I've been adding bits and pieces to this for a while, and I think I'm content enough with he outcome. Due to popular demand, here's Harry's side of the story.


He really wasn't sure how things had gotten so bad so fast.

See, things were supposed to be simple. The Weasley Family plus Harry and Hermione had planned on doing a quick trip to Diagon Alley the week before heading for the Quidditch Cup, because Mrs. Weasley wanted to get all shopping out of the way. Apparently, she had gone for a preventive approach this year, threatening her children with an ultimatum: if they didn't have everything ready and packed for school by the end of the week, they were not going to the Quidditch Cup. Hermione would be going back to her parents after the event, and Harry had not been added to the threat issued, but they had come along all the same.

They had barely been on their way to Gringotts when it happened.

The cackling of magic overhead was the only warning they'd had before a dozen of hooded figures had appeared from thin air in the alley. If the threatening way with which they carried themselves and the unfriendly masks hadn't been enough of a clue, Harry knew from the first wail of terror that these guys were bad news.

It only took a moment for Diagon Alley to fall into chaos. The mere presence of the hooded figures was enough to make shop owners lock their stores and wizards to run for the nearest exit. People who were unlucky enough to fall to the ground were trampled in the rush of people trying to escape, and those too slow... Well. Harry couldn't see from where he stood, but the bright light of spells and cries of horror were enough clue.

"They put up anti-apparition wards!" Mr. Weasley's voice was loud above the din, and Harry could feel his hand steering him back towards the Leaky Cauldron, halfway across the alley. "Run to the Leaky Cauldron! Fred, George, look after your sister!"

"Come on!" That was Hermione, confused like he was but still making for the exit, her hand holding on to Harry's tightly. Ron was running alongside him, hand similarly caught in a strong grip.

They were almost there when a spell hit the spot just behind Harry's feet, sending him and pieces of stone tumbling forward, yanking Hermione down with him.

Ron pulled Hermione to her feet while Harry scrambled up to continue running. "Sorry!"

"Just keep running!" she said it with an obvious wince, but Harry couldn't stop to check if she was really ok.

It was hard to do when more and more spells were aimed their way. To their dismay, there were three hooded figures in the Leaky Cauldron by the time they made it there. They only got out safely because of a lucky shove on a table and a brilliant leg-locking curse from Hermione.

They slammed the door leading to the muggle streets behind them, only for it to be blasted off its hinges a few seconds later. It slammed against the opposite wall, almost hitting a middle-aged woman who promptly screeched and ran back the way she'd come.

"Run!" Hermione's cry was frantic, and Harry could understand why. There were muggles standing around and staring, obviously not understanding the sight of dozens of robbed men and women coming out of a pub they could not see. But they didn't move until the first ray of light hit one of them in the chest, making them drop unconscious with a cry of pain.

Hopefully not dead, Harry pleaded mentally.

"Who are those people!" he called, heart racing in his chest when he realized just how many people there were in the street. He purposefully kept his eyes away from the people being trampled on the floor, either wounded or—or—

"Death Eaters!" Hermione's shrill voice brought him back from his thoughts. A good thing, really, or he wouldn't have noticed one of the hooded figures was catching up, and was pointing right at them.

"Watch out!" He was fast enough to shove his friends far from the curse's way, but the spell hit him behind the head.

Pain flared across his skull, he saw white for a moment, and thought he now had a very good idea what getting hit on the head by a bludger felt like. It took him a moment to realize he was laying on the ground, and another to get past the buzzing in his ears. His glasses were broken, from the way they hung on his nose, but Harry ignored that while he stood and did the thing his instincts were screaming at him to do: run. There was no discernable red hair over the crowd, and his head ached too much to look too thoroughly, so he just focused on getting somewhere safe.

Paranoid and disoriented, he stumbled into a quieter street and ducked into the soothing darkness of an alley, where he promptly ducked behind a trash can.

"Bloody hell," he muttered through gritted teeth, gingerly holding the sides of his head, not quite wanting to touch the spot where he'd been hit. The sound of explosions and screams seemed to be getting closer, but that could have been his ringing ears playing tricks on him. But he did check his pocket to make sure his wand was still there, even as he curled more tightly behind the trash can, heart hammering hard in his ribcage.

He'd just begun getting his bearings back when he heard it:


That was Ron! Harry stood up immediately, but had to pause for a moment to fight back a wave of nausea. He headed to the opening of the alley, where he could see a red-headed blotch rushing past, followed a few moments later by a Death Eater. Gripping his wand tightly, the dark-haired teen wizard took after them.

Running was a very bad idea, because it made his head throb and he couldn't really focus on what was in front of him. Robes and muggle clothing all meshed together with the dust of explosions and the bits of stone flying, but being stubborn about it served its purpose: he could see a group of redheads just down the street. He was still several feet away when they were surrounded by a whirlwind of colors, sucked upwards into the sky only to disappear.

"Wait! Mr. Weasley!" he called, despite knowing they couldn't hear him. He could just stare at the spot the family had been standing on a moment ago, not quite knowing what to feel. Shock? Confusion? Betrayal? The emotional turmoil didn't sit well with his stomach, it seemed, and he staggered forward a bit, hand flying to his mouth.

A firm hand steadied him by the shoulder, and Harry only took a brief look at the man's button-up shirt dark suit before letting his eyes close, trying to calm his stomach.

"Are you okay?" The man's voice sounded taut and hurried, and Harry knew he wasn't even looking as he gave him a few pats on the back. "We can't stay here. Can you run?"


So they began moving. It was a bit hard to follow the man, as he kept nudging them around in a very strange pattern. Harry noticed that said pattern always took them out of the way of any thrown hexes and curses, so he didn't complain when he was almost picked up and set down two feet to the right from where he'd been standing.

They came to a stop after ducking into a small café. One of its walls was crumbling, but it seemed it had been closed today, since there was no one else in there – either conscious or unconscious. Harry sagged against the wall, willing all ill feelings away and taking a better look at the man that had brought him here. He was crouching near the fallen wall, keeping a look out on the street. The suit he was dressed in was wrinkled and covered in dust, and also completely muggle.

Harry had seen what Mr. Weasley had been planning to wear for when they went camping to the Quidditch Cup. Considering Mr. Weasley was the most muggle-interested and muggle-involved wizard Harry knew, he thought it was safe to think that if someone looked muggle, they probably were.

He looked up when he noticed the man's dark brown eyes were watching him carefully.

"You're Harry Potter."

Or maybe if it looked muggle, it wasn't always muggle.

"Um," Harry self-consciously pressed his fringe down over his scar on the pretense of rubbing his aching head. "Yeah."

After a moment of silence, the man looked out of the café again. "You do know those people are most likely here to kidnap you, right?"


The man sighed, shoulders tense. "We need to get you out of here, kid. You were with that family of redheads. Where do they live?"

He didn't think to question the man's knowledge, too busy trying to recall the address. He knew it, he'd read it just this summer on Mrs. Weasley's letter...

"Otte... otty..."

The man was looking at him again, and Harry couldn't help but feel that scowl was a tad intimidating. There was concern in the eyes that followed Harry's hand, though, and the way he rubbed the back of his head gingerly.

"Did you get hit in the head?"

Well, that one was easy, "Yeah."

"Did you faint?"

Eh... "Maybe? For a bit?"

"Are you experiencing any unpleasant symptoms right now?"

"My head aches," he admitted. "I felt nauseous for a bit, but I'm better now." There was still a bit of ringing in his ears, but it wasn't very bothersome anymore. "Why-?"

"You may have a concussion." Concussion? "We really need to get you out of here. Try to keep quiet and just follow me."

Harry didn't get any warning this time, his wrist was just grasped firmly by the larger man, and they were out in the street again. They would duck into dark alleyways when they could, but most of the time they'd use a muggle vehicle to shield themselves from view. At first he didn't know where they were headed, but they made a last turn on one last street, and—

"There." A modest black car was parked all the way down the street, miraculously untouched by wayward curses and debris. They were hastily making their way over when Harry heard someone yell behind them.



Harry blinked. He hadn't seen the dark-clad-figure getting so close to them, but he did get a good view of said figure doubling over in pain, wand clattering as his not-so-muggle guide kicked it away. They then continued walking as if nothing had happened, but Harry noticed he had been pushed to stand safely behind the large man. A brief glimpse over his shoulder showed their attacker coughing on the ground, and Harry thought he saw a very shocked-looking man with dark skin staring before rushing forward to the fallen Death Eater.

His attention dwindled as the street turned into smooth leather seats and what was very obviously the inside of an expensive car. With how the car looked from the outside, Harry would have expected something more like the Ford Anglia he and Ron had flown to school on their second year.

Belatedly, he realized he'd been buckled in and his guide had already climbed onto the passenger seat. The smooth purring of a motor filled the spacious car, and then the streets were rushing past his dark-tinted window. Harry decided he'd prefer to stare at his knees instead of watching the dizzying streets.

"What's your name?"

Harry sent him a puzzled look. "Harry." The man already knew that, but he seemed content with the answer anyway.

"What's today's date?" He never took his eyes off the road while he asked. It took Harry a moment to remember the exact day, but he got another nod in response. "What were you doing before the attack?"

"Shopping." He was pretty sure about that. "With the Weasleys."

"Does your head still hurt?"

"Yes." Belatedly, he found himself wondering why the stranger kept asking him all these questions. And thinking about that – "Who are you?"

The car slowed down when they rejoined busier streets, blissfully unaware of what had been going on in Charing Cross Road. They had to stop at a red light, and then he was being watched again.

"Bruce Wayne." The man kept paying close attention to him, even as he jerked his head towards the dashboard. "There should be a couple Tylenol in the glovebox. Dick's water bottle is still under the seat."

Harry reached out numbly for the offered items, thankful that bending down to retrieve the mentioned bottle didn't bring back his vertigo. He found the pills under a black handkerchief and two pairs of dark glasses, and swallowed one with half the remaining water in the bottle.

"Who's Dick?" he asked.

"My kid." Wayne wasn't looking at him any longer, and the car was running again. "Harry, I think you have a concussion. I'm taking you to the hotel I'm staying at so I can check you over and get you some rest. Wizards heal quicker than normal humans, but I don't want to risk it. If you can, try to remember the Weasley's address, but don't strain yourself if the pain gets worse. Did you understand everything I just said?"

Harry nodded, before remembering Mr. Wayne wasn't watching him. "Yeah. Are you a wizard?"

"No. I know a few, though. You don't need to worry about the Statute of Secrecy, but try not to cast any spells just in case." He paused. "You do have your wand on you, right?"

The sudden panic that gripped Harry's mind only left when his fingers curled around the handle of his wand, and he relaxed into the seat.

"Yeah." All the emotion seemed to be weighing down on him. His eyelids were beginning to feel a bit heavy, and he wasn't sure when the muggle medicine would begin kicking it. He certainly hoped it would do so soon.

Mr. Wayne was telling him something in a soothing voice, and Harry thought he caught the words "sleep" and "you can". Before he could think to confirm it, though, darkness had claimed him. He had the feeling of waking up briefly several times before he finally fell into a deep sleep.

Next time Harry woke up, there was a warm blanked over his chest and a soft pillow cradling his head. The world was still horribly fuzzy, but he soon realized it was because he didn't have his glasses on. He was about to reach out to get them from his nightstand when he heard a vaguely familiar voice talking:

"...must be blocking it." The voice sounded slightly frustrated, and the sigh that followed his sentence only served to confirm it. "It's fine. I'll get him myself; I'm pretty sure the kid knows where they live. I just need to wait for him to wake up. Mhm. The size of an egg on the back of his head, but he was pretty lucid."

Harry hissed at the ache that made itself present when he tried turning his head, and realized who the man must be talking about. Just to make sure, he reached up with a hand. Maybe not egg-sized, but the painful lump in the back of his head sure hadn't been there this morning.

"I'll let you know when I get Richard back."

The edge of the bed dipped, and when he turned, Mr. Wayne's blurry shape was offering him his glasses.

"Feeling better?"

"Loads," Harry said, and meant it. He could focus easily with his glasses on, his ears weren't ringing, and when he straightened on the bed he didn't feel any nausea. Of course his head still hurt, but he'd had worse during Quidditch games. He would have told Mr. Wayne as much, but took more interest in the luxurious, modern room he found himself in. "Are we in the hotel now?"

"For now. Did you remember where the Weasleys live?"

Oh, right. Harry tried to remember the address on the letter Mrs. Weasley had sent him, barely visible between dozens of postal stamps...

"Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon." That sounded about right. "But how are we getting there?"

The man had pulled out a cell phone from his pocket, deftly pushing the buttons with his thumb. "Helicopter," he replied while the phone itself responded with a small beeping sound. "We still have a while before it gets here."

"Ah," said Harry eloquently, trying to wrap his mind around the fact he was going to travel in helicopter. Concussion or no concussion, Harry found himself baffled in the presence of Mr. Wayne. He fiddled with the bed covers, which he realized had been carefully pulled over him so he was tucked in, at a loss of what to say. Mr. Wayne obviously didn't have the same problem.

"Are you hungry?"

"No, I just had breakfast a while ago." At least that's what Harry thought, so he was very surprised to hear his stomach growling. Confused, he searched the room for a clock, finding one in the stylish nightstand by the bed. It was way past noon! "How long was I out?" he blurted out, startled.

"After we got to the hotel and I had a doctor check you over? A few hours," Mr. Wayne said. There was an assessing look in his eyes, but Harry didn't think he was checking for health issues. "Come on, we'll go to the restaurant for a quick lunch."

Bruce Wayne's idea of a 'quick lunch' was very different from Harry's. It felt like dinner with the Weasleys, only this food looked five times as expensive as anything he'd ever eaten. He only began eating after his plate was nudged towards him and Mr. Wayne had sent him a pointed look.

The man was imposing, could punch Death Eaters in the gut without a second's thought, and was wealthy enough to get them a helicopter ride. But though some people kept throwing glances their way (looking for Mr. Wayne, not for Harry), the man acted like a completely normal fatherly figure. Harry found it was easy to get comfortable around him, once they weren't running away from Death Eaters in the middle of the street.

"Do you live with the Weasleys, Harry?" he asked halfway through the meal.

"No, I'm just visiting. But I'm sure I have the address right," Harry said, guessing the reason why the man asked.

"Ah. Then who do you live with?"

"My Aunt and Uncle." Not like he was going to tell him where they lived unless it was somehow important.

"Do you like it there?"

It was only then that Harry began getting suspicious of the line of questioning. Frowning, he looked up from his meal, knowing there was something off with the path the questions were taking, but not knowing where Mr. Wayne was going with it.

"Not much," he said, going for honesty. He'd never hidden his disregard for the Dursleys, or his desire to stay somewhere else through the summer. "But I only spend the summers there, so it's okay."

"Is it? Do they treat you well?"

"I guess," he shrugged, not quite understanding the growing unease he was feeling. It was the first time someone actually asked him about the Dursleys, and all of a sudden, he wasn't so inclined about badmouthing them. "They're not that bad. Besides, I'm spending the reminder of the summer with Ron – with the Weasleys. They're brilliant."

Mr. Wayne smiled, making some of Harry's dread go away. He wasn't sure just what he'd been dreading, but he'd gotten a feeling that this conversation was a very serious one to have.

"Would you prefer to spend all your summers with them, then?"

"Of course," Harry answered without thinking, snorting inwardly at how silly the question was. The Dursleys versus the Weasleys? There was no contest there."

"You sound pretty confident. I look forward to meeting them, then. I hope they're taking good care of Dick."

Briefly, Harry recalled asking the man who that was, and it took him a moment to relate that to the man's words.

"The Weasleys took Dick?"

"Indeed," the man said, and he finished the little that was left of his meal before continuing, "I think they might've mistook him for you in the chaos of trying to escape. You both have black hair, and Dick's top was the same color as yours. That's about as far as similarities go, but I suppose they're enough when one is panicking."

"Oh." A weight Harry hadn't known was in his chest was lifted, making him feel inexplicably relieved. The Weasleys hadn't just left him behind. And by the time they noticed Harry wasn't with them, they must have been on their way to the hotel already. Now Mr. Wayne's kindness made sense, too. Of course he'd want to get his kid back, and dropping Harry off was just a side advantage.


When he looked up, Harry found Mr. Wayne's arm outstretched, and his hand holding out a small white card for him. Harry took it, and saw the logo of a company he'd never seen before. Behind it, though, was a phone number scribbled with a muggle pen, and Mr. Wayne's name on top of that.

"If you ever need help in the non-magical world, feel free to call me. I live in America, but I have many contacts here that could help you with anything you might need," he said seriously, and Harry nodded. This new bout of kindness, he didn't understand, but he didn't want to reject such a nice offer. Even if he'd never take him up on it. "And Harry," he said a bit more softly. "If you really want to live with someone other than the Dursleys, I have all the legal means to help you achieve that."

Harry realized he'd drawn in a breath perhaps too harshly, and that his eyes were wide with surprise. But all he could think of saying was a brief:


"Seriously," Mr. Wayne confirmed without hesitation.

And before Harry could even begin thinking about what those words meant, the cellphone in the man's pocket began beeping, and it was time for them to go board a helicopter.

For the second time in his life, Harry decided that brooms were his preferred method of flying. The first time he'd had to decide on something like this was last year, when he'd gotten to ride a hippogriff in Care of Magical Creatures. The experience had been interesting, but the feeling of the large wings moving just beneath him hadn't been the most comfortable.

A helicopter didn't have the same problem. In fact, as far as seats went, this one was very comfortable, even with the security belts strapped around his chest. The problem was the noise: it was almost deafening, even through the protective gear he'd been given to wear. The whole metal frame around them was also a bit unsettling, and to finish off, nothing could beat the view you got in a broom.

But it got the job done, Harry would give it that. The downside was, it was much slower than floo travel, and the noise the rotor created turned any attempt at chatting impossible without screaming every word. And the things Harry might want to talk to Mr. Wayne about shouldn't be shouted for anyone to hear.

So Harry sat tight, and glanced out of the window while the sky got steadily closer to an orange hue. Turning his head didn't hurt too much now, and if he checked on the lump on the back of his head now, it seemed to have shrunk a bit. He still hissed when Mr. Wayne's voice made him turn around too quickly, though:

"Is that it, Harry?" He was staring intently out of the helicopter's door, to a familiar and almost impossible-looking structure.

"That's the Burrow!" he declared with a deliberately soft nod, lest he want to get another headache.

Mr. Wayne yelled something at the pilot, and the helicopter began landing a few ways away from the house. From where they were, Harry could see the Weasleys already piled outside the house, and hastily began taking off his security belts.

No sooner had they landed and the rotor's sound faded, Harry flung the metallic door of the helicopter open, and jumped onto the green grass that surrounded the unusual house the Weasleys lived in. A smartly-dressed boy with a green hoodie the same color of Harry's large shirt was the closest to the helicopter. Harry only spared Dick a glance, though, because he was already being tackled by a mass of bushy hair.

"Oh, Harry! We're so sorry!" she was saying. And then she suddenly pulled back to get a good look at him, to check it really was him this time, no doubt. Harry laughed.

"It's okay," he said, even if he thought he and Dick looked nothing alike. He couldn't remember a time when his hair had been nearly as tidy as Mr. Wayne's son's.

Speaking of, Harry gave in to his curiosity and turned around to look at the helicopter. Mr. Wayne had his hand on his son's shoulder, which he squeezed briefly in relief.

"Thanks for having me!" Dick was saying, waving cheerfully at the Weasleys, and then he slid between Mr. Wayne and the doorframe to disappear into the helicopter. His father smiled fondly after him, but instead of following him in, he took a few steps away from the helicopter to meet with Mr. Weasley.

"Oh, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley fussed, checking him over and completely missing the mocking coddling gestures the twins did behind her back. Ron snorted, and smiled widely at him when Harry caught his eye.

"He's a really nice kid," Mr. Wayne was saying behind them, and Harry craned his neck to look at where he and Mr. Weasley were shaking hands. "I'm glad we could get this sorted out. Thank you again for taking care of Dick while we got here."

"Not at all, not at all! Thank you for getting Harry out of that mess," Mr. Weasley's tone was earnest, but his eyes kept straying to the muggle flying machine, and they shone like a child's on Christmas morning. "Is that one of those jollycoppers?"

"A helicopter, yes. It was the fastest way I could think of to get us here." Harry thought Mr. Wayne sensed what Mr. Weasley would want to ask him about, because the next moment he was looking at his watch and shaking his head.

"I hope it's fast enough to get us back to the hotel in time. I'm afraid we must go, Mr. Weasley. It was very nice meeting you. And Harry, my offer still stands," he said, already climbing on to the helicopter.

Harry couldn't help but grin at him and wave his farewell. He didn't drop his arm until the helicopter was way high in the sky, and even then, his right hand was still clutching on to the business card he'd been given in the restaurant.

He'd think about it seriously this school year, and maybe, just maybe, he would give Mr. Wayne a call next summer.