Chapter Text
Mia hadn’t gone home for the summer.
There hadn’t been a reason to. There rarely was anymore. The school stayed open for girls who needed structure, who benefited from routine, who had somewhere better to be than wherever home was supposed to be. Mia fit easily into that category, quiet and compliant in all the ways that mattered, contained in ways no one thought to question.
She kept to herself. Followed the rules. Made sure nothing slipped.
Magic included.
It wasn’t difficult anymore—not the way it had been when she was younger, when everything felt too close to the surface, too unpredictable to trust. Now it was controlled, deliberate, something she kept folded inward where no one could see it. Something that belonged to her and her alone.
It had to.
Because there was nowhere else for it to exist.
Not here. Not in the life she had been given.
And not with Bruce.
Her Hogwarts letter changed that.
It didn’t explain anything. It didn’t need to. Mia understood what it meant the moment she saw it, the weight of it settling somewhere deeper than thought, somewhere older than the years she had spent trying to be someone else.
Hogwarts.
A way back.
Not to safety—she knew better than that—but to something that had once been hers before it was taken, before it was hidden, before she had learned not to ask for it.
And she wanted it.
Not carefully. Not rationally. Not in the measured way she had learned to want things that could be taken away.
She wanted it enough to risk everything else.
Mia stared at her cell phone, sitting cross-legged on the too-starched, too-white bed in her dorm room. Evening study hall hummed faintly in the hall outside—girls whispering, doors clicking open and shut, someone laughing two rooms down. All of it felt a world away.
She didn’t know what she was supposed to say.
Should she call Bruce?
Her thumb hovered over the contact button, but she couldn’t press it. Calling Alfred or Dick was pointless—they’d tell Bruce immediately. And Selina…well, Selina might’ve tried to smooth things over a few years ago, whisk Mia away in the middle of the night, make something impossible suddenly work. But not now. Not when she and Bruce weren’t speaking. Not when this wasn’t a Gotham problem but a different kind of problem entirely.
Magic wasn’t something Selina could steal her out of.
Not this time.
Her stomach twisted. She hadn’t been home since Christmas. And even then, she was fairly certain Bruce had only insisted because she was expected to appear at the Wayne Foundation Gala. Smile for photographs. Look like she belonged to the life he gave her. Remind people that Bruce Wayne continued the Wayne Family, no matter how unconventionally he chose to do so.
She hadn’t talked to him in almost three months. He hadn’t called. She hadn’t either.
But he was supposed to call. All the other girls at St. Theresa’s got calls from their parents—weekly updates, check-ins, reminders to be home by Sunday curfew. Some girls talked to their families every day.
But Bruce had never been like other parents.
And Mia had never been like the other girls.
Five years. She’d been bouncing around boarding schools for nearly five years and she’d been at St. Theresa’s for almost seven months. A record for her. This was her third summer term—another year sacrificed to structure and discipline and “corrective routine.”
Hogwarts wouldn’t be different. Except…it would be. It should be. Because Hogwarts meant going back to the world she remembered only in pieces.
A warm hand ruffling her hair as Uncle James conjured shimmering bubbles for her and Harry to chase.
Aunt Lily flicking the radio on with a lazy swish of her wand as she danced barefoot across the kitchen tiles.
Her daddy laughing—full, bright—before shifting into a dog, letting her ride on his back through the garden.
Her mama humming softly as she brewed potions in the cellar, the air thick with herbs and warmth.
They were gone. All of them. And Mia was still here, stuck in a life that didn’t feel like her own. Hogwarts was the only doorway left to the place she lost. A secret passage back to Euphemia Black, a name she hadn’t gone by in almost eight years.
But if she wanted that door to open, she had to tell Bruce.
Or at least...tell him something.
He’d be furious if she ran away to an England without telling him and then telling him about magic would become impossible. More impossible than it already was.
How did someone explain getting an acceptance letter from a school she’d never applied to? A school that already assumed she was coming—like her name had been written on their registry since the day she was born.
Bruce would be upset.
Worse, she’d have to admit that she’d been lying to him ever since he adopted her. Lying about what she was. What she could do. What she remembered.
She never told him about magic—about the world where brooms flew and fireplaces were highways and curses killed with a flash of green light.
Mia’s throat tightened.
She picked up the phone and hit Bruce’s contact before she could talk herself out of it.
It rang.
One ring.
Two rings.
Three.
Four.
Her chest caved inward.
He wasn’t going to answer—
“Mia?”
Her heart jumped.
But he did.
“Hey,” she said, trying for casual and landing somewhere between bored and choking.
“What happened?” Bruce demanded immediately—sharp, controlled, that low rumble that meant he was already bracing for disaster. Because she hadn’t called in months, and of course the only reason she’d call now was if she’d been expelled. Again.
“Calm down, I’m not in jail,” Mia snapped before she could stop herself. “It’s not—this isn’t a disaster call. Congratulations.”
She hadn’t done anything recently. Not anything she’d been caught for anyways. “I…” Her fingers twisted in the bedsheets. She didn’t know what to say. How to say it. Over the phone should be easier. She wouldn’t have to see the look on his face—the disappointment that always carved a hollow place inside her.
“Mia? Are you alright?”
She hated that he sounded concerned. It made everything worse. Softer.
Harder to keep her walls up.
“Fine,” she replied quickly. Too quickly. “I just need to talk to you,” she muttered, then added quickly, “And no, that’s not code for ‘I burned down the chem lab.’ Calm down.”
She winced. She sounded like a child. Like the scared six-year-old who clung to Alfred’s coat the day Bruce shipped her off for the first time.
“I…I want to transfer schools.”
Bruce sighed—a quiet, exhausted sound. “Mia, St. Theresa’s is a good school—”
“I know.” She cut him off, panic rising. “But…there’s another school,” she said flatly. “It exists. It’s real. I want to go. Shocking, I know.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could rewind three minutes, wishing she was braver, wishing she knew how to talk to him without feeling like she was one mistake away from losing him all over again.
She waited.
Bruce didn’t speak.
And Mia didn’t know whether the silence meant he was thinking…or preparing for a fight she wasn’t sure she could win.
“Mia,” Bruce finally said, voice leveled into that calm, clipped tone he used in board meetings and interrogations. “You’re not giving me much information.”
“I know.” Her nails dug crescents into her palm. “I—I just want to transfer. That’s all.”
“There’s no ‘just’ about it.” His tone hardened. “What school?”
Mia’s stomach plummeted. “It’s…a private academy. Smaller than St. Theresa’s. More—individualized.”
The silence on the line sharpened.
“And where is this school?” Bruce asked, clipped.
“Scotland.” Too fast. Too honest. “I mean—near there. Around there.”
Dead silence. She could practically feel the disappointment curdling across state lines.
“Mia.” Bruce’s voice went clipped, CEO-flat. “I require details.”
Not What’s wrong?
Not Are you okay?
Just a demand for data. Classic.
“I just…need a change,” she muttered. “This place isn’t helping. Isn’t what I want anymore.”
“What changed?” he pushed.
“Nothing. I just want to go.”
“That’s not an answer.” He wasn’t raising his voice. He didn’t have to. His restraint was worse.
“You’re not listening,” Mia snapped.
“And you’re not being honest.” Bruce didn’t even hesitate. “If something is wrong, I expect you to tell me.”
“Nothing is wrong!”
“Mia.”
“Bruce,” she bit out, hating the crack in her voice. “I’m not in trouble. I’m not getting expelled. I just want to transfer. Okay?”
“No,” Bruce said immediately. Not unkind. Not kind. Just…final. “You don’t make decisions like this alone. You’re ten.”
“Eleven,” she muttered bitterly.
“That doesn’t change anything.”
She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Why can’t you just—ever—take my word for anything?” she shot back. “I say ‘transfer,’ you hear ‘felony.’ Great.”
A humorless breath escaped him—the closest thing he had to a laugh now. “Trust requires transparency.”
“That’s not—” Her voice shook. “Bruce, why do you make everything impossible?”
“Because I’m trying to get you to tell me the truth.” Sharp. Impatient.
But beneath that, she heard something she almost never heard from him anymore—worry held too tightly.
“I am telling the truth!”
“Then what’s the reason for this transfer?”
“I told you—”
“You didn’t,” he cut in. “You gave me half-answers and geography. That’s not a reason.”
Her hands trembled. Hogwarts was the only thing she’d wanted in years. The only thing that made her feel like she belonged anywhere. And she couldn’t say a damn word about it.
“I need to go,” she whispered.
“Then I need to know why.”
Her breath stopped.
She couldn’t tell him.
Not over the phone.
Maybe not ever.
“I can’t explain.”
“Then I can’t approve it,” Bruce said bluntly. No hesitation. No softness. Just a door closing.
“Bruce—please—”
“I'm not saying no.” But he didn’t sound gentle—he sounded tired. Impatient. Like he was being forced into a conversation he hadn’t wanted to have. “I’m saying I’d be irresponsible to agree to something without information.”
“I’m not lying!”
“You’re withholding,” he countered instantly.
She flinched.
Of course he knew.
He could always tell.
“Talk to me,” he said. Not gentle. Not pleading. Just a command. “Whatever it is, just say it.”
“I can’t. Not over the phone.”
A beat.
“Mia,” Bruce said, tone hard but low. “Why is it always this difficult with us?”
Her chest twisted. “Because you look at me like I’m a problem you don’t want to deal with.”
“That’s not accurate.”
“It feels accurate,” she shot back. “You sent me away. And you’ve barely talked to me since. How is that supposed to fix anything?”
Silence. Not reflective—calculating.
She clamped a hand over her mouth. She hadn’t meant to say that. She never said things like that to him. Not anymore.
“Come home for the weekend,” Bruce said finally, voice brooking no argument.
“What?”
“Come home.” The way he said it wasn’t an invitation. It was a logistics order. He might as well have emailed it with a meeting attachment. “We’ll talk in person.”
“I—Bruce—”
“I’m not agreeing to anything until I hear a real explanation.” His tone was flat as stone. “If this school matters to you, then you’ll come home and tell me why. Otherwise, you’ll stay where you are.”
Explain. Not confess. Not reveal magic. Just…give him something.
Mia swallowed hard. “You’ll…pick me up?”
He paused. Too long. Then: “Yes. I’ll pick you up.”
Her chest tightened painfully. “Okay. I’ll pack.”
“Mia—”
She held her breath.
“Thank you for calling,” he said stiffly, like the words were foreign currency he wasn’t used to spending.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Bye.”
She hung up before he could exhale—because she knew exactly what disappointment sounded like.
Wayne Manor was quiet. It usually was these days.
Bruce ended the call and stared at the phone for a long moment as if it might offer him an answer Mia refused to give. It didn’t. It only left him standing alone in his office, jaw set, temples tight, the blue glow of the computer monitors casting hard edges across his face.
He slipped the phone into his pocket and crossed to the study door.
Alfred was already there.
Of course he was. There were times Bruce wondered if Alfred had bugged Mia’s cell phone so he’d know when they spoke.
“Master Bruce,” the butler greeted, straightening from the tray he was polishing. “You sounded…troubled.”
Bruce hesitated—a fraction of a pause, easily missed by anyone who wasn’t Alfred Pennyworth.
“It was Mia.” He kept his voice steady, clipped. Controlled. “She’s coming home this weekend.”
For a heartbeat, Alfred didn’t move.
Then his eyes brightened—just slightly. A flicker. A spark behind the polite mask. “Is she now?”
“Yes.” Bruce unbuttoned his cuffs with sharp, practiced movements. “She wants to transfer schools.”
“Does she?” Alfred set the tray down with more care than necessary, as if grounding himself. “Well. It will be…very good to have her home again.”
Bruce’s brow tightened. “It’s not a social visit, Alfred.”
“No?” Alfred replied mildly, though a pleased warmth curled through his tone. “I should say it’s been rather a long time since the young miss has been under this roof. Longer than was ever reasonable.”
Bruce shot him a look. “We’ve been over this.”
“Indeed we have,” Alfred said politely, which was his way of announcing he still disagreed entirely. “And yet I shall refrain from saying ‘I told you so.’”
“You just did.”
“I am but a humble man, sir. My restraint is admirable.”
Bruce exhaled sharply—the closest he came to a sigh in front of Alfred. “She’s not telling me something. She wants out of St. Theresa’s but refuses to explain why. Keeps insisting everything is fine.”
Alfred tilted his head, studying him with that careful, perceptive patience honed over decades of Wayne stubbornness.
“She is a child, Master Bruce,” he said gently. “Children rarely tell the truth of what troubles them when they fear it will lead to greater distance.”
“She’s the one creating distance.” Bruce’s voice tightened. “She hasn’t called in months.”
“And yet,” Alfred murmured, “she called tonight.”
Bruce froze.
Alfred continued, folding his hands before him. “If I may say so, sir…she misses you. Terribly. A girl does not ask to come home if she means to sever ties.”
“She didn’t ask to come home,” Bruce corrected. “I insisted. She wanted permission, not a reunion.”
“Even so,” Alfred said softly, “she agreed.”
The room fell quiet.
Bruce rubbed a hand across the back of his neck—a small, restless movement he rarely allowed himself.
Alfred’s voice gentled. “I’ll prepare her room.”
“That’s not necessary,” Bruce said automatically. “It’s only two nights.”
“Two nights,” Alfred repeated, with the faintest lift of his brows. “After nearly a year away.”
Bruce looked away.
Alfred’s expression softened, the affection in his eyes unmistakable. “Master Bruce…whatever has kept the two of you at arm’s length, this is your chance. Do not waste it.”
Bruce didn’t respond.
Alfred stepped forward, lowering his voice. “She needs her father. Even when she is quite determined not to admit it.”
Bruce’s jaw tightened—not in anger but in something heavier, something weighted by guilt he never spoke aloud.
“And if I may,” Alfred added, the corners of his mouth warming, “I should very much like to see her again.”
Bruce looked back at him then, and for the first time since the phone rang, something in his expression softened. Barely.
“Fine,” he said. “Prepare the room.”
“Yes, sir.” Alfred turned briskly, but the moment he faced away, the hint of a smile ghosted across his face. “I shall see to it immediately.”
He paused at the doorway.
“Welcome home weekends,” Alfred murmured, almost to himself, “were long overdue.”
Bruce didn’t answer—but he didn’t disagree.