Chapter Text
“Sir, there appears to be two teenagers in distress in the street you are about to fly over. I have recorded significant and inexplicable energy signatures.”
Tony frowned, scanning the dark streets with the enhanced vision his suit gave him. “What kind of energy signatures?”
JARVIS paused. “I don’t know, sir. They do not read like Tesseract technology. In fact, my readings are somehow being distorted.”
He spotted a flash of light up ahead. “Bingo.” Putting on a burst of speed, Tony dropped down onto the pavement where a scrawny kid with a rats nest of hair and horribly baggy clothes was shaking another shockingly enormous child.
“JARVIS, any threats?”
“None, sir. The energy signature seems to be fading.”
With no current threat, Tony instructed the mask of his suit to disassemble, hiding itself into the remaining armor. “Run medical scans,” he said quietly.
“Who the hell are you?” The conscious, black haired kid spat, his accent and fear blurring the words together. He had a white knuckle grip on the stick in his hand.
Tony’s eyebrows raised, not used to not being recognized. “It’s alright, kid. Seemed like you were in some trouble, so I thought I’d help you sort it. I frequently work with law enforcement. What’s wrong with your friend there?”
“Cousin,” the kid spat. “Definitely not my friend.”
“The boy has fainted,” JARVIS chimed in.
The kid looked momentarily startled by the disembodied voice, but then he snorted. “Course he did, bloody prat.” He sighed, staring down at his cousin. “And I’ll have to drag him to the house. They’re going to bloody murder me,” he muttered, and Tony wouldn’t have caught the last bit if JARVIS hadn’t enhanced the audio in a split second.
Tony crouched down, noting how the kid flinched back before stilling himself, watching Tony with suspicious eyes.
“What’re you doing?”
“Well, I figured I’d bring him back home,” Tony said, raising an eyebrow. “Unless you’d rather do it?”
“Fat chance.” Bright green eyes pierced him. “Not sure I want you knowing my bleeding address though.”
Tony snorted, rather taken with the entirely unnecessary hostility. “JARVIS?”
“Number 4 Privet Drive,” the AI chimed in. “It’s about a 3 minute walk from here.”
Tony held back a grin as the kid swore up a blue streak. He hoisted the unconscious cousin into his arms, grateful beyond measure that he’d taken the suit and not just the car when he’d decided to blow off steam after back to back meetings in London. “Coming?”
The kid sighed, stuffing his odd stick into his back pocket. “S’pose so.”
…
Tony tried to get some answers about the mysterious energy signature that had caught JARVIS’s attention, but the kid was tight-lipped, telling him in no uncertain terms where he could stuff his fancy tech and nosy attitude. Tony noticed the way his feet dragged though as they got closer to the blandly picturesque house, how he got quieter, disappearing into himself.
Tony didn’t like it.
The boy actually froze midstep when he saw the car in the driveway, letting out a soft, “bullocks.”
He didn’t want to alert the kid to his attention though, tapping out a short series of commands to JARVIS to pull up everything he could find on the family.
Information popped up on his glasses. The Dursleys were as bland as their neighborhood, stay at home mom who volunteered at the private school where their son went and participated in community events and baking competitions. The father, Vernon, worked a 9-5 selling drills and had a mild gambling addiction. The son currently passed out in his arms was a poor student and a mediocre boxer whose school record reflected a history of bullying and violence and who only remained in school because of how fiercely his parents advocated for him.
Tony frowned. There was barely any information on the other boy. Harry Potter was registered as a dependent for tax purposes, but there was no school listed. He had no social media, no history of doctors visits. He was a ghost.
Before he could unravel the mystery further, they were at the doorstep. His hands were full, so he kicked the door a few times with a metal, encased foot. Harry let out a small noise of dismay before retreating to the edge of the small porch.
“Who the bloody hell—” came a loud voice before the door flung open to reveal Vernon Dursley, face a vibrant red, blue eyes small and mean. They widened as the man saw his son passed out in Tony’s arms. “Y-you—what—Petunia!” he yelled.
A woman appeared behind him, face permanently pinched as if she smelled something nasty. “Dudley?!” she shrieked. “Dudders, what have you done to him?”
Tony sighed, pushing past to drop the boy on the couch. He held back a groan. Even if the suit had taken most of the weight, he’d still felt the strain of being so suddenly front-heavy. “Your son fainted. I was passing when I saw him and your nephew—”
The couple suddenly noticed the boy who was trying to sneak up the stairs.
“You!” The man thundered. “What have you done to him, boy?”
Tony’s eyes narrowed, watching the boy shrink back, body language at odds with the defiant look on his face.
“I didn’t do anything. He just passed out and this robot arsehole said he’d bring him back.”
“Don’t lie to me, boy,” the man hissed, grabbing his nephew by the enormous, ragged shirt swamping him.
“Vernon,” his wife snapped, throwing Tony a narrow glance.
Tony didn’t let his anger show on his face. If he’d been able to catch evidence of the abuse he’d suspected, that would have been preferable, but he had no doubt it would resume the second he was out of sight.
“Thank you for bringing him home,” the woman said in a thin voice. “I’m sure you need to get back to your Avenging.”
“There is a party I’m now fashionably late for,” he said with an easy smirk.
The nephew, Harry’s, eyes went dim and distant, and Tony wished he could give some indication that he wasn’t just leaving him in this paisley hell.
“I’ll see you out,” Vernon said, somehow magnanimous as if he hadn’t been 10 seconds away from striking a child.
When the door closed behind him, Tony took off. He didn’t go far, just enough that the family would think he was gone.
“JARVIS pull up the feeds,” he snapped.
Several angles of the interior of the house popped up on his display from the bugs he’d planted while the couple were distracted. The conversation had already resumed.
“—a cop here, you ungrateful little shit,” Vernon hissed, towering over his nephew, who’d managed to get halfway up the stairs before being caught again.
“I didn’t know he was a cop,” Harry said, “I don’t know who he is! But I couldn’t exactly get Dudley home alone, could I?”
“Don’t know who he is,” Petunia parroted disbelievingly. “Iron Man is known worldwide, even, I’m sure, in that freaky school of yours!”
“It’s not like I have a telly!” Harry cried, still inching backward. “I’ve barely been back a week, and last time I tried to watch the news you acted like I was some kind of terrorist!”
“No normal boy—”
They all froze as an owl of all things swooped in through the open window, dropping a letter at Harry’s feet and almost hitting Vernon in the face on its way out. The boy’s face paled as he snatched up the letter.
Quickly maneuvering one of the cameras behind him, Tony read:
Dear Mr. Potter,
We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-three minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle. The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand. As you have already received an official warning for a previous offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Wizards’ Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 a.m. on August 12th.
Hoping you are well,
Yours sincerely,
Mafalda Hopkirk
IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE
Ministry of Magic
Tony blinked, bewildered. Ministry of Magic?
The boy was deathly still.
Impatient, his uncle lurched forward, grabbing at the letter. Harry startled from his daze, stumbling backwards. Crumpling the letter in his hand, the boy snatched the stick (wand?) from his pocket.
The uncle froze.
“Put that away!” Petunia screeched. ““You’re not allowed to use it outside that madhouse you call a school!”
“The madhouse has chucked me out,” Harry spat. “So I can do whatever I like. You’ve got three seconds to back off. One — two —”
With a howl, the uncle charged forward, wrapping his meaty fingers around his nephew’s wrist and forcing it up, like he was disarming a man holding a gun.
Harry yelped, and Tony heard his wrist snap as he toppled backward onto the stairs, the weight of his much larger uncle on top of him.
Swearing, Tony dove down, the feeds still running across his display as the man punched him nephew in the face, screaming about ungrateful, worthless freaks.
Tony burst through the door, barely registering the screams as he ripped the man off his nephew. The boy was limp, blood pouring out of his broken nose.
“Sedate them,” Tony ordered JARVIS, aware that if he allowed himself a physical confrontation, he would go too far.
Immediately, three sedative darts buried themselves in the Dursleys’ skin, two for Vernon, one for Petunia. Their son had somehow managed to sleep through all of this.
“Shit kid,” Tony swore, realizing Harry was still awake as green eyes blinked up at him blearily. “Let’s get you out of here, yeah?”
He heard sirens in the distance as he hoisted the boy into his arms, in the same position he’d held his cousin not even an hour ago. He barely registered his weight. Tony kicked through the broken remains of the door, relieved to see his jet had parked itself in the street like he’d wanted. When the door opened, he blinked to see Happy and Pepper staring at him.
“What on Earth?” Pepper gasped, taking in the bloodied child in his arms.
“Uhhh,” his mind was blank. “I might have stolen a child?”
…
“And assaulted two British citizens!” Pepper cried, smacking him over the head, having just gotten off the phone with the British authorities. Thankfully, Tony had the footage proving abuse, edited to removing the mentions of magic that he was still puzzling over.
“Why on Earth didn’t you give him to CPS?” she asked.
“Do the British have CPS?” he mused.
“Or their version of it! Honestly, Tony, what were you thinking?”
Tony frowned, looking at the kid who had finally passed out when Happy set his nose. “There’s something different about him. JARVIS was reading all these weird energy signatures. He’s a ghost on paper, and he got this letter by owl referring to expulsion from a magic school and a “Ministry of Magic.””
Pepper blinked, turning a bewildered eye to where the black haired child sprawled, getting blood on the couch. “That sounds insane, Tony. I hope you realize that sounds insane.”
He shrugged. “Either way, I want to know.”
“And what?” she said. “You think he’s just going to wake up on a jet with three people he doesn’t know, find out he’s been kidnapped, and kindly explain?”
“Of course not!” Tony adopted a charming smile. “I sedated him. He won’t wake up until we land.”
She didn’t find this amusing.
…
Peter was so ready for Mr. Stark to get back. He’d been gone for ages (three days), and Peter was going out of his mind with ideas that he wasn’t allowed to prototype in the lab without supervision. He’d been flipping around the gym, training with the upgraded suit, when he heard the jet land.
“Yes!” he whooped, racing out of the gym toward the landing pad.
He got there just as the doors opened and froze at the sight of a boy his age with a horribly bruised face and was that a British accent? cursing loudly as Happy half-carried him down the walkway.
“Get the fuck off me you bloody muppet!” he screeched, and Peter winced as his enhanced hearing drove the sound straight into his brain.
“Uhh, Mr. Stark?” he asked uncertainly.
His mentor, who was disembarking behind them, paused and sighed when he saw Peter. “Kid,” he said, exasperated. “Forget something?”
Peter blinked in confusion, glancing at the kid who was now staring straight at his face. His unmasked face.
“Ah crap.”
Peter chuckled nervously, stepping closer to the boy who had at least stopped cursing and thrashing. “Uhh hi? My name’s Peter. I’m Spiderman.”
“I dunno who that is.”
Ouch.
Peter’s ego crumpled under the combined weight of the blank expression and skeptical voice.
Mr. Stark snickered. “It’s all right kid, he claims not to know me either. Although, for future reference,” he added, “he didn’t know your name. Probably should have kept that one to yourself.”
Peter felt himself turning red at messing up twice in front of his mentor. “R-right, my bad.”
“The kid—the new one—” Mr. Stark clarified, “is Harry. Since he doesn’t seem inclined to use those infamous British manners.”
The kid, Harry, glared up at the man. “Sorry I’m not making nice with my kidnappers. Really a black mark on my record.”
“Hold up, who kidnapped you?” Peter said, eyes wide.
“These arseholes, who’d you think?” Brilliant green eyes narrowed in on Peter. “Although you’re awfully chummy with them, so maybe you too.”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Happy said, moving forward and starting to drag the kid along. Harry kicked out, actually managing to land a solid hit to Happy’s shin if the man’s cursing was any indication. “Oi!” Happy’s face turned red, and—in a rare moment of lost patience—he took the kid by the shoulders and gave him a quick shake. “Stop that!”
Mr. Stark stepped forward. “Happy—”
With his enhanced hearing, Peter could actually hear the way Harry’s pulse tripled in mere seconds, could see the tremors in his hands as his face blanched, could hear his neck crack under the whiplash movement. “Hey!” Without thinking about it, Peter jumped forward, shoving Happy off the kid.
Harry stumbled back, clearly panicking.
“Crap, are you alright?” Peter said, putting a hand on his shoulder. The kid startled, green eyes flashing too bright to be natural, and with a loud crack! suddenly, they were somewhere else.
Peter immediately puked.
His skin crawled with the feeling of being dragged through a narrow, endless rubber tube, and his normally enhanced senses reeled from the onslaught.
He managed to suck in a breath and evaluate their surroundings. Peter breathed a sigh of relief as he realized they weren’t far, Stark Tower still visible in the distance. They were, however, on top of a building.
He also realized that whatever teleportation Harry had done hadn’t stopped his panic attack. The boy was hyperventilating on his knees with one hand on his chest while the other clutched his hair.
“Hey,” he said, crouching slowly, “you’re alright. I’m sorry, Happy shouldn’t have done that. You look like you’re having a panic attack—have you had one before?”
The boy jerked his head in a nod, tugging viciously at his hair.
“Okay, yeah, mood,” Peter said. “Do you know any grounding exercised or square breathing?”
“The fuck—" the boy panted, “—you talking—about?”
Kid had a mouth on him, that was for sure.
“Okay, no worries,” he said, trying to be calm and helpful. “Square breathing is super easy. Just breathe in for four counts, hold for four, out for four, hold for four. See?” He demonstrated.
Harry peeled his hand off his chest just long enough to give him the finger.
Peter snorted. “No, no, it works! It distracts the mind so your nervous system can calm down. It stimulates the brain, keeps you from hyperventilating, and promotes physiological relaxation and emotional regulation. I used to get them all the time. Oh! I actually might still have…” he dug in his pocket. “Ah hah!” He pulled out a wrapped sour candy. “It’s a Warhead. Sour stuff can shock you out of a panic attack too if the breathing isn’t working.”
Harry doubled over, coughing as his chest seized up.
“Okay, don’t teleport us or anything, but I’m going to touch you,” Peter said, concerned that Harry would pass out at this point. The boy flinched but after the initial jerk, he didn’t pull away from Peter, so he thought it was okay. He dragged Harry’s back to his chest, making exaggerated inhales. “In for four…hold for four…exhale,” he blew out a breath, “hold…”
Eventually, Harry began to regulate his breathing to match Peter’s, and Peter could have collapsed in relief. He didn’t, obviously, but he could’ve. Peter didn’t say anything when hyperventilating gave way to a few muffled sobs that he could felt more than he heard.
“Doing great,” he said, letting their breathing become more natural.
The kid in his arms stiffened, then shoved off the arm holding him to Peter’s chest. He spun around awkwardly, scooting back on the concrete roof as he gave Peter a wary glare. Unfortunately for Harry, he wasn’t too intimidating with swollen eyes and tear-streaked cheeks.
Peter tried to smile disarmingly. “Candy?” he offered, realizing he still had the Warhead clasped in his hand.
“Fuck off,” Harry rasped, and Peter winced at how hoarse his voice was. Yeah, sour candy probably wouldn’t have felt good on that.
“So uhhh,” he wracked his brain trying to come up with how to say this without scaring the kid again, “why is it you think Mr. Stark kidnapped you?”
Harry glared. “Might have had something to do with the way he blew up my bloody house, knocked out my aunt and uncle, put me on a jet, sedated me, and flew me to the fucking States!” His voice rose to a yell by the end of his rant.
Peter cringed. That…did sound like kidnapping. But he was sure he had a good reason! “Right…” he trailed. “Well look, Mr. Stark is one of the Avengers. The good guys, you know? So, I’m sure if we talk to him, we can get this all sorted out. But uh…if you want to call your aunt and uncle first, we can do that?”
Harry snorted, then winced as it aggravated what looked like a very recently reset broken nose. “I’m good. My uncle might like to beat the ever-loving shit out of me, but not enough to fly across the Atlantic.” He sighed, closing his eyes and looking absolutely exhausted. “Bollocks. What the fuck am I supposed to do?”
Peter’s eyes went wide at the revelation, flitting to the broken nose, the ratty clothing with tears through which he could spot other cuts and bruises. “Well,” he started, voice quiet, “you could give me a chance to earn your trust? I know we just met but…I try to help people. I know Mr. Stark made a bad impression, but he’s a good guy. He helps people too, even if he’s not always good about doing it the right way.” Peter grimaced. “He’s also probably going to find us in the next five minutes if he hasn’t already. So maybe let’s try and get this sorted before we do anything drastic?”
Harry’s eyes opened, and Peter kind of hated the blank, resigned look on his face. “Yeah, alright.”
…
Harry had no idea how this happened. One minute he’d been taking a while, giving Dudley shit like he wasn’t going to pay for it later. Then dementors, some arsehole in armor, getting expelled, getting kidnapped, a kid named Peter Spiderboy, and now this awkward fucking silence.
The four of them sat at an expensive looking glass table, Harry and the kid on one side, Iron bitch and the redhead on the other. The big ass body guard who shook Harry like a ragdoll was thankfully nowhere in sight.
“Well,” Harry said, breaking the silence. “Really hating this.”
The brown haired kid with a motormouth and a nice ass (he wasn’t hiding much in that suit) snorted. “Not sure your attitude really suits the whole “kidnap victim” angle.”
“It’s not an angle if it’s true,” Harry scowled. He glared at the man across from him with the ridiculous goatee. “So how long are you planning to keep me here? I’ve got a court date.”
Peter startled. “Court? What’d you do?”
“Murder,” Harry deadpanned. He snorted when the kid’s brown eyes got wide, enhancing the whole gold-retriever vibe he had going.
“Breaking the Statute of Secrecy wasn’t it?”
Harry whipped his head around, staring at the man. “Excuse me?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Your court date. You were expelled too, I believe.”
“How—” Harry’s mind whirled. Was this man a wizard? How did he know these things? He licked his lips, trying to figure out how to ask without giving himself away. “Where did you go to school?”
“MIT, you?”
Harry didn’t know what MIT was, and he obviously wasn’t answering the other question. “Where’s my…” he paused, “stick?”
Peter choked on the sip of water he’d taken. “Sorry?”
Iron bitch tilted his head. “Sorry kid, don’t know about that. Any other name for it?”
Oh, this bitch. He glared. “You know what I’m talking about.”
The man shrugged. “Can’t say that I do.”
Harry clenched his jaw, trying to force down the rage and exhaustion as the glass of the table trembled for the briefest of seconds before he got ahold of himself. “Fine,” he said. He’d find it himself. “What do you want with me?”
“You mean why did I help a kid who was obviously in an abusive situation get out of it? That’s just basic decency.”
“I didn’t need your help.” Harry planted his palms on the table. “I didn’t need it and I didn’t want it! And even if that wasn’t the case, you could have called the police! Not hauled my arse to the bleeding colonies!”
Beside him, Peter mouthed the word “colonies” with open amusement.
“That’s fair,” Stark shrugged. “But I had questions I wanted answered that wouldn’t be if you were thrown in a holding cell or foster care.”
“Tough. I can’t answer your questions, I’m already—” he cut himself off.
“Already in trouble for giving away secrets,” Stark finished, too sure of himself. It made Harry want to hit him.
Harry sucked on a tooth, trying to figure out what to do. Nobody was going to look for him until it was time for school to start (unless the papers got ahold of his expulsion), and they definitely wouldn’t look here.
“Look kid,” Stark leaned forward. “you’ve already been expelled. That court date? Something tells me it’s not going to go in your favor, and your aunt and uncle didn’t seem like people who would have taken you if you had anywhere else to go. So why don’t we make a deal? You stay here for a bit, answer my questions, and I’ll give you a place to stay. Money? I’ve got way too much. We’ll get you settled, give you time to get on your feet. Maybe find a nice family to crash with until you’re old enough to be on your own. Yeah?”
Harry stared at him. The offer was legitimately insane. Harry wasn’t a US citizen. He wasn’t even a muggle. He’d be leaving everything behind—school, his friends, his godfather.
But hadn’t all that already been taken away? a voice in his head whispered. He’d been expelled, and his friends would be at school. Sirius was on the run, and it wasn’t like Harry had heard from him the summer. Or anyone for that matter.
There was the issue of the resurrected Voldemort. Was Harry supposed to just bury his head in the sand, hope that if England fell, America wouldn’t be next?
His arm twinged. The scar from the resurrection ritual still hurt sometimes, just like how his hands sometimes trembled from the Crutiatus. Nerve damage was a bitch.
“I want my stuff,” he said abruptly. “My trunk, my books—get my stuff, and I’ll answer some of your questions.”
“All of my questions,” Stark countered.
“Not bloody likely,” Harry snorted. “I’m not playing your personal magic 8 ball for eternity just because you grabbed a car load of junk and hauled it across the Atlantic.”
Stark looked at him consideringly. “Fine. But we’ll need to work out more concrete terms before I hand everything over.”
Harry pressed his lips together. “Fine.”
The redhead clapped her hands together. “Well then,” she said, like she’d hadn’t been watching them go back and forth like it was a tennis match. “Food? I’m in the mood for Indian. Peter, you staying?” she asked.
“Yes,” Harry said immediately. They all looked at him, which he ignored while turning a demanding glare on the boy.
“I guess that’s fine,” Peter said slowly. “Lemme just let Aunt May know.”
Harry nodded, satisfied. It was best to have a convenient hostage in case this went south.