Chapter Text
Minerva McGonagall had spent almost an entire day watching Number Four, Privet Drive.
By the end of it, she had decided that she disliked every adult who lived there.
She had not arrived with that intention.
When Albus had told her that Harry Potter would be placed with Lily’s sister, Minerva had assumed there must be some reason for it. Some connection she had missed. Some kindness hidden beneath Petunia Dursley’s stiff posture and pinched expression.
So Minerva had watched.
She had watched Petunia shriek at a neighbour’s child for accidentally knocking a ball against her garden fence.
She had watched Vernon Dursley nearly walk into a lamppost because he was too busy glaring at a man wearing purple trousers.
She had watched their son throw a screaming fit because his mother had bought him the wrong kind of sweets.
And she had watched Petunia Dursley give that child everything he wanted within minutes.
Minerva had remained on the wall in her Animagus form, tail twitching irritably behind her.
By noon, she had begun questioning Albus’s judgement.
By teatime, she had decided she would be questioning it directly.
By eleven o’clock that night, she was furious.
The street had quietened hours ago.
Curtains had closed.
Lights had disappeared one by one.
The world had gone still.
And then Hagrid had arrived.
Minerva shifted back into human form the moment she saw him approaching, enormous motorcycle descending from the darkness.
Her eyes immediately fell to the bundle in his arms.
Harry.
So small.
Far too small for everything that had happened.
Minerva’s chest tightened.
There was a bruise across his forehead beneath the strange lightning-shaped wound everyone would undoubtedly be talking about by morning.
His dark hair stuck up in every direction.
He slept through Hagrid’s sniffing.
“Is that—?”
Hagrid nodded miserably.
“Little Harry.”
Minerva swallowed.
She had known James Potter from the age of eleven.
She had watched him turn from an arrogant little menace into an arrogant young man who would throw himself between danger and anyone he cared about without hesitation.
She had taught Lily Evans.
Brilliant, determined Lily, whose hand had been in the air before Minerva had even finished asking half her questions.
And now they were dead.
Their son was asleep in Hagrid’s arms.
And Albus intended to leave him here.
“Professor McGonagall.”
She turned sharply.
Albus Dumbledore approached down the street as though this were any other evening.
His robes were ridiculous even by wizarding standards.
Minerva had never been less amused by them.
“Albus.”
He gave her a gentle smile.
“You have been here all day, I presume?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“They are the worst sort of Muggles imaginable.”
Hagrid made a small noise.
Dumbledore’s smile faded.
“Minerva—”
“No.”
She kept her voice low only because there were sleeping houses surrounding them.
“That woman despised Lily when they were children. You know that.”
“She was jealous.”
“That does not make her safe.”
“She is Harry’s family.”
Minerva stared at him.
There was something particularly infuriating about how calmly he said it.
“As though blood alone makes someone kind?”
“No. But it makes certain protections possible.”
There it was.
Minerva’s expression hardened.
“Protections.”
“Lily gave her life for Harry. That sacrifice has left powerful magic behind. If Petunia accepts Harry into her home—”
“If she accepts him?”
Dumbledore paused.
Minerva’s voice became dangerously quiet.
“You intend to leave a fifteen-month-old child on a doorstep in November and hope that his aunt decides to accept him?”
Hagrid looked between them.
“Maybe we oughta knock—”
“Yes,” Minerva said immediately.
“No,” Dumbledore answered.
Both professors looked at him.
“It is better that this happens quietly.”
Minerva actually laughed.
There was no humour in it.
“Quietly.”
“By tomorrow morning, the wizarding world will know what happened. There will be people desperate to find Harry. Some will worship him. Others may wish him harm. The fewer people who know where he is, the safer he will be.”
“And Petunia?”
“She will understand after reading my letter.”
Minerva looked at the sleeping child again.
A letter.
James and Lily Potter had been murdered less than twenty-four hours ago.
Their son had somehow survived the Killing Curse.
And they were going to explain everything to his nearest living relative using a letter.
Dumbledore took Harry gently from Hagrid.
Minerva watched every movement.
He placed the baby on the doorstep.
Harry stirred.
For one terrible second, Minerva thought he would wake.
Instead, one tiny hand emerged from the blanket and curled against the fabric.
Dumbledore tucked the letter beside him.
“There.”
Minerva stared.
“There?”
Dumbledore looked at her.
“He will be safe here.”
Minerva did not answer.
Hagrid wiped his eyes with something that might once have been a handkerchief.
“Bye, Harry,” he whispered.
Dumbledore stepped away from the house.
Hagrid reluctantly followed.
Minerva did not.
“Minerva?”
She continued looking down at Harry.
“I will meet you at Hogwarts tomorrow.”
Something shifted in Dumbledore’s expression.
“You intend to remain?”
“For a while.”
“There is no need.”
“I disagree.”
A pause.
Then Dumbledore inclined his head.
“Very well.”
The two men eventually disappeared.
Minerva remained.
For several minutes, nothing happened.
The street was silent.
Harry slept.
Minerva stood at the end of the garden path, every instinct she possessed screaming that this was wrong.
She told herself that perhaps Albus was correct.
Perhaps Petunia would read the letter and remember her sister.
Perhaps whatever jealousy had existed between them would disappear when faced with Lily’s orphaned child.
Perhaps the protections really did require this.
Perhaps—
Harry began to cry.
It was not loud.
That somehow made it worse.
A thin, confused whimper came from the doorstep.
His hands moved beneath the blanket.
Minerva waited.
Surely someone inside would hear.
Harry cried again.
Nothing.
Minerva looked towards the upstairs windows.
Dark.
Another whimper.
She lasted less than thirty seconds.
Her shoes struck the pavement sharply as she crossed the garden.
“Oh, honestly.”
Harry startled when she lifted him.
His crying grew louder for a moment.
“I know,” Minerva murmured, adjusting him awkwardly against her chest. “I know.”
She had never considered herself particularly skilled with babies.
Teenagers, she understood.
Give her a classroom containing thirty twelve-year-olds armed with wands and poor judgement and she knew precisely what to do.
A toddler was entirely different.
Harry’s face scrunched.
Minerva bounced him slightly.
Nothing.
“Please do not make me summon Poppy.”
He cried harder.
“Yes, yes. Entirely reasonable response.”
She glanced at the house.
Still nothing.
Not even a curtain moved.
Minerva looked down at him.
His forehead was warm.
His cheeks were red from crying.
There was dried blood near the cut on his forehead that Hagrid had clearly tried to clean.
James’s hair.
Lily’s eyes, according to Hagrid.
An orphan.
And an entire world already calling him a hero when he could barely say more than a handful of words.
Minerva’s jaw tightened.
“You deserve better than this.”
Harry hiccupped.
One tiny fist caught in the front of her robes.
Minerva froze.
That decided it.
Perhaps she would regret it in the morning.
Perhaps Albus would be furious.
Perhaps the wards truly were as essential as he claimed.
But she was not leaving Lily Potter’s child outside overnight.
She carried Harry away from Number Four.
At the end of the street, she stopped.
Now came the more difficult question.
Where could she take him?
Hogwarts was impossible.
Albus would simply return him.
Her own home was possible temporarily, but Minerva knew enough about guardianship laws to understand that keeping him herself would become complicated quickly.
He needed family.
Actual family.
She frowned.
Lily’s parents were dead.
James’s parents were dead.
Petunia was supposedly the only remaining relative.
Supposedly.
Minerva stopped walking.
There had always been something strange about that.
The Potters were an old family.
Not enormous, certainly, but old.
Families like that had cousins.
Branches.
Connections.
And James—
Minerva searched her memory.
James had never spoken much about his family beyond his parents.
That was not unusual. Fleamont and Euphemia had been older when James was born and utterly devoted to him.
But Minerva remembered something.
A conversation.
Years ago.
James in detention.
Sirius Black beside him.
Both of them covered in feathers for reasons Minerva had never managed to extract from either boy.
James had complained about someone.
A brother?
No.
Surely not.
Minerva would have remembered James Potter having a brother.
Wouldn’t she?
She frowned.
There had been rumours around the Potter family years before James attended Hogwarts.
Something about a Squib.
Minerva had never paid them much attention.
Wizarding families produced Squibs.
Many older families simply avoided discussing them.
But Fleamont Potter had never struck Minerva as a man who would abandon his child.
Euphemia even less so.
Harry shifted against her.
Minerva looked down.
“Your father may have been even more terrible at mentioning important information than I realised.”
Harry blinked sleepily up at her.
Minerva’s thoughts moved quickly.
If there had been another Potter child, where was he?
Was he alive?
Would he even know James had died?
And how, exactly, was Minerva supposed to find someone who might have been removed from magical society decades ago?
She knew someone who might know.
Someone who had known Lily extremely well.
Someone who had spent enough time around James during the war to know things most professors did not.
Minerva looked towards the dark horizon.
Ottery St Catchpole was several hours away by Muggle transport.
Fortunately, Minerva had no intention of using Muggle transport.
She tightened her hold on Harry.
“Well, Mr Potter,” she murmured, “we appear to be going on an unscheduled journey.”
Harry yawned.
Minerva almost smiled.
Almost.
Then she Disapparated.
Pandora Lovegood was awake when someone began hammering on her front door.
That was not particularly unusual.
Pandora rarely slept properly anymore.
She sat perfectly still in the small kitchen, staring towards the hallway.
Upstairs, Luna slept.
At least Pandora hoped she did.
Another knock.
Not Xenophilius.
He was asleep.
Or passed out.
She was not certain which, and she had learned long ago that checking was rarely worth the risk.
The knock came again.
Pandora rose carefully.
One hand instinctively went to the sleeve covering her wrist.
She adjusted it.
Then she crossed the house.
When she opened the door, she expected almost anything.
She did not expect Minerva McGonagall.
And she certainly did not expect Minerva McGonagall to be holding Harry Potter.
Pandora’s face went completely white.
“Professor?”
Minerva looked exhausted.
Angry.
And more frightened than Pandora had ever seen her.
“Mrs Lovegood.”
Pandora looked down at the child.
Harry was sleeping against Minerva’s shoulder now.
There was a wound on his forehead.
Pandora’s breath caught.
“No.”
Minerva’s expression softened.
“I am sorry.”
Pandora gripped the doorframe.
“No.”
“Lily and James were killed last night.”
Pandora stared at her.
Somewhere upstairs, the house creaked.
Her eyes filled immediately.
“Both?”
Minerva nodded.
Pandora covered her mouth.
For several seconds, neither woman spoke.
Then Pandora looked at Harry again.
“He survived?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“We do not know.”
Pandora closed her eyes.
Lily.
Bright red hair.
Ink-stained fingers.
Laughing in the Hogwarts library because James had walked directly into a suit of armour while trying to impress her.
Lily standing beside Pandora at her wedding.
Lily whispering that Pandora deserved someone who listened when she spoke.
Lily writing after Harry was born that motherhood was exhausting and terrifying and wonderful all at once.
Gone.
Pandora opened her eyes.
“Why do you have him?”
Minerva hesitated.
That frightened Pandora more than anything else.
“Albus intended to place him with Petunia Dursley.”
Pandora’s grief briefly made room for disbelief.
“Petunia?”
“Yes.”
“Lily’s Petunia?”
“I assume she only had the one.”
Pandora stared at her.
Then, despite everything, a broken laugh escaped her.
It vanished quickly.
“You took him.”
Minerva’s expression became defensive.
“I did not steal him.”
Pandora raised an eyebrow.
“I temporarily relocated him.”
“You stole Harry Potter.”
“I rescued Harry Potter from spending the night on a doorstep.”
That changed everything.
Pandora straightened.
“A doorstep?”
Minerva’s mouth thinned.
“He was left outside with a letter.”
Pandora looked horrified.
“Oh, Lily would haunt him.”
“I find myself hoping she does.”
For one second, they simply stared at each other.
Then Pandora stepped aside.
“Come in.”
Minerva hesitated only briefly before entering.
Pandora closed the door quietly behind her.
She glanced automatically towards the stairs.
No movement.
Good.
Minerva noticed.
Pandora pretended she had not.
They moved into the kitchen.
Harry remained asleep.
Pandora stared at him for several moments before reaching out carefully.
Her fingers barely touched his hair.
“He looks like James.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
“He has Lily’s eyes.”
“So Hagrid said.”
Pandora swallowed.
“What are you going to do?”
“That is why I came.”
Pandora frowned.
Minerva sat down.
“I need to find Harry’s family.”
“Petunia is his family.”
“I mean someone suitable.”
Pandora almost smiled.
Then she realised Minerva was entirely serious.
“James’s parents are dead.”
“I know.”
“And Lily’s.”
“Yes.”
“Sirius?”
Minerva’s face changed.
Pandora noticed immediately.
“What?”
“They believe Sirius Black betrayed them.”
Pandora stared.
“No.”
“Pandora—”
“No.”
Her answer came so quickly that Minerva blinked.
“Sirius loved James.”
“That does not mean—”
“He loved James.”
Pandora’s voice dropped.
“Whatever they are saying happened, it is not that simple.”
Minerva filed that away for later.
Right now, there was a child to place somewhere safe.
“James once mentioned a sibling.”
Pandora went still.
Minerva saw it.
“You remember.”
Pandora looked towards the doorway.
Then back at Harry.
“Yes.”
Minerva leaned forward.
“Who?”
Pandora hesitated.
“James wasn’t supposed to talk about him.”
“Why?”
“Because half the old families preferred pretending he didn’t exist.”
Minerva’s stomach sank.
“A Squib.”
Pandora nodded.
“He was older than James.”
“Older?”
“Much older. Euphemia thought she couldn’t have another child.”
Pandora sat opposite her.
“His name was Antony.”
Minerva repeated it quietly.
“Antony Potter.”
Pandora nodded.
“Tony.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
Minerva’s disappointment must have shown because Pandora continued quickly.
“But Lily did.”
Minerva looked up.
“James and Tony weren’t close by the end.”
“Why?”
“Not because they hated each other.”
Pandora rubbed her thumb against her palm.
“Tony was sent away to school.”
“Sent away?”
“Not abandoned.”
There was unexpected fierceness in Pandora’s voice.
“People wanted Fleamont and Euphemia to abandon him. The Blacks. Some Potters. Other families. They said keeping a Squib publicly acknowledged would embarrass the family.”
Minerva felt something cold settle in her chest.
Pandora continued.
“Fleamont told them to go to hell.”
Despite herself, Minerva smiled faintly.
“That sounds like Fleamont.”
“Euphemia was worse.”
That also sounded correct.
“They realised Tony loved Muggle technology. Machines. Engineering. He could take apart anything and put it back together.”
Pandora’s expression softened slightly.
“So they found him a Muggle boarding school where he could study properly.”
“And James?”
“James adored him when he was little.”
Pandora looked at Harry.
“But there was a large age gap. Tony was already building a life elsewhere by the time James started Hogwarts. Then the war happened. Letters became less frequent.”
Minerva’s heart began beating faster.
“Is he alive?”
“As far as I know.”
“Where?”
Pandora hesitated again.
Then she stood.
“Wait.”
She left the kitchen.
Minerva heard quiet footsteps upstairs.
A door opening.
Then closing.
Several minutes later, Pandora returned carrying a wooden box.
She set it on the table.
Inside were letters.
Dozens of them.
Lily’s handwriting.
Minerva recognised it instantly.
Pandora shuffled through them carefully.
“Lily mentioned him occasionally.”
She opened one.
“No.”
Another.
“No.”
Another.
Then she stopped.
“There.”
Minerva leaned closer.
Pandora scanned the page.
Her eyes moved quickly.
Then widened.
“What?”
Pandora looked up.
“I know where he is.”
Minerva nearly stood.
“Where?”
Pandora glanced down at the letter again.
“America.”
Of course.
Minerva sighed.
“Where in America?”
Pandora read another line.
Then she blinked.
And blinked again.
Minerva did not like that expression.
“Pandora?”
“This might be more complicated than we thought.”
“How?”
Pandora slowly turned the letter around.
Lily had written a name in the margin.
A company.
A city.
And beneath it, one sentence:
James still refuses to admit his brother is Tony Stark, because apparently having one Potter become an internationally famous Muggle inventor would damage his reputation beyond repair.
Minerva stared at the words.
Then at Pandora.
Then at Harry.
“Tony Stark.”
Pandora nodded.
“The Tony Stark?”
Another nod.
Minerva closed her eyes.
For several long seconds, she said nothing.
Then:
“Of course James Potter’s brother is Tony Stark.”
Harry chose that moment to wake up.
He looked at Minerva.
He looked at Pandora.
Then he sneezed.
Pandora began laughing.
It started quietly.
Then Minerva joined her.
It was inappropriate.
Lily and James were dead.
Harry’s entire life had been destroyed overnight.
There were countless questions still unanswered.
And somehow James Potter had neglected to mention that his brother was one of the most famous inventors on the planet.
Pandora wiped tears from her cheeks, some from laughter and some decidedly not.
Minerva adjusted Harry against her.
“Well.”
She looked down at him.
“I suppose we are going to America.”
Harry stared up at her.
Pandora smiled sadly.
“He has no idea what’s happening.”
“No.”
Minerva looked at Lily’s letter once more.
Antony Potter.
Tony Stark.
James Potter’s older brother.
Harry’s uncle.
Alive.
Minerva had no idea whether he would want anything to do with the magical world.
She did not know whether he knew about Voldemort.
She did not even know whether he knew James had a son.
But she knew one thing.
Harry Potter was not going back to that doorstep.
Not tonight.
Not tomorrow.
Not ever, if Minerva had anything to say about it.
And somewhere across the Atlantic, Tony Stark was about to discover that the family he thought he had left behind had just found him again.