what are you choosing to do with it?" Selina asked, her cat-like eyes missing nothing as she studied Harry's face.
Harry was quiet for a moment, organizing his thoughts with the systematic precision that now came from having access to Tom Riddle's strategic thinking frameworks. "I'm choosing to use it defensively," he said finally. "To understand how dark magic works so I can counter it, protect people from it, develop strategies for dealing with dark wizards who won't hesitate to use the most horrific spells available."
He looked around at the assembled group. "Tom's knowledge includes defensive applications, counter-curses, ways to detect and neutralize dark magic. That's invaluable for protecting people. But it also includes the actual dark spells themselves, the rituals, the... the horrible things he did in pursuit of power. I have access to all of it, and I'm choosing to study the defensive applications while categorizing the offensive magic as 'understand but never use unless literally no other option exists.'"
"That's a dangerous line to walk," Constantine observed. "Knowing how to use dark magic but choosing not to—history's full of people who thought they could maintain that distinction and failed spectacularly."
"Then I'll be careful," Harry said with simple conviction. "I'll maintain connections to people who'll call me out if I start rationalizing the use of dark magic. I'll regularly reassess my moral framework and make sure I'm not slowly compromising my values. And I'll remember Tom's warning—power without purpose is just destruction wearing a crown."
He smiled slightly. "Plus, I have all of you to keep me honest. Alfred will give me disapproving looks, Zatanna will call me out if I'm being stupid, Bruce will probably develop contingency plans for dealing with me if I go dark, Selina will... actually, what will you do if I start showing signs of corruption?"
"Steal all your books and hide them somewhere you can't find them," Selina replied immediately. "Also probably stage an intervention involving uncomfortable conversations about emotions and the importance of maintaining one's humanity."
"That sounds appropriately uncomfortable," Harry agreed. "I'll do my best to avoid requiring such intervention."
Alfred cleared his throat delicately. "Master Harry, if I might inquire—how comprehensive is your access to Tom Riddle's memories? Are we discussing vague impressions and fragmented knowledge, or complete recall of his entire life experience?"
Harry considered the question carefully, running through his newly organized mental library. "Comprehensive enough that I could write a detailed biography of his life from the day he was born to whenever the fragment separated from his main soul—which appears to be around age fifty-four, based on the most recent clear memories. But the memories aren't presented chronologically or with Tom's original emotional context. They're organized more like... like a reference library."
He gestured vaguely, trying to articulate something that was fundamentally difficult to explain. "I can access specific information when I need it—spell theory, strategic thinking, knowledge about specific people or places. But I'm not constantly reliving Tom's experiences or being overwhelmed by his memories. It's more like having a very comprehensive encyclopedia that I can consult when necessary."
"That's ideal," Giovanni said with obvious relief. "Uncontrolled memory integration can be psychologically devastating—constantly reliving someone else's experiences, losing track of which memories belong to you versus the integrated consciousness. But what you're describing sounds like your own consciousness has successfully organized and compartmentalized Tom's memories in a way that makes them accessible without being overwhelming."
"It helps that Tom's fragment cooperated," Harry said. "He understood that trying to assert dominance would just result in both of us being diminished. Better to integrate peacefully and maintain coherence than to fight for control and end up fragmented. He was remarkably pragmatic about the whole thing."
Constantine was shaking his head with obvious disbelief. "Potter, you're describing soul fragment integration like it was a business negotiation. Most people experience it as psychological warfare."
"Maybe most people don't have access to six-year-old stubbornness combined with dark lord strategic thinking," Harry replied with a grin that was pure mischief. "I'm a unique case."
"That's certainly one way to put it," Bruce said dryly. "Harry, can you give us a practical demonstration of your new capabilities? I'd like to understand what we're working with in terms of actual magical ability versus theoretical knowledge."
Harry considered this request, running through Tom's memories for appropriate demonstrations that wouldn't be alarming or destructive. "Well," he said thoughtfully, "I could show you some basic wandless magic—simple levitation, maybe some transfiguration. Or I could demonstrate my newly integrated understanding of magical theory by explaining complex spell mechanics. What would be most useful?"
"Wandless magic," Zatanna said immediately, leaning forward with obvious interest. "Papa says that's really advanced, that most wizards never learn it properly."
"It's about understanding the fundamental nature of magic," Harry explained, holding out his hand palm-up. "Wands are focusing tools—they make spell casting easier and more precise. But magic itself comes from the witch or wizard, not from the wand. Once you understand that conceptually, wandless magic becomes possible, though it requires significantly more concentration and magical control."
As he spoke, a small flame appeared above his palm—not summoned from anywhere, but literally created from magical energy transformed into fire. The flame danced and shifted, responding to Harry's will as he shaped it into various forms: a bird, a flower, a tiny dragon that performed aerial loops before dissipating harmlessly.
"Blimey," Constantine breathed, stubbing out his cigarette. "That's... that's actually remarkable, Potter. Most adult wizards struggle with basic wandless levitation. You're doing complex elemental manipulation and transfiguration without even thinking about it."
Harry let the flame dissipate, looking slightly sheepish. "Tom was rather good at wandless magic. He practiced extensively as a teenager because he couldn't use magic outside of Hogwarts without getting in trouble. So he developed techniques for magical manipulation that didn't register as proper spell casting."
"That's extraordinarily useful," Bruce observed, his tactical mind clearly cataloging the implications. "Being able to use magic without a wand means you can't be disarmed in the traditional sense."
"Exactly," Harry agreed. "Though wandless magic is significantly more tiring than wand-focused casting, and it's less precise for complex spells. It's good for emergencies or situations where you don't have access to a wand, but for most practical purposes, using a proper wand is more efficient."
He paused, then added with characteristic honesty, "Also, I'm six years old. My magical core is still developing. I can do impressive things for my age because I have Tom's knowledge and understanding, but I don't have adult magical reserves. Using too much wandless magic too quickly would exhaust me."
"Which is important to remember," Giovanni said firmly. "Knowledge doesn't instantly translate to unlimited capability, mijo. You may understand advanced magic intellectually, but your physical magical capacity is still that of a young child. You'll need to be careful about overtaxing your magical core until you're older."
"Noted," Harry said seriously. "No attempting to duel adult dark wizards single-handedly until I've had time to grow into my magical abilities. In the meantime, I'll focus on developing strategy, defensive magic, and understanding rather than pure offensive capability."
"Smart," Selina approved. "Use your brain rather than just magical power. Sounds like you're already thinking tactically about your own development."
Harry's expression grew thoughtful. "Tom's memories include quite a lot about magical development—how children's magic works differently than adults', why certain spells are dangerous for young wizards to attempt, the importance of proper training and gradual capability building. He was actually quite careful about his own magical education, despite being reckless about other people's safety."
"Selective self-preservation," Constantine observed dryly. "Classic dark wizard trait. Perfectly willing to destroy others, fanatically careful about personal wellbeing."
"It's not entirely irrational," Harry said, defending Tom's logic despite its moral bankruptcy. "If your goal is long-term power acquisition, damaging yourself through reckless magic is counterproductive. Though obviously, the entire 'create seven Horcruxes and fragment your soul until you're barely human' plan rather undermined that careful approach."
He shook his head. "That's the thing about Tom's knowledge—I can see exactly where he went wrong, watch his decision-making process deteriorate as he damaged himself. It's like having a detailed case study in 'how not to pursue power' installed directly in my brain."
"And you're confident you can avoid making similar mistakes?" Bruce asked, his voice carrying the weight of someone who needed reassurance despite already suspecting the answer.
Harry met his gaze steadily. "I'm confident that I have advantages Tom didn't have, Bruce. I have people who care about me as a person rather than as a tool or symbol. I have connections to individuals who'll challenge me if I start making questionable choices. I have no desire to fragment my soul because I've experienced, through Tom's memories, exactly how horrifying that process is."
He paused, then continued with unexpected vulnerability. "But I'm also not arrogant enough to think I'm immune to corruption or poor decisions. That's why I need all of you—to watch for warning signs, to keep me grounded, to remind me that power should be used to protect rather than control. I can't do this alone, and I'm not going to try."
The sincerity in his voice seemed to satisfy something in Bruce's expression. "Alright," he said finally. "Then we move forward with training—magical development with Giovanni and Constantine, tactical thinking and strategic planning with me, all of it designed to help you use this knowledge responsibly."
"And psychological support," Selina added firmly. "Regular check-ins to make sure you're processing everything healthily, that you're not internalizing trauma from Tom's memories, that you're maintaining clear boundaries between his experiences and your own identity."
"Also biscuit breaks," Zatanna contributed seriously. "Harry said Tom didn't take enough breaks, and that's clearly a major character flaw. We should make sure Harry gets proper snack breaks during training."
Harry laughed, the sound bright and genuine and completely free of the darkness that might have been expected from someone who'd just integrated a dark lord's consciousness. "Zatanna's got the right priorities. Comprehensive training program with regular biscuit breaks sounds perfect."
Alfred, who had been quietly observing this entire exchange while refilling tea cups with his characteristic perfect timing, smiled with obvious satisfaction. "I believe, Master Harry, that you're going to do quite well with your newfound knowledge. You've managed to acquire centuries of magical expertise while maintaining your fundamental kindness and humor. That's no small achievement."
"Thank you, Alfred," Harry said warmly. "Though I have to credit everyone here for making that possible. Tom's last piece of advice was that power without connection to humanity leads to isolation and eventual destruction. You've all given me connections worth preserving, worth fighting for, worth staying human for."
He stretched carefully, testing his physical coordination after six hours of unconsciousness. "Right then. What's the plan now? I imagine there are practical matters to address—my magical education formally beginning, security concerns given that I'm now even more valuable as a target, probably some sort of public announcement about the famous Boy Who Lived being found?"
"All of that," Bruce confirmed. "But first, you're going to rest properly, let your body recover from the integration, give yourself time to adjust to having access to so much new knowledge. The practical matters can wait a few days."
"A few days?" Harry looked slightly disappointed. "But I have so much knowledge to organize, so many things to learn and understand—"
"Which will all still be there after you've had adequate rest," Alfred interrupted with gentle firmness. "Master Harry, even the most brilliant mind requires proper downtime to consolidate learning and maintain optimal function. I insist you take at least forty-eight hours to recover before beginning any intensive training or study."
Harry opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again as Tom's memories helpfully provided information about magical exhaustion and the importance of proper recovery periods after major magical transformations. "Fine," he conceded grudgingly. "Forty-eight hours of rest, during which I'll probably organize Tom's memories into a more accessible framework and begin preliminary categorization of useful versus dangerous magical knowledge."
"That's not rest, that's mental filing," Selina pointed out with amusement.
"It's restful mental filing," Harry defended. "Like meditation, but more productive. I'll be very calm and relaxed while reorganizing my expanded mental library."
Constantine snorted. "Christ, Potter, you're going to drive yourself mental if you don't learn to actually relax. How about this—forty-eight hours during which you're allowed to think about magic, but not allowed to actively practice or study anything more strenuous than basic theory review. Call it 'supervised recovery with optional contemplation.'"
"I can work with that," Harry agreed after a moment's consideration. "Though I reserve the right to ask questions if something interesting occurs to me."
"Questions are fine," Giovanni said with paternal indulgence. "Zatanna asks approximately four hundred questions daily, and I've managed to survive. I suspect I can handle your curiosity as well."
As the group began making arrangements for Harry's recovery period—comfortable quarters, access to books for light reading, scheduled check-ins to monitor his physical and psychological adjustment—Harry found himself feeling something he hadn't experienced in years.
Complete safety.
Not just physical safety, though that was certainly present. But emotional safety—the knowledge that these people genuinely cared about his wellbeing, that they'd support him through the challenges ahead, that he could be honest about his fears and struggles without being judged or abandoned.
Tom Riddle had never experienced that kind of safety. He'd spent his entire life isolated, unable to trust anyone, convinced that connection was weakness rather than strength. And that isolation had ultimately destroyed him, transformed him from a brilliant but troubled child into a monster who'd lost every trace of humanity.
Harry wouldn't make that mistake. He had Tom's knowledge, his magical abilities, his strategic brilliance—but he also had something infinitely more valuable.
He had family.
As Alfred helped him to his feet, supporting him through the wobbly first steps after hours of unconsciousness, Harry looked around at the people who'd chosen to protect and support him despite knowing how dangerous and complicated he was.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "All of you. For believing I could do this, for making sure I survived it, for being here when I woke up. I know I'm not easy—that integrating a dark lord's consciousness probably isn't what you signed up for when you decided to help me. But I'm grateful. More grateful than I know how to express properly."
Bruce's hand came to rest on his shoulder, warm and steady and reassuring. "Harry, you're family. That means we're in this together, whatever 'this' turns out to be. Dark lord integration, tactical training, figuring out how to navigate the magical world—all of it. You're not doing any of this alone."
"Not alone," Harry repeated softly, the words carrying weight beyond their simple meaning.
And for the first time in his short, complicated life, Harry Potter believed it completely.
---
Later that afternoon, after Constantine had departed in a cloud of cigarette smoke and muttered warnings about "keeping the bloody kid grounded before he decides to solve all the world's problems before puberty," Bruce found Harry in the library. The boy was curled up in an oversized leather chair that made him look even smaller than usual, surrounded by books on magical theory that he was supposedly just "lightly reviewing" despite Alfred's instructions about rest.
"Harry," Bruce said from the doorway, his voice carrying that particular tone that meant Important Conversation Was About To Happen. "Could you come with me? There's something I need to show you."
Harry looked up from his book—a treatise on defensive ward construction that was definitely not light reading—and set it aside with careful precision. "Of course, Bruce. Is this the part where you reveal you're Batman and show me the secret cave full of expensive vigilante equipment?"
Bruce froze mid-step, his carefully prepared speech about revealing his secret identity derailing spectacularly. "I... what?"
"Batman," Harry repeated with that characteristic blend of patience and sass, as if explaining something obvious to a slightly slow adult. "The vigilante who operates in Gotham, fights crime through a combination of intimidation, advanced technology, and what I suspect is a rather alarming disregard for proper safety protocols. That's you, isn't it?"
Bruce's mind was racing through tactical assessments, trying to determine how Harry had figured this out. He'd been so careful, maintained perfect operational security for years, never told the boy anything that might—
"How did you—" Bruce started, then stopped, recalibrating. "Harry, I never told you about Batman. No one did. How could you possibly know?"
Harry stood up, brushing imaginary dust from his clothes with the air of someone preparing to deliver a perfectly logical explanation. "Well, it's rather straightforward when you think about it, Bruce. When I first met Selina, she was dressed as Catwoman—the famous cat burglar who has a well-documented history of flirtatious confrontations with Batman. Everyone in Gotham knows they have sexual tension so thick you could cut it with a knife and serve it at dinner parties."
Bruce's expression suggested he was questioning several life choices simultaneously.
"And Selina," Harry continued, warming to his deductive reasoning, "doesn't strike me as the sort of person who would cheat on her romantic partner. She's many things—morally flexible about property rights, occasionally prone to dramatic entrances, possessed of excellent fashion sense—but disloyal? No. If she's involved with Batman in that particular way, and she's also involved with you in what appears to be a serious romantic relationship, then the logical conclusion is that you and Batman are the same person."
He paused, tilting his head thoughtfully. "Also, you have the same jaw line, similar build, and move with identical efficiency despite pretending to be a carefree billionaire playboy in public. Plus, Wayne Manor is exactly the sort of place that would have a secret crime-fighting headquarters—lots of history, extensive grounds, old money privacy. Where else would you keep all those expensive toys?"
Bruce sat down heavily in the nearest chair, looking like a man who'd just had his entire security infrastructure critiqued by a six-year-old. "That's... actually remarkably thorough deductive reasoning."
"Thank you," Harry said with obvious satisfaction. "Tom's memories helped—he was quite good at identifying people's secret identities and exploiting that information for strategic advantage. Though in this case, I'm not planning to exploit anything. I just thought it was rather obvious once you knew what to look for."
"Most people don't know what to look for," Bruce said, still processing the fact that his secret identity had been casually deduced through Catwoman-related sexual tension observations. "Most people don't make the connection between Bruce Wayne and Batman."
"Most people aren't paying attention," Harry replied with a slight shrug. "Or they don't want to pay attention, because acknowledging that Bruce Wayne secretly beats up criminals in a bat costume would complicate their comfortable assumptions about how the world works."
He moved closer, his green eyes serious despite his casual tone. "But I've been paying attention, Bruce. To you, to Selina, to how this household operates. The 'business meetings' at odd hours, the specialized equipment Alfred maintains, the way you move like someone with extensive combat training despite publicly claiming your only exercise is tennis at the country club. It all adds up once you're looking at the complete picture."
Bruce was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice carried genuine curiosity rather than anger or concern. "Are you planning to tell anyone?"
"Of course not," Harry said immediately, sounding slightly offended by the question. "That would be phenomenally stupid from both a strategic and personal standpoint. Strategically, Batman serves an important function in Gotham—removing him would create a power vacuum that would probably result in significant civilian casualties. Personally, you've taken me in, supported me through soul integration, offered to train me... revealing your secret identity to anyone would be a profound betrayal of trust."
He paused, then added with characteristic honesty, "Plus, I have my own secrets to maintain. The famous Boy Who Lived with a dark lord's memories integrated into his consciousness probably shouldn't be throwing stones at people who maintain secret identities for complicated reasons."
"That's... a very mature way of looking at it," Bruce said, finally standing up and gesturing toward the hallway. "Come on then. Since you've already deduced most of it, I might as well show you the actual Batcave. Though I have to say, having my secret identity revealed through observations about Catwoman-related sexual tension is not how I expected this conversation to go."
Harry grinned as he followed Bruce toward the grandfather clock that concealed the cave's entrance. "If it helps, I was going to keep pretending I didn't know until you decided to tell me directly. I wasn't trying to force the revelation—I just assumed this was the moment you'd planned for it."
"I had a whole speech prepared," Bruce admitted as he activated the hidden mechanism. "Very serious, lots of context about responsibility and danger, probably some dramatic reveals of equipment. You've rather ruined it by already knowing everything."
"Sorry about that," Harry said without sounding particularly sorry. "Though if it makes you feel better, I'm still very interested in seeing the cave. Tom's memories include extensive speculation about Batman's resources and capabilities, but no actual firsthand knowledge. This will be quite educational."
As the grandfather clock swung open to reveal the stairs descending into darkness, Bruce found himself almost smiling despite the complete demolition of his security protocols.
"Right then," Bruce said, leading the way down. "Let's see what six-year-old you plus dark lord strategic thinking makes of the Batcave. This should be... interesting."
"Interesting is an understatement," Harry replied, his voice carrying genuine excitement as they descended into Bruce Wayne's greatest secret. "I suspect this is going to be absolutely brilliant."
---
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