Warning: Violence, prostitution, malexmale
A True Hero
The sound of a child's cry rang through the small apartment and instantly jolted Harry awake from his uneasy sleep. He was at once aware of his surroundings and moved quickly before the cries of his little girl had the chance to wake the neighbours. Waking the neighbours would be a very bad thing, Harry knew, cringing at the thought of his neighbours; a lovely mix of drug addicts, thieves, sexual predators and the likes.
Getting up from the small, hard bed, he walked the few steps over to the crib in the corner of the one-bedroom apartment.
Josephine, his eighteen-months old godchild, was standing up on shaky legs, clutching her little fists around the bars of the crib and staring at him with large, wide blue eyes. She quieted down the minute she laid eyes on him, and Harry felt the usual wave of relief wash over him at seeing her safe in her crib, though the large, pearly tears rolling down her sweet baby cheeks, broke his heart every time.
"What's wrong, baby girl?" he questioned in hushed tones and gathered her into his arms, softly humming her favourite lullaby. Josephine snuffled cutely, sucking a thumb into her mouth and rested her head on Harry's shoulder, her lids fluttering shut at the sound of Harry's soft voice. Harry kept humming the lullaby, gently rocking the little girl in his arms even as it became clear she had fallen back into an easy sleep. Frowning at her chilled skin, Harry was saddened as he realised it was probably the cold that had woken her, his own body heat warming her gradually the longer he held her.
He wandered back to his own bed, Josephine still in his arms, and snuggled as best as he could under the covers, making sure his goddaughter was completely covered by the thin quilt. It didn't do much good, though. The room was too cold for the flimsy material of the quilt to provide any decent heat.
Harry sighed as he rested his back against the cold wall, gently stroking the back of the sleeping child in his lap, and took in his surroundings.
The bedroom consisted of a small bed, a crib and a single window. There were no other furniture in the room, no nightstand and no closet. The wallpaper on the wall was peeling off and had large rifts in it. The floor was old wood, creaking loudly with every step, and Harry would be surprised if it wasn't infected by termites.
The rest of the apartment was much the same, small and run down. Besides the bedroom, there were only two other rooms, a bathroom and a joint kitchen/living room.
Harry hated it.
He had never imagined himself living like this. Providing for his child in such closed confinements and in the cold, but it was cheap, and Harry knew from experience it could have been worse. But even in these poor conditions, Harry was struggling with food and the rent. He didn't have a job because he couldn't afford to leave Josephine in the care of professional caretakers, and he didn't trust anyone in Gotham to take care of her for more than an hour at a time. As he wasn't a legal American citizen, turning towards the government for help was out of the question. It made things difficult, and Harry had no idea how he would possibly make all the ends meet.
He knew if he didn't get some fast cash by the end of the night so that he could pay the week's rent, the landlord wouldn't hesitate to throw him and Josephine out on the merciless streets faster than he could say Batman.
Thinking of his looming deadline, Harry shivered in dread. He sneaked a glance at his wristwatch and felt a sense of panic take hold of him. It was close to midnight, which meant that Maria, a Mexican immigrant and the closest thing Harry had to a friend in the whole of Gotham, would be coming to watch over Josephine while Harry was out, doing one last desperate attempt at getting some quick earned money.
Selling his own body for money was a nightmare Harry had never in his wildest dreams suspected would one day come to pass. But prostitution was the last possible choice for him, and if it guaranteed his godchild another week of food and roof over their heads, it was something Harry was forced to do.
Harry had once promised his best friends, Josephine's parents, that he would do all he could to take care of the little girl should anything happen to them, and so that was what he would do.
When he had made the promise, no more than two years ago, Harry didn't think he would ever have to make good on his word. His best friends, Ron and Hermione Weasley, had been so happy together. They'd never had much money, none of them had, but they got by anyway, and they were happy.
When Hermione learned of her pregnancy, the three of them had still been in college, living off of their hard earned scholarships. Being twenty years old and expecting a baby changed everything for the trio. Both Ron and Hermione were forced to drop out of college after refusing to abort the child. They both managed to find low paying jobs and purchase a small apartment that wasn't all that much, but it was theirs.
Harry had wanted to follow them; they were the only family he had. But they had both convinced him to finish his schooling. Unable to refuse his best friends anything when they were both so stressed and tired, Harry stayed in college, and eventually graduated with honours.
Harry Potter first met Ron and Hermione in Virgin Mary's orphanage in London, England. He'd been five years old, and just lost his parents in a car accident. Ron Weasley had been in the orphanage all his life, having been abandoned by his parents, who all ready had six children and were unable to provide for another one, whilst Hermione had been born in the orphanage to a young girl of fourteen. The girl's name was Jane Granger and she died of blood loss shortly after having delivered her baby. She never told anyone who the identity of her child's father.
Ever since then, the three of them had been like peas in a pod. They were unbreakable. Or so Harry had believed.
Like mother like daughter, Hermione had died giving birth to little Josephine Marie Weasley. Ron, though ecstatic about the birth of his daughter, was too consumed with grief to care for her. He signed over all rights of his child to Harry, and shortly thereafter, killed himself, leaving only a note behind. explaining that he was simply unable to live in this world without his wife by his side.
Harry, now responsible for a baby, jobless and homeless, had left England for the States with what little money he had left.
It wasn't long until he found himself in Gotham City, barely scraping by, living life day-by-day, constantly praying that there would be a tomorrow for him and his child.
A gentle knock on the door had Harry refocusing on the time, and what he would soon become. As gently as he could, he rose from the bed with Josephine still snuggled peacefully in his arms and went to answer the door.
"Who is it?" he asked in low tones. Opening your door to strangers in the poor districts of the large city could mean a lot of pain, or even certain death.
"It's Maria," a heavily accented voice answered back, and Harry allowed himself to relax a bit. He fumbled with the locks on the door, and opened it just enough for Maria to come through, before hurriedly closing it again. There were several people in the building who wanted to get their hands on Josephine: babies and toddlers sold for a lot of money on the black marked, and some would even want get their hands on Harry. He was a beauty, and in these parts of town, no one cared if you were willing or not.
"How long will you be gone?" Maria questioned him, as Harry gently passed the sleeping child over to her. Harry sighed, running a delicate hand through his short, unruly hair, black as the darkest night.
"I don't know," he spoke, nervousness creeping into his voice. "Probably no more than an hour, two at the most I think."
Maria nodded at this. It didn't matter how long he'd be gone to her. As long as she could get some time away from her abusive husband, she would stay as long as Harry needed her too. Even if it was just an hour or two, those blessed minutes away from José would do wonders for her all ready poor health.
"That's fine. What will you wear?" she asked as she looked Harry over. He was dressed in grey, loose fitted pants and a too big T-shirt. Her friend was gorgeous, beautiful even, something that was more a curse than a blessing around these parts, but even Harry would have a difficult time attracting clients if he looked like that, she supposed.
"Eh, I don't really have anything to wear for this kind of…work, so I cut up a pair of jeans into shorts, and I'll throw on a white dress shirt. The only one I have, in fact," Harry said, wincing at the 'work' part.
Maria nodded. "You better go get ready. Time passes quickly and in just a few hours it will be morning," she said, walking over to the small kitchen table, and sat down in the only chair.
Harry nodded absently, walking over to kiss his little girl on the head before making his way into the bathroom.
Uncaring of the cold floor underneath his bare feet, Harry went about readying himself. The changing of clothes didn't take long and when he was done, Harry stared at himself critically in the mirror. He had borrowed some make-up from Maria earlier, but he couldn't bring himself to apply any. Somehow, despite the fact that the very short shorts and the too tight shirt made Harry look like the whore he would soon become, making as little effort as possible to evolve further into the role of a prostitute, was somehow a small comfort to Harry. It made him feel more normal about the situation.
Dark, green eyes framed by long, thick lashes stared back at him. He let his eyes map out the rest of his face, running down the small, pert nose, to the wide pouty lips. Locking eyes with his mirrored ones again, Harry felt something wet and cold run down his cheeks, and he suddenly realized he was crying. He closed a hand over his mouth, and tried desperately to quiet down a heart-wrenching sob.
Twenty-one year old Harry Potter, still very much a virgin, sank down to his knees on the cold tiled floor and cried into his hands. He knew he didn't have much time, but for now, he would mourn the death of his friends, the difficult life he lead with his precious godchild, and for the loss he was soon about to suffer.
A few minutes later he was back in the living room, eyes red and puffy, but bravely saying goodbye to Josephine and Maria. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he told his friend, giving one last kiss to his precious little girl.
"We'll be waiting," Maria nodded. "Be careful out there. Good luck."
Harry winced at her choice of words, but smiled as best as he could. "Thanks again for watching Josephine," he said before closing the door behind him and made his way out of the building, wandering into the streets of Gotham.
The West district of Gotham Central was defined by its poverty and extremely high crime rate. To the inhabitants, it was known as the Hellhole, a nightmare to all those forced to live there. Everyday they feared for their life and the lives of their loved ones. It was located about fifteen minutes from Gotham Central, and Harry would need to take the newly renovated public transportation system.
Sitting as far back as he could get on the train, Harry was very conscious of the many hungry looks sent his way, and he looked down, deeply ashamed of his attire and the attention he was getting. The minute he arrived at Central, he got out of there as fast as he could.
Like Maria had said, time passed quickly, and it was already one am. He needed to hurry. Squaring his shoulders, Harry took a deep breath and started on the route to a place Maria had told him about.
Before marrying her husband, Maria had been a street whore, and she had told Harry all of her experiences and the right places to go. José had actually been her client once.
As he walked, Harry could hear the catcalls from obnoxious men, and the curses of other whores, telling him to get lost, to find his own territory. Harry ignored them, walking with his head held high until he got to his destination. The area around Wayne Tower was filled with dark alleys. Perfect for whores and men looking for a quick fuck.
It was risky business, though.
Wayne enterprises cared very little for prostitution happening around their Tower, and if anybody got caught, they were immediately placed in a holding cell with a fee the size of a small mortgage.
Harry denied the first few men who approached him; he just couldn't bring himself to do it. But he was highly aware of his lack of time, and promised himself the next one to approach him, he would accept. It didn't take long before a man walked up to him.
He was tall compared to Harry's 5'5 ft, and as he got closer, Harry could see he was an older man. Perhaps around fifty-sixty years or so. His slicked back hair was already greying in places, and his face was wrinkled around the mouth and eyes. Cold, blue eyes, Harry noted, glared down at him, making him shiver. The man was not exactly overweight, but he was not thin by any means and he carried no muscle. Still Harry could tell by the expensive looking suit he wore that he was a strong man, powerful.
"Are you selling?" he demanded in gruff tones, and Harry nodded wordlessly, hugging himself around the waist. "How much?"
Harry blinked up at him. The question was curt and direct, this man meant business, and it scared him. Somehow, Harry had managed not to think to much about what it was he would be doing exactly, and what he would charge for it.
"500 dollars," Harry whispered, hoping the amount would be acceptable, and to his surprise the man's sneer shifted into a cold grin.
"Fine, let's go," the man said, grabbing Harry's hand and dragging him into one of the closed spaced alleys. His eagerness made Harry suspect he could probably have asked for more and the man would still have paid, and he cursed himself for not starting with a higher price.
"You'll get the money when I'm done," the man spoke, pressing Harry against the hard wall, his hands roaming over Harry's body. His hands travelled down to the swell of Harry's but, and he grabbed the flesh, squeezing hard, making Harry squirm at the sudden touch.
"My, my," the man whispered in Harry's ear. "You sure are beautiful. You must be new to this, you don't know what to do, right?" he questioned, and smiled ruefully at Harry's nervous nod.
"Turn around," the man ordered him harshly, spinning Harry around, pressing him face first into the concrete wall before Harry had the chance to comply. The hands came back, stroking over his back and bottom, and Harry tried his best to suppress the fearful shivers running down his back. His body unused to the touch of another. It was for the best, he kept reminding himself. He needed the money, and this was the only way.
But when he heard the sound of a zipper and the man's hands travelling to the front of his own shorts, Harry started to panic.
"No," he said as the hands made to unzip the shorts. "I'm sorry, I can't do this."
He made to get away from the wall, but the man kept him locked in the position, pressing his entire body into Harry's, and Harry winced as he felt the man's arousal pressing into his back.
"You think you can just lead me on like this and then back out? I don't think so, sweetcakes," the man growled angrily, hands returning to Harry's shorts.
"No!" Harry yelled out, desperately trying to gain enough room from the wall to escape. "Please, let me go, I don't want this!" he cried out to no avail. The man was persistent, managing to grab both of Harry's hands with his own behind Harry's back, effectively stopping him from using his hands to fight back.
"Please stop it!" Harry pleaded, throat sore from screaming, large tears blinding his vision, still fighting as best as he could, fruitlessly trying to stop the man behind him.
"You know, the more you fight back, the more turned on I get!" the man laughed cruelly, finally undoing Harry's shorts, bringing them down to his thighs. Harry wore nothing underneath, and the man stared hungrily at the pale skin before him. "Delicious," he murmured as he licked his lips, eyeing the young man bent down in front of him.
Harry cried out in fear and braced himself for the pain to come. In that moment, for the first time since his friends' death, Harry let himself blame them for the predicament they had left him and their daughter in.
When the pain never came, and the pressure on his hands and body suddenly disappeared, Harry fell to a useless heap on the dirty ground. He hastily drew up his shorts and turned at the sound of a body hitting the painfully hard concrete came behind him. The man, who'd only seconds before had been ready to take him by force, was lying sprawled out on the muddy ground of the alley, moaning in pain. A man Harry didn't know stood above him, looking down at the crumbled body with disgust.
"Didn't your mother teach you that no means no?" the stranger questioned in harsh tones, and he squatted down and grabbed a fistful of the man's hair, raising his head so they could lock eyes. "Just so you know," the stranger kept talking. "You're fired." He let go of the hair and the head fell back to the hard concrete ground, knocking the perpetrator out.
The stranger turned to face Harry, and very slowly made his way over to him. He stopped before getting too close, hands in his pockets, showing Harry he meant no harm.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice low and husky. Harry stared up at him with large eyes and shook his head frantically. "No, I'm…I'm fine," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. They stared at each other for a minute, vibrant green meeting mysterious brown, an awkward silence hanging between them.
Harry was the first to break eye contact, looking away from his rescuer. "Thank you, for...you know…" Harry whispered, making a gesture with his hand towards the unconscious man. "For saving me," he explained to the strange man who was still staring at him. "If you hadn't come when you did, he'd probably…he'd probably…" Harry couldn't bring himself to say the words, and he broke off. He shivered as he remembered the hands touching him, and suddenly the tears started falling, and Harry was crying, sobbing loudly, unable to stop.
He felt strong, comforting arms wrap around him, and Harry clung to the man who had saved him from being raped. "Come on, let's get you home," the man coaxed, gently hauling Harry to his unsteady feet. As he guided Harry out of the alley, Harry felt himself shiver. He was unsure whether it was because of the trauma or the cold, but he soon felt warmth seep into his body as a large blazer was placed over his shoulders.
"This ought to keep you warm," the man spoke, turning to look Harry in the eye. "My name is Bruce. What is yours?" he questioned. "Harry," Harry mumbled, and he closed his eyes as he realized who exactly his saviour was. In the alley, it had been too dark for Harry to really see the man's face, but out here on the streets, the street lamps provided enough light, and Harry recognised the handsome, striking features of Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy.
"Okay, Harry, you see over there? That's my car. If you don't mind, I'd like to drive you home," Brice said, pointing at the silver Lamborghini parked directly in front of the Wayne Tower. Harry followed his finger, gazing at the expensive looking car. His gut instinct was telling him that he could trust this man, that he was safe, but the memories of what had just happened was still very clear in his mind. Having almost been raped by a man working for his company, wasn't exactly helping the trust factor in Bruce's favour. But still, this man had saved him…
"You don't have to drive me home. I'll be fine. I'll get home alone," Harry told him, and moved to take off the warm blazer around him, sparing a quick thought of envy towards the other man. The material of the blazer was so very soft, and Harry didn't doubt he could probably pay two months worth of rent just for the prize of the blazer.
Bruce stopped him, placing his hands on the thin shoulders of the younger man. He frowned, the man although very beautiful, was much too thin, Bruce decided. "I'm glad you'll be fine. But you were almost raped," he said, ignoring Harry's sudden wince, "And by an employee of mine, as well," he continued. "I'll make sure he'll get what's coming to him for what he did to you, but for now, at least let me make sure you get home safe and sound."
"Besides," he said, looking over Harry's attire. "Looking like that, it's likely that there'll be others making passes at you," he said pointedly, and Harry blushed heavily at his words.
"Fine," Harry said grumpily, shrugging of the hands on his shoulders and stalked over to the car, waiting impatiently for Bruce.
Bruce was left staring in bemusement at the sudden spark of fire in the deep, green eyes, before a pleased smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The kid had spirit, Bruce mused, pleased by this revelation. He found himself intrigued by this thought, and he slowly sauntered over to the car, teasing Harry's ire.
Except for the few, quick words to describe the way to Harry's apartment building, the next couple of minutes were spent in silence.
"I'm not like this," Harry suddenly spoke, feeling a need to explain. "A whore I mean," he elaborated at Bruce's questioning look. "I've never even had sex before," Harry confided, blushing heavily at this confession. "But I have a daughter," Bruce's look turned into one of surprise at this. "My godchild," Harry told him. "I just needed the money."
It was like a dam had burst, and suddenly Harry was telling all about his life, about his situation. In the ten-minute drive it took from Gotham Central to Harry's apartment, Harry managed to give away his life story, taking comfort in the attentive attitude of Bruce Wayne, forgetting for just a few precious seconds that come tomorrow, he and his daughter would be evicted from their apartment.
"We're here," Bruce said, gazing with disdain out the window and up on the 'barely there' building.
He could see whores and thugs passing by the building looking suspiciously at the fancy car, and he cast a glance back at the young man in the passenger seat, refusing to meet his eyes. "I'm walking you in," Bruce declared forcefully, leaving no room for discussion.
He parked the car and stopped the engine, walking out into the street before Harry had the time to decline the 'offer.'
Harry stared dumbfounded as Bruce made his way over to the apartment building, before quickly gathering his wits, running out of the car after the other man. "You can't just leave your car out there like that," Harry panted as he caught up to the taller man.
Bruce spared him an amused glance. "They wouldn't dare steal from me. I'm Bruce Wayne, the King of Gotham. You would have to go a thousand miles to meet someone who doesn't know my name," Bruce told him teasingly, remembering the words Carmine Falcone had once told him.
Harry growled at the smug smirk on the man's face and was about to snap back when he suddenly froze.
"What's wrong?" Bruce demanded, seeing the look on Harry's face.
Harry raised a hand and pointed at the door in front of them. "The door is open," he spoke, dread filling his insides. "I never leave the door open, and Maria, the babysitter, wouldn't either," Harry told him, rushing to the door.
Bruce grabbed his hand before he could enter. "Let me go trough first," he said, gently pushing Harry to the side, further opening the door so he could pass through.
Inside there was complete darkness and an eerie silence. It took a while to adjust his eyes to the bottomless blackness of the room, and Bruce very cautiously stepped into the room. He could hear the sound of his feet stepping in something wet, and he bent down, putting his finger into the wetness.
"What are you doing?" Harry's scared voice questioned behind him. Bruce didn't answer, looking at the substance on his hand instead, and he felt himself go cold. "There's blood on the floor," he told Harry, once more grabbing the younger man as he cried out and meant to storm into the apartment.
"Where is the light switch?" he demanded.
Harry immediately went over to the wall, fumbling for a minute before he hit the switch. The room was plunged into light, and suddenly they could see the blood on the floor very clearly.
"Oh my God," Harry whimpered fearfully, instantly fearing the worst. "Josephine!" he cried out.
Bruce grabbed his shaking hands in his. "Calm down, we'll find her, but you have to calm yourself," Bruce told him gently, keeping one of their hands intertwined.
"You hear that?" Bruce questioned, hearing a muffled sound as they walked further into the living room. Harry nodded. "It's coming from the bathroom," he said, guiding Bruce over to the room in question. The door was closed, but not locked as they found out when they pulled on the handle.
There on the bathroom floor was Maria, eyes open, staring straight at them, unseeing. Holding her was her husband, José, rocking back and forth, as he clutched his wife. There was blood floating around Maria's head, pouring out of her mouth as well. It was a horrifying sight, and Harry felt fear like he had never felt fear before.
"Maria!" he gasped out, and José looked up at the sound of his voice. His eyes were wide and glazed, and he clutched his wife's unmoving body tighter to his chest.
"I didn't mean too!" he spoke, his strong accented voice sounding lost and broken. "I didn't mean too!"
"José! Where is Josephine?" Harry cried, tightening his grip on Bruce's hand. "Where is she? Where is my daughter?" he screamed hysterically, large tears running down his cheeks.
"Answer him!" Bruce growled out dangerously when the man didn't respond. José seemed incapable of answering them, Instead he kept on muttering the same phrase over and over, rocking the body of his wife.
"Where's the child?" Bruce demanded again, losing his patience with the other man. The harsh tones of Bruce's voice and the sound of Harry's cries seemed to finally brake José out of his trance.
"Josephine," he spoke. "The baby, she was crying. She wasn't crying when I got here. I was just going to talk to Maria, but she wouldn't open the door. And I got angry!" he said, yelling out the last part.
"She always makes me so angry! She wouldn't open the door, so I broke the lock and opened it myself," José explained, his voice turning slightly hysterical. "I told her she had to come home with me, but she wouldn't leave the girl. That's when I hit her the first time, and the baby started crying. And she wouldn't stop crying! I was just going to quiet her down! I didn't mean too, I swear! But she was crying so loudly and we couldn't shut her up," the man kept on talking, lost in his own little world now.
"I grabbed her from Maria's arm, and she cried even louder. Maria told me to give her back, I think, but I'm not sure. And still the screaming wouldn't stop, so I shook her. It seemed like she would never stop crying, but then all of a sudden she wouldn't even make a sound. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open, but there was no sound. I placed her in her crib after that, and Maria and I started fighting…"
No sooner had the words left his mouth, before Harry tore out of the room, running as fast as he could into the bedroom. He absently heard Bruce calling his name, running after him, but all he could think about was his little girl. He approached the crib with a mixed emotions, praying to all deities listening that his daughter was still alive.
And there, much like earlier, before Harry had even left the apartment in the first place, was Josephine, standing on shaky legs, little fists clutching the bars of the crib and big, fat tears streaming down her sweet face.
Harry let out a sob of pure relief as he gathered her in his arms and cradled her close. "Oh, thank God, you're safe!" he whispered shakily, breathing in her sweet scent, relieved she was unharmed.
"She okay?" he heard Bruce ask, and he turned to face the man, gratitude shining all over his face.
"Yes," Harry answered. "Thank you so much for bringing me home. I don't know how to pay you back," he said, glancing back down at his silent godchild.
Bruce smiled at him gently. "Well, maybe if you give me a kiss, I'll call it even," he said, and winked at him. "I'm gonna call the cops, and then I'll take you to the hospital. Josephine should probably be checked out," Bruce said, and was already pulling out his mobile.
Harry nodded absently, smiling at the proposition, and tightened his hold on Josephine.
It wasn't until later, after having talked to the police, that they were at the hospital making sure Josephine was okay, and Harry finally realized he no longer had a place to go. There had been a murder in his apartment, and Harry thought it unlikely that his landlord would accept him back in, even if he'd had enough money to offer him.
"I don't know what to do," Harry confessed to Bruce. They were waiting for their turn in the waiting room with Josephine snuggled peacefully in Harry's embrace. "I have no money, and no place to go."
Bruce looked up from the magazine he was skimming through, and had to smile at the lovely picture the other man made, his goddaughter resting in his arms.
He didn't even hesitate as he told Harry, "You can stay with me. Wayne Manor is currently being rebuilt, so I'm staying in a penthouse near Central. It's big enough for the three of us, I imagine."
"No, I can't let you do that! You've already done so much for me!" Harry said, shaking his head.
Bruce reached over and grabbed Harry's hand in his, mindful of the sleeping child in his arms.
"Don't be silly. You need a place to stay, and Alfred, that's my butler and best friend, he's always saying how lonely he gets with only me around. He'd love the company, as would I," Bruce told him seriously.
Harry looked at their joint hands, and back up at Bruce. "I'll pay you back one day. For everything you've done for me!" Harry spoke with conviction.
Bruce smiled. "I don't doubt it, and I'll hold you to it," he said and they stared at each other.
It was funny, Harry thought, how he was supposed to loose so much that night. He had no doubts that the loss of his virginity through means of prostitution would have meant the loss of his dignity as well.
But instead of selling his body, Harry had gained hope. He had hope that his future, that Josephine's future, was looking brighter and better than ever.
he had gained a friend in Bruce Wayne, whatever that meant.
And for now, that was more than enough. Though, Harry couldn't deny the attraction he felt for the older man, as he snuck a glance at him. A part of him was hoping that they'd be something more than friends. That maybe, he could make a family with Bruce for his daughter, for Josephine.
Perhaps one day it would happen.
Just not now.