Chapter Text
Harry celebrated his four-hundredth birthday with a cup of Earl Grey tea and a green and gold frosted cupcake.
In truth, it might’ve been his three-hundred and ninety-second birthday or quite possibly even his four-hundred and twenty-third. It was unbelievably easy to lose track of time after having lived so long, especially since he hadn't exactly stayed within the same dimension or even timestream. Sometimes, he’d celebrate his birthday too soon or too late depending on the shifts in times, since he always celebrated on July 31st regardless of whether it had been a true year between the last or not, but, on admittedly more than a few occasions… he’d simply forgotten to celebrate at all. It wasn’t as if he was missing out on any milestones, considering that he’d stopped aging at a crisp twenty-five.
The bell to the café he was currently sat in rang out to signify a patron’s entrance, and Harry brushed the last of the crumbs off of the lapels of his pressed suit, taking another sip of his still-warm tea. He glanced up to see who had come in, and he could privately admit that his heart traitorously skipped a beat.
Harry had only been in this world for under a month, having left the last after aiding a pair of brothers and - of all things - an angel in stopping the apocalypse (a task made easy when Harry was the Master of Death), and he’d decided to come to a world with a more… heroically active climate. He enjoyed these types of worlds - for a multitude of reasons. The heroes were often fascinating to observe, of course, and the worlds themselves were often more interesting because of their presence, but Harry also took a quiet relief in knowing he could bow out from the spotlight himself. That wasn’t to say that he was constantly forced into it in worlds without a superhero presence, nor was that to imply that he refused to step in if a world already had its own designated saviors. Simply, in the former situation, Harry often had no choice but to come forth should disaster strike, since there was no other who could resolve the situation as effectively as Harry himself could - if at all. However, this meant that the whole planet’s eyes turned to him as their savior, regardless if he attempted to hide his presence or not; the people searched for him, knowing an outside force had saved them, and it always seemed to end with Harry either being found and hailed as a hero or an outsider, or him having to seclude himself to not risk being discovered in the first place.
With heroes being present, however… He could take a pause. He could waylay the shedding of his own obscurity, or perhaps halt it entirely. Even in the cases where he found himself still having to intervene when the world’s heroes were unable to win alone, it was much easier to hide his presence amongst them and to let the heroes take credit from the populace with a bemused sort of acceptance amongst themselves.
All of this to say, Harry was quite content in this current world, which was taken care of by the apparently well-renowned and celebrated Justice League. Even better for Harry himself, the very city he lived in was watched over by its own collection of vigilantes, all of whom hailed from the famed Dark Knight - the Batman.
Harry realized his thoughts had gotten quite sidetracked, and he blinked rapidly in the direction of the center of his attention, thoughts coming back into focus with startling clarity.
Yes, Harry had not even been living in this world for an entire month, but he had somehow already found himself ensnared by the presence of another.
He avidly watched as the man cordially greeted the young attendant behind the counter, who already had the order ready - just as it had been during each of the past few times Harry had seen the man come in.
Harry’s lips couldn’t help but part as one of the gentleman’s fine, silvery strands of hair fell free from its perfectly coiffed, gelled back position, and a muted flush rose to his cheeks as a weathered, neatly manicured hand rose to smoothly push the strand back in place as if nothing had ever been amiss at all. The only other sign the man made of having noticed his slip was the slight twitch of his thin, neat moustache.
“- that will be all, Miss,” the gentlemen farewelled pleasantly, accepting the proffered sack of selected teas and goods and slipping the straps of it up to rest at the crook of his elbow over the sleeve of his black, pressed suit.
The man turned on his heel - all swift movements with a grace that belied fitness and aged experience - and his inky black bowtie did not so much as tilt from its perfectly tied position even as its owner turned his head just so to meet Harry's eyes.
For the Master of Death, it felt as if time had decided to still itself just for this singular moment. Crystalline blue eyes that held the same depth as a bottomless spring connected with emerald greens that were not unlike a forest of rich trees in full bloom, and the fraction of a second seemed to stretch out like pulled taffy.
All too soon, however, it was over. The gentleman’s trimmed brow arched near imperceptibly, he gifted Harry with a genial nod, and then he was gone, having left through the door in three long, clean strides with only a single, forlorn-sounding chime to signify his departure.
Harry exhaled slowly, only now having realized he’d been holding his breath, and he brought one hand up to cup his flushed cheek as he used the other to swallow down the last dregs of his now-cool tea.
What a buffoon Harry must’ve looked like, he inwardly castigated himself, his blush rising against his pale skin with an embarrassed vengeance. He couldn’t have helped himself, though - not much, at least. The feelings he had now were practically foreign to him after having gone so long without.
Oh, that wasn’t to say he hadn’t dallied here and there during his centuries, but it had been… difficult, to form a deep, genuine connection during his times. His longest relationship had been with Ginny, and even then, it had not even lasted a decade. Practically a drop in the ocean for how long he’d been alive now.
But there was something about this gentleman, something that had Harry’s heart thumping in his chest like a bumbling schoolgirl with a crush. It was something that gave Harry the incomprehensible feeling that, this time, there may actually be more to what he could have than an unfulfilling, ingenuine tryst. That somehow, someway, this man would be able to understand him, to accept him, to bridge the gap between them despite all odds that would suggest otherwise.
And now, thanks to having caught a glimpse of it on the package as the attendant passed it over, Harry had a name to go along with the dashing man he’s been admiring from afar:
Alfred Pennyworth.
