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"Sooo... you are a witch."
"Wizard. The term is wizard," Harry corrected automatically.
"Like... like Glinda and Gandalf?"
Harry blinked. "...Who are they?"
Clint stared at him, scandalized. "What... whAT? YOU DON'T KNOW WHO THEY ARE?" he yelled. "WHAT KIND OF WITCH ARE YOU?"
"...Wizard," Harry sighed again.
Across the room, Tony Stark was rubbing his temples, already feeling a headache coming on.
"So you’re saying you’re the flying brooms, cauldrons, and magic wands type of...wizard."
"Exactly. And just to clarify—'witch' is usually used for females who use magic," Harry explained patiently.
Tony shot a skeptical glance toward the fiery bird perched nearby. "And that orange and red flame-throwing chicken... you're saying that's a phoenix."
Fawkes, as if understanding, flared his wings proudly and gave Tony a look that was both menacing and judgmental.
"Don't insult Fawkes like that," Harry huffed, crossing his arms. "He saved both our lives. A little gratitude wouldn't kill you."
Tony muttered something under his breath about needing a drink. Or shawarma. Or both.
Harry, determined to explain, continued calmly. "I know everything about me must sound absurd to someone like you, who believes only in science. But you can’t deny magic exists—especially after meeting Loki."
Tony hummed noncommittally and pressed on, suspicion clear on his face.
"You said you didn’t know who I was until last year."
"True. I honestly didn't."
Tony narrowed his eyes. "Were you living under a rock or something? How could you not know about me? Me? About Stark Industries? About Iron Man? I refuse to believe that bullshit!"
He stood up, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger.
Harry winced. Honestly, fighting Voldemort had been easier than dealing with a furious soulmate. He really needed Ron. Or Hermione. Bloody hell, he even wanted Malfoy-of all people-with him for solving this particular situation.
He cast a pleading glance around the room. Thor was watching the whole exchange with avid fascination, while the rest of the Avengers were struggling not to laugh.
Harry sighed and braced himself.
"I can't tell you everything yet. But..." He took a breath. "There are communities—hidden societies—where people like me, magical people, live separately from non-magical ones. Even though magic is innate, we need wands to channel it and training to master it.
Because non-magical people—Muggles—fear what they don't understand, we isolated ourselves and created our own governments. In Britain, we have the Ministry of Magic. Here in the U.S., it's MACUSA. Our communities work alongside non-magical governments to keep the peace. Our existence is protected by something called the Statute of Secrecy."
He nodded towards Director Fury, who had silently appeared behind the group.
"What he says is true," Fury said gravely. "And if the information leaked, it could lead to the extinction of an entire race."
He paused. "Never thought I'd meet the Boy-Who-Lived in person, though."
Harry hissed sharply, his body tensing.
Tony, catching the reaction, pounced.
"Boy-who-lived? What the hell kind of nickname is that?"
Harry looked away, his jaw clenched.
"I can't tell you about that, at least not yet. And please director Fury, I will be very relieved if you kindly shut up."
Fury held up his hands in surrender and stepped back.
Harry squared his shoulders, continuing.
"After my parents died—murdered, actually—I was raised by my mother's non-magical relatives. They hated anything 'abnormal.' They didn’t beat me, but... there are worse forms of abuse than physical."
He paused, the room growing heavy with unspoken memories.
*"They didn't let me watch TV. No newspapers. I grew up isolated from the world. That’s why I didn't know about you, about Stark Industries, or Iron Man. I didn't even know my soulmate was a non-magical person. I just assumed you were a wizard I hadn’t met yet."
Harry’s voice dropped, shame lacing every word.
"It was only last year that one of my best mates told me about you."
For a moment, there was silence. Thick, suffocating silence.
Tony sat very still. His voice, when it came, was eerily calm.
"Then why didn't you come to me after finding me? You knew I couldn't find anything about you. Why did you wait this long to meet me? Or did you wanted to meet my disfigured corpse or something?"
The rest of the Avengers, sensing the storm brewing, made quick, quiet exits, leaving Harry and Tony alone.
Harry opened his mouth, closed it, then forced himself to speak.
"...I..that.....I-I thought you had enough problems in your life, and I didn't wanted to add mine to it." Harry mumbled.
Tony saw red.
"YOU DON’T GET TO DO THAT!" he exploded, his voice shaking the very walls.
"You don’t get to decide what's good for me! You don't get to decide if I can handle you! I wanted this! I waited for you! Even before I knew who you were, I felt you!
I would have taken you even if you were a goddamn terrorist! And you— you abandoned me because you thought you were a burden? What about me? WHAT ABOUT MY FEELINGS? DID YOU EVEN ONCE THINK ABOUT ME? DID YO-"
Whatever Tony was going to scream next was abruptly cut off as Harry launched himself into his arms, clinging tightly, sobbing uncontrollably.
"I-I’m so sorry!" Harry cried, clutching him desperately. "I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn't want to bother you. Everything I touch falls apart. I thought I was cursed! I thought if you were close to me, you'd get hurt too. I didn’t want my enemies to find you. I love you to the moon and back, Tony. Please, please don’t hate me!"
Tony struggled to breathe, to calm down. How could he possibly stay angry at this?
Instead, he wrapped his arms tightly around Harry, running his fingers through his wild hair, murmuring soothing nonsense while they both cried.
Their soulbond—raw and powerful—flooded with emotions: grief, love, relief, fear... hope.
They stayed like that, clinging to each other amidst the wreckage of the penthouse. Above them, Fawkes sang a soft, soothing melody, his magic weaving peace into the air around them.
After what felt like hours, Harry stirred.
"There’s a lot I haven’t told you," he whispered. "About my life. About the war I fought. About my...moniker."
Tony placed a finger against Harry’s lips.
"Tell me when you're ready, Tesoro," he said gently. "Right now, just stay with me."
Harry nodded, snuggling closer.
But after a moment, he found he needed to say it. Needed Tony to understand.
"There was a war in our world," Harry said softly. "I fought on the frontlines. Led people. And the man who started it—he tried to kill me, over and over. It was my responsibility to stop him. Even after he died, his followers kept fighting. Wreaking havoc. Destroying lives."
Harry’s voice trembled.
"My godson, Teddy... he was orphaned in that war. He was just five months old. I had to raise him. I had to make sure he had a life better than mine. That’s why I stayed away."
"I thought...I thought you’d hate me if you knew. That you’d think I was broken. Tainted."
Tony shook his head fiercely and pulled Harry impossibly closer.
"Nothing you say will change how I feel, Harry. Nothing."
"You’re not broken. You’re not a burden. You’re my soulmate. And I will always be here for you."
Harry closed his eyes, feeling, for the first time in what felt like forever, safe and loved.
Above them, Fawkes sang a lullaby of healing and hope as Harry and Tony, entwined by soul and heart, drifted peacefully to sleep.