Chapter Text
Aunt Petunia pushes him out of the door after the breakfast mess is cleaned up, handing him a stale piece of bread. “Get out and stay out,” she hisses, face twisting into a familiar scowl, “We're having company for dinner, so return after dark, boy.” And that's familiar, the way that she's so quick to want him anywhere but here when others will be.
Harry takes off down the street with his pathetic breakfast, glad that he had the foresight to convert some galleons into pounds before the start of summer. The notes and the letter in his pocket are a balm to his shot nerves, a reminder that something exists beyond the torment of Number 4 Privet Drive. He'll head to the library and search for the man his mum had mentioned in the letter, the one who was supposedly his biological father — and hadn't it been a nasty shock to find that out from a letter in a bank vault?
Hiding away in the corner of the library, he hunches over one of the public access computers and carefully types in the man's name. Tony Stark. Google loads quickly, popping back up with millions of results and at first Harry is doubtful — the letter hadn't mentioned that his father was a superhero . The more he reads, he understands why it hadn't been mentioned, for fifteen years ago, Tony Stark was still a rich playboy partying in cities around the world. In London, with his parents and their friends, if the letter is to be believed.
Harry's less impressed when he finds that his supposed father has a premade form for those seeking to confirm paternity, but then. What other choice does Harry have? He creates an email and notes his lack of access to a phone in the comment box, hoping that they won't dismiss him for the shortfall. Still, he carefully fills in the details as best he can, though he's not sure about when his parents had the encounter or where precisely they had been, since the letter didn't exactly go into that level of detail.
For a moment after he clicks submit, a loading icon swirls around the page before a ding alerts him to a new email, one that congratulates him on starting the process and informs him that someone will be in touch to schedule an appointment. That done, he turns back to Google and attempts to learn everything he can about Stark.
Harry returns to the Dursley household well after the streetlights had flickered on, stomach filled with food after a late dinner at a local restaurant. The first thing he notices, while still outside, is that he can hear Uncle Vernon yelling from the sidewalk — the sheer anger in the voice is almost enough to make him turn tail, but he suspects that Dumbledore would have him dragged back in a heartbeat. And the rage at having one of his kind, never mind one who looked like Dumbledore did, on their doorstep would be worse than the anger from whatever had set Uncle Vernon off this time.
There’s a split second of doubt when he makes eye contact with the man, who is purple with repressed anger and pupils like quill-tips. “You! If it weren’t for us having to feed and house you , Dudley would always have enough to eat and wouldn’t have to resort to sneaking slices of cake from the fridge!” He bellows, spittle flying as he crosses the room to get in Harry’s face. Harry swallows back a comment about Dudley already having more than enough to eat, cataloguing it next to years of unspoken remarks about his family’s appearances. “Go to your room, boy. I’ll be up to set you straight.”
At the obvious threat, Harry took off upstairs with a speed learned from years of dodging his family’s wrath. Slinking into his room, he hid the letter and the food he purchased from a nearby convenience store under the loose floorboard before sitting on his bed and waiting. Waiting was almost as bad as the punishment, he thought, which was surely why it took nearly an hour for his Uncle to lumber upstairs and make his anger well-known.
As he lay bloodied and broken on the floor, listening to the sound of his cousin’s loud snoring, he reminded himself that this was almost over. That soon enough, he would be on his way to New York, hopefully forever, and his magic wouldn’t need to stretch to heal the broken bones from a kick to the ribs or to knit skin back together on his back where his uncle’s belt had broken it open. “Soon,” he whispered, a promise to himself that there wasn’t much suffering ahead.
The locks on his door never clicked into place that night, and the next morning, he listened to his family gathering their things for a trip to a nearby amusement park. Piers was in tow, his cousin loudly bragging to his friend that they would be allowed whatever they wanted at the park to make up for “another summer with the freak around”. A few minutes later, the house fell silent, and Harry stood by his door listening for any sign that Uncle Vernon had remained behind. Hearing nothing, he carefully gathered his things from his room and snuck downstairs, hoping that when he got to the library, there would be a response waiting.
As he walked, he ate the handful of items that he had purchased the day before to abate the hunger caused by the outpouring of magic required to heal his wounds. He wondered what the reply would be; a quick denial or a prolonging of the process were his two best guesses — the previous day’s research had informed him of the dozens upon dozens of claims that Stark had parented a child, after all. And each had proven false.
Curling up at the same computer in the dusty library corner, Harry logged onto his email account with a slight curl of anticipation in his stomach. A single new email sat in his inbox, with the subject line: Re: Paternity Claim. Figuring it was now or never, he opened the email and took in the words eagerly.
Mr Potter,
As part of the Stark Paternity Claims process, the individual must present themselves at Stark Tower in New York City for a dual Paternity Test, both blood and saliva-based. Since you indicated a lack of phone number, please visit the attached web portal to schedule an appointment online. Failure to attend this appointment, once booked, will result in you needing to restart the process.
Well, that was good. Even if the claim didn’t pan out, Harry thought that perhaps he could hide away in New York for the summer, avoiding Dumbledore and the brewing war altogether. And for now, he just needed to make the appointment for the next day, figure out how he was going to get to NYC, and grab his stuff from the Dursleys. Easy peasy, he thought.
Perhaps, Harry admitted ruefully, it wasn’t as easy as he thought. He didn’t have a passport, so even though he had been able to purchase a ticket and make it to the airport, he had no idea how he was going to make it through security. Fuck it, he figured, time to put the invisibility cloak and some intentional “accidental” magic to work. As he snuck through the airports, creeping past dozens of security guards and avoiding all of the airport’s hard-earned security measures, he idly wondered if someone should warn the Muggle world of just how big of an oversight they were making.
Not yet, he figured, knowing he would need to be able to sneak back in September if it turned out that his mum had been mistaken about the whole paternity thing. Once he was back in England, he’d worry about whether Voldemort would target Muggle airports in his upcoming attacks (though given that he hadn’t before, Harry was doubtful that he would now). Taking off his cloak in a bathroom near the gate, he squared his shoulders and headed off to face down the final challenge.
Only it turned out easier than he expected to confound the gate agent into thinking that she had looked at his passport — who knew that knowing the spell and thinking it hard would help? Well, probably most people with more than a fourth year’s education in magic, Harry guessed. Still, it was easy, and then he was curled up in a window seat, waiting for the plane to take off and hoping nobody would catch on to what he did.
By the time the flight landed in New York, the sun was firmly over the horizon, and the clock was ticking down to his appointment at Stark Tower. He slipped into a nearby loo, both to make use of the facilities and disappear underneath his cloak again — he had heard talk on the airplane about going through customs after landing, and since he didn’t have a passport, that seemed like a bad idea. Dodging his way through the crowds was trickier than it had been back in London, but eventually he was standing outside with his cloak tucked in his bag. Since he had no idea how to find the tower, he decided his best option was to take a taxi — luckily, they seemed to be everywhere, and though he received an odd look from the driver, it was a mostly silent ride.
An expensive ride, he realized with a grimace as he paid once they arrived, but hopefully not one that aroused too much suspicion. Just to be sure, he made sure to add a large tip, hoping that it would buy the driver’s silence. As he stood outside the lobby doors, his hands began to shake; whether that was from the nerves or merely an after-effect of the torture session earlier in the month was anyone’s guess. Harry paused outside the doors, trying to reassure himself that it would be alright, though the efforts fell flat even to his ears, “It’s going to be fine, you just have to go in there and do it.”
Still as he stood on the other side of the desk in the lobby, it took all of his concentration to offer a shaky smile and echo the details that the email had listed about his appointment (and hadn't that been a trip, trying to teach himself to use the computer enough to send emails). He was shaking, but he told himself that it was just because of the cool air blasting from the air conditioning vents. The lie fell flat even in his mind.
“Ah, of course, I see you listed right here,” the receptionist declared, clicking something with the mouse. “Hm, is your mother going to be joining you?” she looked curious, glancing around behind him as if thinking that maybe she just hadn't noticed his companion.
And Harry felt the lump in his throat swell as, for the first time in years, he was confronted with someone who didn't know about Lily Evans Potter's fate. “Uh, no, um, she's dead,” he managed, tripping over the words as his eyes burned at the reminder, the smiling face from his photo album burning itself into his mind again. “So, it's just me,” he offered, swallowing the sob that threatens to rise in his chest as the grief swells. His ribs ached with the effort; there was too much grief to swallow forever, but for just this moment, he wanted to pretend it was just his mum.
The receptionist softened, leaving Harry wondering just how pathetic he must look, “Well, dear, if you just take a seat over there, Ms Rushman will be down in a second to take you up to your appointment.”
He nodded, offering a shaky smile, “Thank you, ma’am.” He walked over to the indicated bench, stifling a wince as he sat down and the cool metal pressed the worn denim of his hand-me-down jeans into tender skin. As he sat going over the list of people he knew about, he began to panic at the realisation that Ms Rushman isn't one of them. But then, that was to be expected, maybe, he couldn’t possibly know everyone who worked for such a large company, right?
Harry knew that he had flinched when the redhead's gaze first landed on him, as embarrassing as that was. She led him to the lift mostly silently, asking only a repeat of the questions that the application process had posed. He repeated the answers back at her, voice wavering under the weight of her eyes — the way she looked at him reminded him of Snape, if you ignored the lack of hatred in her eyes. He wondered what exactly she was thinking, what expectations of hers that he was going to fail to live up to or maybe what biases about him she would never quite shake.
Shivering slightly — another blasted air vent, he tried to convince himself — he shook off that thought, trying to keep an open mind as he walked towards the door that felt like it could hide either his salvation or his doom. Panic caught in his chest as questions began to race through his mind; what if his mum was wrong — what if the letter had been a joke — what if it was true and they sent him away anyway — what if — what if — what if?
He stepped through the door, legs continuing to move on autopilot and ears failing to take in the conversation he knew was now happening beyond the instructions that were being directed towards him. It was fine, he told himself, taking the indicated seat. It was fine, even if his hands were shaking again and his ribs ached and he was colder than he should be. He was fine because he had to be. At least for right now, he had to be fine.
Successfully wrestling down the growing panic, he turned his attention back to the doctor and assistant who were now discussing the test, and realised that he did recognize the doctor after all. Bruce Banner (the Hulk, his mind supplied), who worked with the man who was, maybe, hopefully, his father. Fuck, he thought as he was suddenly very aware of what a strange impression he must be making.
“Alright, Harry,” Bruce began, a soft smile on his face that reminded him distinctly of Remus. “As you know, Stark's policy is a two-tier test: blood and saliva. Once I retrieve the samples, it will only take about fifteen minutes for the rest to be complete. Are you okay with waiting here, or would you prefer to wait in a conference room?”
Being given a choice was new, and it took a moment for Harry to process. And then he had to process that he was going to be giving his blood. “Here,” he managed before clearing his throat awkwardly, “Here is fine, I mean.” Like hell was he about to leave these people with his blood, but he also didn't want to make a bad impression (a mocking voice in the back of his head pointed out that it was too late to worry about that). Still, he had to focus a little too much on his breathing, as his pulse began to race at the thought of them taking his blood.
Bruce nodded, carefully moving a wheeled table over to sit in front of Harry, that kind smile still firmly in place. “Saliva first,” he said, “Just open your mouth and I will take care of the rest.” Harry carefully obeyed, focusing on his breathing as the swab rubbed gently against his cheek and swallowing down the wave of nausea the movement caused. It was fine, he was in Stark Towers, he was safe. Watching the doctor quietly prepare the slide and then dispose of the swab, he swallowed, not looking forward to the next part. “Blood next,” the doctor inquired gently. “How are you with needles?”
Oh good, Harry thought, the perfect opening for an excuse for how weird he was going to be. “N-not great,” he stammered, hands trembling as he eyed the needle even as he moved to pull off the jumper he was wearing over his t-shirt. He realised too late that his arms were covered with bruises, and the one he had gone to offer to Bruce had a barely healed gash from where Pettigrew had split his arm open. “I didn't do it,” he blurted out, startling himself.
There was something in the other's eyes that looked a lot like the heartbreak that Mrs Weasley had directed at Ginny after the Chamber. He frowned at the wound for a long moment before replying, “That makes it worse, I think.”
He didn't seem to know what else to say, and Harry couldn't exactly blame him. “Yeah, it does,” he breathed out and shifted slightly to offer up his other arm, which was thankfully free of such obvious wounds. Bruce smiled, a small, sad thing, but remained silent as he retrieved the necessary sample and prepared to run the tests. Harry couldn't say anything, not yet, so he settled in for an uncomfortable wait.
“Kill the spare!” A flashing green light. High-pitched laughter.
Harry blinked away the memory as he shuddered slightly as his nerves seemed to burn. The green light, it turned out, was simply the computer indicating that the DNA was a match, that he was, in fact, Tony Stark’s son. Relief coursed through him, the quiet feeling of hope reigniting after what seemed like hours sitting on the hard plastic chair, slowly losing hope. It had only been a matter of minutes, he knew that logically, but lately time had been slipping away from him.
“That confirms it, then, now if only he had bothered to set up protocols for what to do if there was a match,” Bruce murmured, turning to Ms Rushman with a slight frown. Harry startled slightly, having forgotten that the woman was still in the room. It was this movement that caught both of the occupants' attention and ultimately distracted them from the opening door.
In stepped Tony Stark, and seeing him in person just cemented the feeling of warm hope that had been growing in his chest. Latching onto it, he gathered up the dregs of Gryffindor courage that had mostly been shunted aside by the fact that he felt like he was seconds away from breaking down. Tony paused mid-stride, and he knew that he was looking him over; he could spot the curious gleam in his eye even from across the room. It was the same look that Hermione always got when she had a new research project; it usually spelled trouble usually but Harry was hopeful that this time it might lead to salvation instead. “Hey, kid, why don’t we talk about whoever left you looking like a punching bag?” There was a tint of anger in the words, and Harry got the feeling that the Dursleys might finally be held accountable, that everyone might be.
“Yup, sure can,” he answered, making sure that the p popped. The warmth had settled in his chest, and for once, he felt like he wasn't racing against the clock just trying to survive. Sure, telling his story would be hell on earth, but Harry thought that he had finally found someone who would listen. That would be nice, if true.
Tony grinned, a harsh, bitter thing — the same smile that Harry saw in the mirror sometimes. He wondered if genetics could account for that or if they were just the same sort of broken.
Tony takes Harry to a different medical office instead of having the conversation right away, to Harry’s consternation. “Dr Karev,” Tony greeted, when the door opened after they had gotten settled (Harry on the exam table and Tony in a nearby wheeled chair), “This is Harry — Pepper had you sign the NDAs? Right? Good — my son.” His eyes flicked over to Harry before he continued, “Got any medical records for the good doctor, kid?”
Harry shook his head, grimacing when his fringe ended up in his eyes and brushing it away so that he could see. “I haven’t seen a doctor in — well, honestly, I don’t know if I ever have? Oh, I saw the school nurse once. And Aunt Petunia took me to get vaccines at a public clinic when the school sent home a letter saying if she didn’t, I would be suspended?” Harry frowns, trying to think if there had ever been any other interactions with medical staff, in the Muggle world, that he could remember. He couldn’t, but then he barely remembered those two times, so who knew for sure?
Tony didn’t seem to mind his uncertainty, pulling up a screen on his tablet and passing it over to the doctor, who nodded as he read it. “Those are the basics, then, he’ll need boosters, and our vaccine schedule differs slightly from the UK's. Still, let’s do a full check-up, hm?” He passed the tablet back and pulled on a pair of gloves. “Banner mentioned an injury to your arm, mind taking off your shirt?” Harry paused, instantly hating what was about to happen, but nodded and shrugged out of the oversized old t-shirt he was wearing. Thankfully, the adults tempered their reactions — he still saw the deep scowl on Tony’s face, but Doctor Karev remained carefully blank even as he moved to look closer. Tapping the basilisk scar with a finger, he began the questioning with, “And what is this scar from?”
And oh no, this was going to sound insane. Harry gathered up the tattered remains of his Gryffindor courage and blurted out, “Snake bite, just over two years ago?”
This time, that did seem to shock the doctor; he blinked and stared at Harry for a minute before asking, “Shit kid. And how big was the snake? Never mind, not important. You got the anti-venom?” Harry nodded, deciding that phoenix tears must count as an antivenom in this scenario. “Alright then, and what about this one?” he asked, tapping the mostly healed gash from Pettigrew.
“Knife? I was sort of, um, kidnapped? Earlier this month — and the guy wanted to steal my blood for this other guy, it’s complicated,” Harry was aware that his words were slurring together as they tripped out of his mouth. The mix of shock and anger that he was met with from the adults in the room didn’t fully help his panic either, though the lack of disbelief at least eliminated one concern from the long list.
And after a long moment, the doctor merely nodded and moved on. Well, after a clipped, “You better add a therapist to that list, Stark.” Still, the way that he seemed to be rolling with the punches was reassuring for the moment, so Harry clung desperately to the sense of normalcy that it provided. “And the bruises? Are they leftovers from that or something else?”
Harry shook his head, “They’re from, uh, my Uncle. I lived with him and my aunt before I came to New York, and they didn’t like me much. And he was mad because my cousin ate some of the cake that was meant for a dinner party before the guests arrived and he was saying that if I didn’t live there, they’d be able to give my cousin enough food that he wouldn’t need to sneak cake like that even though my cousin eats more food in a single meal than I do in like a week sometimes — so he.” Harry gulped, suddenly reluctant to say the most damning thing even after that waterfall of words, in the face of the silent rage emanating off of Tony.
The doctor just nodded, continuing to prod at Harry before sending him off for X-rays in another room. Harry was sure that he had a conversation with his father while Harry wasn’t in the room, based on the furious typing that was taking place when he got back. “Well, good news is nothing is broken, it’s just bruising. Bad news, we’ve got your vaccines prepped.” The last part seemed like a joke, Harry thought, managing a slight smile as he hopped back up onto the exam table before sitting perfectly still as he received the shots.
He was less still when Doctor Karev was drawing blood, hands shaving with nerves as sweat dripped down his neck. They were stealing his blood, and who knew where it would end up ? An insidious voice whispered in the back of his mind, What if they used it to resurrect another dark lord? Only the doctor moving away and tapping at a tablet of his own shook Harry from the dark direction of his spiraling thoughts. “Alright, that’s all for today. Arizona and I will come up with a full care plan, Mr Stark and send it to you ASAP.” Tony smiled, a smile that Harry thought looked charming but entirely disingenuous on his face, before quickly leading Harry out of the room once he had his shirt back on.
“Off to talk,” Tony announced, “We’ve got a while until dinner still. Pizza tonight?” He kept talking, seemingly not bothered by Harry’s lack of verbal answers and directed them up to the penthouse while Harry gathered the courage he needed for the upcoming conversation.
Said bravery shattered when he was in the middle of admitting that his aunt and uncle enjoyed shoving him in a closet under the stairs — in its place is the endless expanse of fear that always rests in Harry's chest. There's so much to tell him, so many things that he's never put into words, and suddenly Harry can't talk around the lump in his throat. He failed to swallow down the sob before it escaped his lips, tears burning in his eyes and familiar traumas flashing in front of unseeing eyes.
A scream tore from his throat as his nerves burned endlessly, and he was in the graveyard — the chamber of secrets — that little room on the third floor. There's pain and pain and pain. A green light. A bubbling cauldron. Blood dripped from a curse scar — a snake bite — it's his arm.
“—rry, kid, you're okay, you need to breathe,” he heard, a voice that is both familiar and unfamiliar. It's soft and warm, kind in a way that is still such an unknown to him. Worried brown eyes met his as he blinked back into existence, in Stark Tower, where there's no dripping blood, only tears streaming down his face.
“It's too much,” he sobbed, wracked with guilt at the way that he broke. He wanted to tell him, desperately wanted to explain the way his lungs sometimes felt like they were just waiting to take his last breath, but the words were out of reach. He couldn't help but feel like somewhere in between all the attempts on his life, he had died already. He blinked again, vision blurred with tears as he stared at Tony. “It's just —”
“It's okay.” Tony cuts him off, a pained look in his eyes. “We can talk when you're ready.” And that was new and unfamiliar too, the idea of someone having the patience to wait. Dumbledore had never bothered to wait — he had dragged a bloody and traumatised Harry into his office on at least two occasions now. It was nice, he decided, that patience.
“Okay,” he breathed, exhausted again. He wondered where he would sleep, confident that Tony probably couldn't have already had a room for him. “Can I take a nap on your couch?” He asked instead, a safer question that doesn't set him up for permanent rejection at least. The exhaustion dragged up the doubt with it, evidently, as he was suddenly uncertain that he would be allowed to stay.
Tony just shook his head, which left Harry breathless for a second before he added on, “Nah, let's get you set up in your room and then you can nap in your bed.”
“Kill the spares!” Albus Dumbledore demanded, as he stood at the head table in the Great Hall and looked down at Harry and his friends. Green lights flashed from every angle as solid thuds rang out all around, bodies hitting the floor. Cedric's unseeing eyes seemed to stare into Harry's from where he was lying on the dirt that had replaced the usual stone floor.
Sparkling blue eyes demanded his attention as Dumbledore cleared his throat, a severely disappointed expression on his face. “My boy, haven't you learned? You need to stop dragging others into your problems.” With a wave of the older wizard's hand, Harry found himself in the Chamber of Secrets facing down the angry basilisk and an angrier Ginny Weasley.
Strong jaws snapped down on his arm as he plunged a sword into the beast's mouth. Ginny screamed at him, “Why couldn't you have killed that blasted thing before it killed all of those students? You're such a worthless hero, honestly!” Except suddenly it was Hermione looking at him in disappointment. “You really should have been smart enough to figure out that it was a basilisk, but no, I have to do all the work, as usual.” His vision faded out for a moment before he blinked back into the Gryffindor Boys’ Dorm.
Ron's angry face twisted into a scowl that promised pain, “I thought I was your best mate, but fame means more to you. Not enough that everyone loves you for ending the war, you just had to go and make yourself a TriWizard Champion, too, huh?” His voice was thick with derision as he sneered down at Harry. “At least this year, it'll only be you who gets killed.”
A flash of familiar green light overwhelms his vision before he's staring at the angry corpse of Cedric Diggory. “I shouldn't have taken the cup, you got me killed! No wonder you don't have any friends,” he growled, dragging himself closer as Pettigrew wrenched a blade down his forearm. Cold hands wrapped around his legs, “If I am dead, you'll die too.”
His arm burned as it dripped blood (first into the cauldron and then onto the ground. The basilisk venom rushed through his blood again, burning as it sought to destroy him. “Crucio,” someone whispered, and his entire existence was pain; his bones seemed to burn just as brightly as his blood, and his scar began to drip blood. His head tipped back, his mouth fell open in a scream, “Please, plea—”
Harry bolted upright in his bed, with a scream on his lips and the sound of a door opening ringing in his ears. Shaking hands placed his glasses back on his face as he turned to stare at the figure in the doorway. It was Tony, it was just Tony, thank Merlin. He had already seen how broken Harry was, a fact that tampered with the embarrassment but didn't destroy it altogether. Instead of speaking, he ran his fingers over his damp forehead, relieved to find sweat instead of blood.
Tony wasn't similarly relieved if Harry had to guess, the now familiar frown tugging at his dad's lips. “You dream like that often, kid?” The question made Harry laugh, a twisted hysteria settling in his chest as he cackled into his knees. Often, he had asked, often when the only dreams Harry knew were nightmares.
“All the bloody time,” he managed through his laughter, the words hollow and heavy in equal measure. How many times had his mind twisted the memories of the people he left behind, of the things he survived? He was certain that he had lost count, given that the only thing that had ever freed him of the nightmares’ grasp was a dreamless sleep potion. And the thought of explaining that to Tony made him break out into a new wave of laughter, one that verged on the territory of tears.
The bed dipped as Tony took a seat next to him, that same concerned expression on his face. His lips were tugged deeper into a frown as he considered what to say, seeming uncertain in the face of his son's current state. And wasn't that a laugh? Harry had thought that Tony could save him, but he was beyond saving. “Why don't you go take a shower? I ordered out for dinner, and it should be here soon.” The words weren't what Harry expected, and his laughter ceased as he nodded and moved to stand on unsteady legs.
Said bathroom was far too fancy, and it took him several minutes before he figured out how to get the temperature of the shower just right. As the warm water streamed down his body, he allowed himself to think of the flashes of his nightmares that he remembered. The faces of people he had once trusted, once loved, even blamed him for things beyond his control. It was worlds apart from the actual ways those relationships had fallen apart, he knew, but the echoes remained the same.
He couldn't trust them to protect him, so he would have to trust himself. And maybe Tony, once he knew more about the situation, once Harry got the strength to explain it. With a deep breath, he shoved his concerns into the back of his mind, envisioning that he was locking them away in a small drawer. They could be dealt with later; for now, he needed to shower and eat. He'd tell Tony what he could put into words and try again tomorrow. And the day after that, too. He nodded to himself and whispered, “I will survive this. One day at a time. It will be okay.”
That said, he set to carefully washing himself, avoiding the tender welts on his back and the still unhealed cut on his arm. He rinsed out his hair and stepped out of the shower, eagerly getting redressed even if it was into pyjamas. After such a long time spent in itchy denim, the too-large sweatpants were a sweet relief on his skin.
As he attempted to dry his hair without messing it up (more than usual, that is), he stepped back into his bedroom. “Ah, young Boss,” an unfamiliar voice said, with an unmistakable British accent. Harry startled, whipping around looking for the source as his heart began to race wildly. “Apologies, I am JARVIS, which is short for Just A Rather Very Intelligent System. I'm an artificial intelligence system designed by Tony.” The voice then paused, allowing Harry the time to calm down and another moment to look around suspiciously as he waited for a Death Eater to reveal themselves in his bedroom. “Who wishes for you to know that the pizza has arrived.”
That sounded reasonable enough, so he walked over to the door and stuck his head out into the hall. He looked around for a moment before deciding that it was safe to head to the kitchen, only to realise that he didn't quite remember the way to the kitchen, nor was he sure that's where Tony was. “Hey, uh, Jarvey? Where is he?” he asked, trying to spot where the system was located.
The British voice rang out again, and he spotted a small red dot on what looked like a camera in the wall. “He's in the living room. If you follow the lights, you will find him, Harry.”
Harry nodded, feeling oddly grateful to the strange thing, “Thanks, Jarvs.” He made his way down the hall, looking forward to a slice or two of pizza and whatever no doubt awkward conversation awaited him.
Tony was in the middle of being horrified that Harry hadn't seen a single movie when JARVIS interrupted, “Ms Potts is on the elevator, Boss.” Harry recognizes the name as the person he was supposed to have an appointment with, having wrongly assumed that her absence meant that he wouldn't get to meet her at all.
“Don't think we're not going to talk about your lack of media knowledge,” Tony said after telling JARVIS to direct Pepper to the living room. He gestured with a slice of pizza to emphasise the point, still looking disturbed that Harry had somehow seen fewer films than even Captain America (who Harry remembers had spent seventy years in an iceberg). “Pepper's probably got a bunch of paperwork for me, everything we need to make this,” and here he gestured between the two of them with the pizza, “official and legal, plus a media strategy, she's brilliant at that—”
Fuck. “You can't use my full name in the press release,” Harry blurts out, cutting Tony off in the middle of his compliment of Pepper. “It has to do with all of the stuff I haven't told you, but. My first name is fine, just maybe we can use a fake last name?” He needed more time before the Ministry would find him, before Dumbledore would, and definitely before Voldemort did. He sighed, cradling his head in his hands and wincing at the sensation caused by his greasy skin.
Out of the corner of his vision, he watched Tony put down the piece of pizza as his smile fell from his face. “Kid, just changing your name might not be enough to keep them from finding you.” He sighed, “I could keep your picture out of it, but you'd be stuck in the tower. And I don't want that for you. It's not an option, pretend I never mentioned it.”
Harry sighed again, running a slightly greasy and severely shaking hand through his hair as he sat back up and slumped down in his seat. He just needed time; Tony was right, eventually someone would figure it out, but if he could buy them a few days or a week to prepare, that could be everything. “The people after me, they won't be watching television most likely and they definitely won't be on the internet,” he started, pausing as he realised that some of his muggleborn classmates definitely would be. “Or at least, not right away. It's just newspapers, just major British newspapers that we need to worry about to start. It's just —” He cut himself off with a groan, throwing his head back.
Tony leaned forward in his seat, a serious expression on his face. “Kid, how bad is it going to be when or if they find you?” Harry mulled over the question, considering all of the moving pieces, all of the blank spots in his knowledge and frowned.
“There are going to be people who want me dead, and they will come here to kill me or to kidnap me to kill me. There will be other people who just want to kidnap me and others who show up to try and guilt me into going back willingly — and when that doesn't work, they will try to bring me by force,” he pauses, sighing again as he remembers what he has read about the last war. “And anyone, even slightly associated with me, is at risk of being killed. Threat or not.” Cedric was proof of that, at least, and he was a wizard, and these would be muggles.
He met Tony's eyes, and his father had paled slightly and looked more concerned than previously. “Shit kid, you've been through hell, haven't you?” He paused at the sardonic grin that appeared on Harry's lips before quickly shaking his head. “No, don't answer that. We'll figure out something to get us as much time as possible.” Harry sighed, this time in relief and picked up his half-eaten slice of pizza. It would be okay, he told himself, they would work it out together.
Pepper Potts, Harry thought, was a force to be reckoned with. The kind of wild thing that people tended to underestimate, all determination and grit but with a subtle softness. She was easy to like, and he could see why his dad was so taken with her (and more so why she seemed to run his entire life). She had strolled up and immediately set down a thick stack of paperwork before taking a seat and looking between them with a curious gleam in her eyes. “I hope that the two of you have discussed the media aspect,” she started, pausing slightly before adding, “and perhaps some shopping?”
Harry felt his face get warm at the obvious reference to his current clothes’ condition and wondered if she had heard about the ratty t-shirt he showed up in. Tony, however, leaned forward and said, “We'll be introducing him with a fake name, for security reasons.” As if there was no other option, just an easy acceptance of what Harry had requested. “And we’ll take care of the wardrobe issue.”
He was about to ask a question when Tony declared, “Don't you worry about it! It's been a long day, hasn't it? Why don't you pick a movie while Pepper & I go handle the paperwork in my office?” Harry was tempted to argue, but despite his earlier nap, he was still tired, and the idea of watching a movie was tempting enough that he just nodded.
They both smiled, an edge of satisfaction in their expressions as they gathered up the paperwork, and Harry relaxed into the couch. Yeah, he thought, I could get used to having someone else do the worrying. Tomorrow, he knew he'd have a million and one questions to answer, but for tonight, he'd just pick a random movie and fall asleep on the couch like Dudley had done as a kid.
It had been a long day, but that’s not why Tony told Harry to watch a movie. Or rather, it wasn’t the only reason. It was just that Tony saw a little too much of himself in Harry, that stubborn learned independence that bordered on self-isolation, the shaking hands that could only be earned through suffering, hell, even the way his mood seemed to switch between laughter and the acceptance of his damnation. So, he worried; worried that his son was on a path to becoming a martyr or a sacrificial lamb led to the pyre, none the wiser of others’ ill intent. Once he was in his office with Pepper and the door was firmly closed behind them, he took a minute to consider everything that he had witnessed in the past twelve hours. “What did dear Bruce and Romanoff have to say?” he asked, instead of commenting on any of it.
Pepper continued to sort the paperwork into neat piles as she considered how to respond, with a thoughtful expression. “Well, Bruce is glad that you didn’t need to be told that he needed medical treatment, a little worried that his first thought was to say the knife wound wasn’t self-inflicted. Says that he seems nice, if withdrawn and traumatised. All Natasha would say is that ‘he reminds me of myself in a way that is deeply uncomfortable’. Which to me sounds like a suggestion for him to see a therapist, so I’ve included a list in that pile. Along with recommendations for a dentist and an optometrist.” As she finished replying, she handed over a small pile of papers, all listing different people that Harry would need to see.
“All of that and some sort of testing for school, since we don’t have his full records and what we do have, I have suspicions about its accuracy,” Tony agreed, “JARVIS compile a list of all educational testing options in the local area.” The AI agreed to do so, indicating that the files would be emailed to Tony, and he added that to the list of things he would go through later. “For now, custody?”
Pepper sighed, an incredibly fond-sounding thing, as she handed over a slightly larger pile of paperwork. “You need to talk about his name going forward with him, particularly his last name, but you can sign everywhere else and do that in the morning. His Aunt and Uncle have already agreed to sign the necessary paperwork, though they asked for compensation, which I denied, given Karev's report.” She sent him a weighted look at the mention of his Aunt and Uncle. “We are going to handle them.” It wasn't a question, but rather a statement of fact.
He just nodded, remembering the startling confessions from earlier in the day. As he flicked through the custody paperwork and signed where necessary, he considered how much to share. “I know we'll need an official investigation for anything legal, but—” He sighed, running a hand through his hair as the increasingly familiar guilt and grief hit him like a wave, again. “Peps, they kept my kid in a cupboard under the stairs. Who knows what the fuck else they did, and I wasn’t there.” He choked at the thought of all the things Harry’s behaviour and scant records seemed to indicate. Abuse was a given, but then Harry had woken up screaming and obviously in pain earlier, and now Tony could only wonder just how bad things had been.
He could see the heartbreak and anger warring in her expression as she processed what he had just said, her jaw clenching repetitively. “You’re here now,” she eventually managed to say, “And he’s trusting you to protect him, at least somewhat. That means something. Just —” She cut off her train of thought, turning back to the paperwork with an angry expression. She muttered to herself, and he kindly ignored the threat in her tone.
“Just don’t fuck it up,” he quipped, forcing himself to sound less upset than he was. “Easy-peasy. The only thing I plan on fucking up is their lives. Say, Stark Industries has a contract with Grunnings, doesn’t it? Maybe we should make them a Stark Industries subsidiary,” he grinned as he thought about all of the ways that he could make life a living nightmare for the people who had harmed his son. He continued signing his way through custody paperwork as he daydreamed about getting the uncle fired before sitting up straight with a sudden thought. “I need to update my will and make sure that I have custody plans in place in case anything happens to me. Is that in one of these piles? Fuck, I need to talk to Rhodey too.”
Pepper shot him an unimpressed glance as he took out his phone, but slid over a pile of paperwork that he recognized as what was needed to update his will. Pulling up Rhodey’s contact, he typed a quick message, “ Hey Platypus, got a 14-year-old nephew for you. And godson. Call me when you can. ” Hitting the send button, he turned his attention back to the will-related paperwork and made quick work of redividing his assets, with the majority going to Harry.
“Hey, Peps, will you be his godmother?” He asked as he went to finish the paperwork, pen scratching out signatures at all of the necessary spots. He sent another text to the Avengers group chat, asking if everyone would be available for a meeting sometime that night. Affirmative answers immediately started popping in, so he turned his attention back to Pepper.
Pepper, who looked both amused and annoyed, had that heartbroken anger still lingering in her eyes. He swallowed down the desire to tell her it would be alright, remembering how his kid had been certain that he would face down death less than an hour ago. “Put me down as Godmother, the poor kid will need someone serious in his life.” She answered, a faintly amused look on her face.
“Aunt Pepper and Uncle Rhodey, it is,” he teased, smiling genuinely as another thought occurred to him. “Odds that I can convince him to call Rogers grandpa when they meet?” He thought the odds were pretty good, Harry seemed to have inherited at least some of his sense of humour despite not growing up with him (and Tony was torn between being ecstatic and being horrified by what exactly caused that). If he was right, Harry would be as frustrated by Rogers’ blind loyalty and self-righteousness as he was; maybe they could bond over helping the man see that morality wasn’t as black and white as he tended to make it out to be. After signing the last paper with a dramatic flourish, Tony turned his attention back to Pepper, who had begun signing some paperwork of her own. “Better question, what are the odds that we can make the announcement and not immediately include a name?”
With that question asked, they sank into the familiar pattern of hashing out a plan while knowing full well that it might fall apart. So naturally, they planned out several contingencies and back-up options, emergency exits and failsafes; until Tony was confident that his son would be as safe as he possibly could be, at least for the moment.
It was JARVIS that eventually interrupted them, a few hours later, “Sir, your team is attempting to come to the penthouse. What would you have me do?”
He startled, almost saying to allow them up before remembering that Harry was likely still on the couch. “Is Harry still in the living room? Send them to floor 54 and tell them to wait for me in Conference Room 4A.” With a grin in Pepper’s direction, “Stay here till I get back? Would rather not leave Harry entirely alone, yet.” Not until he was no longer convinced maniacs were after him, at the very least. She nodded and he took off down the hall to the elevator, listening for the sound of Harry.
Hearing the sounds of Jimmy Eat World, he glanced over and saw Harry curled up and asleep, looking at peace for the first time since they’d met. Grabbing a blanket from a nearby closet, he carefully tucked his son (his son!) in. “It’s going to be okay, just you wait.” He stood there for a moment, just looking at his son and cataloguing all of the similarities they shared before heading to the elevator. “JARVIS, are they in the conference room?”
“Yes, sir. Barton is a little upset about the situation, but everyone else has settled down to wait for you.” The AI replied as the elevator doors opened to admit Tony.
With a final glance back at the sleeping figure on his couch, he steeled his nerves and strode into the elevator. “Bring me to floor 54, then. And tell them that I am on my way.” The greatest heroes in the world would have to accept this new truth, and at least it seemed like he'd have Bruce and Natasha on his side from the jump.
The room fell into a tense silence as soon as he opened the door, and Tony was struck with the urge to turn around and head back upstairs. They had been talking before he came in, and yet were just staring at him as if waiting for him to say something. “I have a kid, as you probably know,” he remarked, acting as if it were just some little thing. “He's fourteen, almost fifteen, and has assured me that people are out to kill and or kidnap him, again since he was recently kidnapped and tortured.”
There was a long silence as he watched the others for their reaction. Bruce reacted first, eyes flashing green before he started to breathe very deliberately. “Someone's trying to kill him?” Steve spoke up first, looking righteously angry and horrified at the idea of anyone hurting a child.
“He made it sound like more than one person, actually,” Tony replied, skipping out on any measure that would have provided comfort to the group. Even so, he kept an eye on Bruce, waiting for him to calm down enough before going to speak again, “We're going to be handling that. Along with his former guardians, who confused a cupboard with a childhood bedroom.” This time it wasn't Bruce who growled in rage but Clint, hands clenched into fists as he tipped his head back.
“Those bastards,” hissed a paler Captain America. Steve was surprised to see the steely rage simmering in those kind blue eyes, but then again, perhaps that judgment had been entirely unfair. “What can we do to help?” Entirely unfair, Tony decided, a rash judgment.
“Well, you should have a movie marathon with him,” joked Tony. “You've probably seen more of them than he has, though. JARVIS, did he finish a movie before falling asleep?”
“Yes, sir. He watched all of ‘Scarface’ before beginning ‘A Cinderella Story’ and dozing off,” the AI replied.
Bruce snorted, “Clearly he's got your sense of humour.” When the others turned to look at him, he simply added, “He's got a pretty distinctive scar on his face.” And that was a kind way of saying that the kid had a scar that looked like lightning travelling from his forehead across most of his face. Not untrue, however.
“Can we get back on track?” asked Clint, sounding frustrated. “What are we doing, beyond Steve's Movie Marathon — assuming you were serious about that?”
Tony sighed, “You're going to come up, probably one at a time. Capsicle will come up for breakfast, Bruce can come up for lunch, and Clint can come up for dinner, if he's not exhausted by that point. JARVIS will tell you when, precisely, and if the plan changes.” At least Pepper had helped him confirm a plan for introducing his kid to the Avengers, or this would be way more confusing. “Cool?”
Everyone offered their agreements, though Nat mostly looked annoyed that she wasn't included on the first day despite having technically seen the kid already. Well, that's what happens when you meet someone's kid when pretending to be someone else — you need time to explain the lie. Tony figured it was as good as it was going to get and made his way back upstairs, with a promise to text Steve when it was breakfast time.
Tony was just starting to fall asleep when he heard it, a panicked-sounding mumble that quickly turned into a pleading scream. “No, no! Dad, dad! Not him!” He wished, desperately, that the voice screaming wasn't familiar, but even though he had known Harry for less than 24 hours, he had already heard this sound. His feet carried him through the hallway without him even stopping to realise that he was running.
He kneeled next to Harry on the floor and whispered, “Hey kid, it's okay, you're just dreaming. I'm right here, I'm okay, you just need to wake up.” His soft reassurances were repeated as his hand brushed sweat-damp curls of hair off his son's forehead. And then, those shockingly green eyes fluttered open.
For a moment, there was silence as Harry blinked away the last remnants of the nightmare, and Tony just waited. “Oh, thank Merlin,” came the relieved sigh, the words were merely a hiss of breath. He watched as green eyes checked him over for any sign of injury before looking around the room. “I don't think I can go back to sleep,” Harry whispered, looking oddly guilty about that fact.
Tony figured that there was nothing wrong with his kid staying up, at least for a while longer, so he voiced that thought. “Besides, you didn't bring much, so you can spend the night doing some online shopping. My treat, of course.” He grabbed a tablet from a nearby drawer and pulled up the shopping group of apps. “Order whatever you want, my card is already programmed in, and so is the mailing address.”
When Harry looked as if he might argue, Tony just shook his head, “I insist. You can stay up if you need to, but this is the trade-off.” He paused to watch his son somewhat reluctantly open one of the apps before adding, “I, however, need sleep, so I am going to go lie on the other couch and crash for the night.” He gathered up some blankets and a pillow from the cupboard. When he spotted Harry's bewildered and still slightly panicked expression, he whispered, “Hey kid, look at me.” Bright green eyes met his in the dark, and he smiled, “It'll be alright, kid.”
As Harry flicked through the clothes for sale on the device that Tony had handed him, he occasionally glanced over at the other man. The dream had been terrifying, a warped memory of all his encounters with the Dark Lord and every scary story he had ever heard about the man. Seeing Tony fall to that power, even if it was only a figment of his imagination, felt earth-shattering. As if he was realising for the first time that his father might not be able to save him from Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Maybe it had been too much to hope for.
He shook himself, cracked his jaw and refused to linger on that thought. Instead, he turned his attention back to clothing that cost more than everything that the Dursleys had ever bought him (and that was only the one jacket). Tony hadn't mentioned a budget, but based on the man's reputation, he could guess that there wasn't one. And if he decided that there was, well, Harry's vault had enough in it that he could probably repay him. So he bought the jacket and a pair of trainers that would have had Dudley turning green with envy, alongside several more reasonable staple wardrobe items.
Once he had opened another one of the little pictures, this time to a bunch of decor items and other homewares, his mind began to wander. He couldn’t help but compare his new life and his old one, and with every thought, he found his old one lacking. Never had an adult woken him up from a nightmare so gently, for one thing, and he couldn’t remember ever being assured that he would be alright (aside from his parents’ kind of ghosts in the graveyard, but the less he thought of that, the better). Dumbledore always said that the situation would work out; his friends would say, “It’ll be fine, go back to sleep”, and the Dursleys had never bothered to comfort him at all. Yet here was Tony, a stranger in all but DNA, whispering reassurances and sleeping on a couch and telling him to buy the things he wanted.
It was so nice. And in the back of his mind, a nasty voice questioned how long it would last. How long would it take for Tony to get tired of dealing with all of his many issues? How long would it be until he saw Harry as selfish or attention-seeking or lazy or arrogant, or spoiled? It had never taken long for people to be turned against him, from teachers to classmates to perfect strangers. Even Hermione and Ron were all too happy to highlight his perceived flaws, he thought, as a sob escaped his lips at the thought. He couldn’t bear to lose Tony, too; that would be the very last straw.
Adding a soft-looking red blanket to the cart, Harry put aside the device and curled up under the blankets on the couch. Eyes fixed on his dad, he allowed the memory of the comforting words to lull him to sleep.
Harry woke up to sunlight on his face, soft in its warmth, in a way that he could never remember the Dursley household feeling. His feet swung to touch the ground, and his eyes took in the modern living room as he remembered where exactly he was. “JARVS?” he whispered, upon seeing that the couch where Tony had been was empty again. “Where's Dad? And what time is it?”
He saw a small red light in the corner of the room before the strange British voice replied, “Boss is on the phone with Mister Rhodes in his office. It is currently six thirty-seven in the morning.” The information was stated simply before the AI followed up, “Is there anything else I can assist you with, young boss?”
Harry paused, wondering idly if he could have a shower before deciding that he wanted to postpone having to put on Dudley's cast-offs for as long as possible. If he ever had to put them back on, that was. “I think I'm okay, thanks mate,” he replied, deciding to check out the kitchen.
Woah, he thought as he rifled through the fridge for breakfast ingredients, this kitchen was extremely high tech. Yet, they were completely lacking any real food — aside from the most basic pantry staples and a selection of fresh fruit, the cupboards and fridge contained only pre-prepared and packaged snack and meal items. He sighed before turning his eyes back to the corner of the room, where he had begun to associate with JARVIS. “Hey Jarv, can you order groceries from the shops?” He thought he had heard his aunt complaining once about people who did that, and well, anything that she complained about was brilliant in his opinion.
“Yes, sir. I can order from any store or restaurant,” came the quick reply, which caused Harry to realise that he wasn’t familiar with what shops were even around. “If you'd like, I can pull up the order interface for Wegmans?”
Harry nodded before asking, “Wegmans is a supermarket?” At the affirmative answer, he sat on a stool as an interface appeared on a screen that was embedded into the counter. He flicked through the pages, adding ingredients for his favourite recipes into the cart alongside anything else that he thought they may need. No pumpkin juice, unfortunately, but he suspected that might be a thing only in the magical world. A flicker of doubt crossed his mind when he saw the total before he convinced himself that if Tony wasn't okay with it, JARVIS wouldn't allow it.
With groceries ordered and Tony still shut away in his office, Harry decided to watch something on the telly again. Maybe he'd finish that movie he had started.
Harry was carefully cutting a watermelon into cubes when Tony finally emerged from his office. Bacon sizzled in a pan on the stove while pancakes and waffles were kept warm in the oven as more cooked, fresh muffins had been placed on the counter. And it was in that moment that Harry realised that he had gone a bit overboard in all of his excitement. “Sorry,” he mumbled, his throat feeling suddenly tight as he waited for the familiar anger. “I just — “
He cut off at the confused look on Tony’s face, his father standing in the doorway looking back and forth as if trying to solve a complex equation in his head. “Did you,” he started before pausing and restarting, “Why are you apologizing?” Harry looked at all of the food, thinking that the answer should be obvious, before he looked back at his dad. Tony seemed to get it, though Harry didn’t agree with him when he said, “You don’t need to apologize for making breakfast. Especially a breakfast like this.” There was a bit of awe in his voice, and Harry flushed at the idea that it was impressive when he had been cooking for the Dursleys for years and had never been met with anything but derision and harsh criticisms.
“It’s not,” he whispered, steeling his nerves before speaking at a more typical volume, “It’s not too much?” Harry can’t help but feel that it almost certainly is — there’s no feasible way that the two of them can eat it and Pepper isn’t around (not that one extra person would be enough to make a dent). Hell, it would be too much for multiple meals at the Dursleys, and Dudley had a habit of eating anything in sight.
Tony just shook his head and reached out with a gentle hand to wipe away some batter that had been clinging to Harry’s face. “Well, it is a lot, but if you’re open to having some company for breakfast?” Harry nods enthusiastically; he had come to New York not only for the chance at having a parent who cared but also for the chance of meeting the Avengers after all. And the uncertainty on said parent’s face made him think that he was worried about introducing his vulnerable teenage son to the world’s mightiest heroes. “Alright, I will invite them up then,” he replied, accepting the nod with no accompanying words, rather than pushing, which Harry appreciated. He merely pulled out his phone and started tapping at the screen rather aggressively, and then set to placing dishes at the table. Three additional place settings for a total of five, a number that made Harry frown at the table as he tried to work out just who was coming for breakfast. “Ah, the boys are coming up, kid. Do you want to get changed while I finish things up?”
Harry looked down at his now flour-covered pyjamas and offered another nod. He quickly switched off all the pans, knowing that additional heat wouldn’t be needed and that the move would prevent anything from being burned as Tony “finished things up,” not that there was much left to ruin. With a final nod and a grin, Harry headed off to take a quick shower and change into his oversized hand-me-downs for hopefully the final time.
Breakfast with superheroes turned out to be just as much of a minefield as Harry had expected it to be. Except, he wasn't dodging trauma but questions about the past four years that he had no idea how to answer without completely shattering the Statute of Secrecy. He was silently thankful for the lack of questions about the years before those, though he still couldn't breathe properly if he thought about the Dursleys too much. He considered the last question and decided to be honest, mostly.
“The school I went to followed an alternative curriculum,” he replied, trying to buy himself time to think about how he would explain the subjects taught without saying the word magic. “There weren't any Maths classes or English classes or anything like that.” Having provided all of the information he knew how to, he purposely took a large bite of a muffin as the others sat flabbergasted.
It was Bruce who regained his composure first, after a series of impressive breathing exercises. “No sciences either? What about history or religion?” He asked, spearing a piece of watermelon with his fork.
“No religion or science classes, although there was an extremely outdated astronomy course? If that counts as science,” he answered, knowing damn well that nothing that course taught was advanced enough to count as science. He and the other Muggle-raised students had lamented the fact that wizards knew so little about astronomy that he knew the course was hundreds of years outdated. “Technically, they have a history class, but the Professor has taught the same lesson every class for the last four years, so I know I didn't learn anything outside of the founding of England by the Romans.” Which isn't strictly true, given that Binns had never covered that, but he had read about it in a book, and he couldn't exactly talk about Goblin Wars to the Avengers, could he?
Having figured out what he was going to say to distract them from the curriculum, he continued even when it looked like Steve was going to say something. “Besides, they have bigger problems than the curriculum; one of our courses has had 4 professors in 4 years, 3 of whom are now dead or permanently incapacitated.” And the fourth was a werewolf, he thought, but didn't say out loud. “Plus, there was my second year, in which there was a string of attacks leaving students in comatose states before one nearly died.” If the outrage at the idea of them not having maths classes had been bad, well, it paled in comparison to the incandescent rage that resulted from that little proclamation.
Bruce was sitting with his eyes closed, breathing deeply as he attempted to refrain from hulking out. His eyes had flashed green, but Harry couldn't see a green tinge to his skin, so he was considering that an obvious success. Tony, on the other hand, was shaking as he growled out, “You. Will. Not. Be. Going. Back. There.”
Harry gave him his best “no duh” look and said, “The Headmaster will be devastated.” Which was true, oddly, but then Dumbledore had always been oddly involved in his life. Which would have been normal if he bothered to acknowledge his role as Harry's former magical guardian, but considering his silence on the topic, it was just strange and perhaps unnerving. Harry thought it probably had something to do with the fact that he's positioned himself as the Leader of the Light, but it's still inappropriate to drag a child into a war. He knew that, and he was certain that Dumbledore did as well. “He's one of the people I'm worried about,” he added, confident that Tony would know exactly what he meant by that.
He could just imagine it now — an old man with a ridiculously long beard breaking into Stark Tower and attempting to drag him back to Hogwarts. He stifled a snort at the mental image and decided to change the subject, “So, was I supposed to have a budget for my middle-of-the-night shopping?”
The “boys” leave after breakfast, making obvious excuses about research, training and oddly apple pie. Harry smiles at them as they leave before moving across the room, so there’s a large space between him and Tony. “Can you—can you stay over there while I say what I’m about to say?” he requested, nerves ratcheting up as he thought about the Dursleys’ reaction to magic and Tony’s own reported experiences with a certain Asgardian. The raised eyebrow and confused expression are followed by a slight nod, Tony leaning back up against the wall near the elevator as Harry searches for his world. “So, magic exists,” he hedges before continuing, “And not just from gods and sorcerers? There’s a secret society, I guess, of wizards in most countries. Analogue society, by the way, and illegal to discuss with non-wizards who aren’t related to you. My school doesn’t teach maths or science or English because it teaches magic.” He pauses to clear his throat before adding, “Because I’m a wizard. And my mom was a witch, and my – James was a wizard too.”
He feels himself growing wary as he waits for Tony’s response, disappointed that he can’t put any more distance between them. Harry is waiting for anger, and is confused when he sees curiosity blooming across Tony’s face. “Secret magical societies, alright. And is this school the only magic school that exists, or are there other options? Because I was serious about you not going back there, but you need to learn magic somehow, I’m gathering. Though, if there are adult wizards, I am sure I could find a few that I could pay enough to get them to agree to teach you privately.”
“Oh, there are other schools,” he replied, realizing that he hadn’t even considered that as an option. “The only two I know about are still in Europe, but I’ve heard there’s a school in Japan? One of the girls in my year transferred there after some issues,” he paused, wincing slightly at the understatement of Sue Li’s situation. “Well. You know the comatose thing, she wasn’t, but her cousin was, and her parents were upset about the lack of communication from the school. It was a whole situation. Different schools would probably be good if we can figure that out.”
Tony just nods, typing something in his phone before looking back up with slightly narrowed eyes. “Can I ask why we needed to stand so far apart for this conversation?”
Harry felt himself flush at the question, fingers playing with the fraying sleeve of his t-shirt as he resisted the urge to shrug — it was important to be truthful. The twins had always wanted him to tell someone the truth about everything with the Dursley’s and who better to tell than his biological father? “Um, I thought you might get mad,” he answered, eyes flicking up only long enough to see the horrified sadness on Tony’s face before refocusing on the quickly unraveling seam of his sleeve.
For a long moment, the penthouse is silent as Tony seems to take in the entire situation and Harry avoids making even accidental eye contact. “So, secret wizard societies, I’m assuming secret wizard governments and secret wizard citizenship?” Tony questioned, fingers tapping a steady rhythm against his pant legs as he thought.
“Definitely governments,” Harry confirmed, thinking about the weirdly complex Ministry of Magic that he had researched with Hermione. “Not sure about citizenship, I would need to reach out,” he paused, trying to remember what the government was called in the States. “The Magical Congress of the United States of America, yeah. But we don’t have an owl.” He frowned, missing Hedwig with a sudden fierceness.
“An owl? Why would we need an owl? Is that some sort of metaphor?” Tony asked, pausing in his movement entirely as he stared at Harry in pure confusion.
“Oh, we use them to deliver mail. At least in Europe, maybe it’s different here. I have an owl, back home, but I couldn’t bring her on the plane, obviously and —” Harry was interrupted by the sound of knocking at the window. At the familiar sight of Hedwig, he grinned and jumped a few times, “Hedwig! Can we let her in?”
If Tony had previously been perplexed, Harry would estimate that stunned only began to describe the level of shock the other was experiencing. Still, he instructed JARVIS to open the window before beginning up the questioning again; Hedwig swooping in to land on Harry’s shoulder and run her beak through his messy hair. “So you contact the Magical Congress with her – she carries your mail? That is an interesting system, although doesn’t it cause issues with non-native species and abnormal migratory habits? Surely that’s something that scientists have noticed over the years. JARVIS, compile all available reports on unusual owl behaviour.” The AI indicates that the information will be available in a short while, and the father-son duo set to work on a letter to the Magical Government.
Tony left after they sent Hedwig off with their letter, explaining that he was being called away for more boring paperwork and promising to send Steve back up for their “mandated media marathon”. Once Steve arrived and they were settled, he immediately suggested that they watch a Disney movie, a suggestion that Harry had wanted to discard because there were more important things for him to learn. He had succumbed after being promised that he could select the next movie, but first up was Lilo & Stitch, which the other Avengers had declared a classic.
Harry supposed he could see the appeal between the easy-to-follow storyline and the pretty animation style. He empathised with the little blue alien (and with Steve, whose wistful longing was just a little too familiar), who fought against his nature and built something he didn't want to lose. “This is my family. I found it, all on my own. It's little and broken, but still good. Yeah. Still good.” The quote was punctuated by twin sobs from the movie's viewers, both Steve and Harry caught off guard by the vehement declaration of love. Neither called each other out on the tears that easily slid down their faces.
Harry couldn't help but think first of his friends, of Hermione and Ron, but also of the Quidditch team and Neville and little Luna Lovegood and Ginny and Colin. Then his mind wandered to Tony and Pepper, the heroes who had gathered around their table for breakfast. Yeah, he thought, his family was strange and disjointed, but it was his. He'd fight for them to the end of the line. And if he were right, he would have to.
The sense of foreboding (a feeling that promised incoming danger) settled into the back of his mind but didn't disappear. Harry ignored it in favour of laughing alongside Captain America as they continued to watch a strange blend of movies, rotating who got to pick with each new film. He might as well enjoy it while he could.