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Chapter Text

July 10, 2016.

Surrey, Privet Drive

Harry lay sprawled on the cold, hard floor of his tiny bedroom, his unconscious body a testament to the viciousness of Vernon's rage. The room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from a single window covered by thick, dusty curtains.

When Vernon returned home from work in a terrible mood, Harry knew he was in trouble. It wasn't out of the ordinary - Uncle Vernon was a man who took pleasure in tormenting his nephew whenever he could. With Aunt Petunia and Dudley out for an appointment, Harry found himself alone with his abuser.

It happened so suddenly. Harry had just finished his daily chores and was absent-mindedly making his way up the stairs when Vernon burst through the front door and spotted him. In a flash, Vernon was upon him - the first strike landing directly on Harry's head with bone-crushing force.

"YOU!! It's all because of you!!! Who do those freaks think they are?! I know they are making my work difficult with their freakishness! ALL BECAUSE OF YOU!!"

Vernon Dursley, though as large as a baby hippo, moved with surprising speed and strength. Harry had no chance to defend himself as blow after blow rained down upon him. He curled into a ball on his bedroom floor, trying to protect himself from the onslaught.

But then came the kick to his spine - a brutal impact that knocked all of the air out of his lungs and left him gasping for breath. With each subsequent attack, Harry's determination to remain silent and endure began to crumble. A loud wail tore from his throat as he shook uncontrollably, and spasms wracked his body like waves crashing against rocks.

Instead of stopping, Vernon seemed spurred on by Harry's cries. He kicked faster and harder, fueled by a desire to make the boy suffer more than ever before.

"Do you really think I am done with you? You will pay!! For everything!! Do you hear me FREAK?!!!"

And then, mercifully, Harry's consciousness slipped away. The pain, the screams, the relentless assault on his battered body - it all faded into darkness as he lost himself to unconsciousness.

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July 11, 2016. Queens, New York

Peter Parker swung through the streets of Queens, making his way back home. It had been a fairly uneventful day, but he was excited for the weekend ahead--one that he would be spending at the Avengers Compound with none other than Tony Stark himself! He just needed to pick up a few things before Happy came to pick him up in an hour.

Tony was also eagerly anticipating the weekend with Peter. It still amazed him how quickly the kid had become such an integral part of his life. Sure, he could be silly and talkative to the point of annoyance, but that only made him more endearing in Tony's eyes. Of course, he would never admit this to anyone.

In a spur of the moment decision, Tony decided to surprise Peter and join Happy in picking him up. Their plans for the weekend were typical: working in the lab, ordering takeout, watching movies, and simply enjoying each other's company. But Tony also had a special surprise planned--a trip to the beach. He wasn't sure if Peter liked large bodies of water or not, but he was willing to take the risk and try it out. If not, he had backup plans ready.

Happy and Tony arrived at Peter's apartment building just in time to see an ecstatic Peter bounding down the stairs and scanning the street before spotting them in their shiny Audi.

"Hey, Happy! Sorry if I'm late... Mr. Stark?! Oh, hello! What are you doing here?"

"Hey, kiddo. What, no excitement? I thought you'd be thrilled to see me!"

"Oh no, Mr. Stark! I just didn't expect to see you here. Please don't take it personally...you know I would never..."

"Don't worry about it, kid. I was just teasing you. After all this time..."

"Oh, okay...and Mr. Stark? I'm not a kid."

"Haha! Alright, Spider-boy. I'll stop calling you that if you start calling me Tony. Deal?"

"But..."

"No negotiations. It's a yes or no answer. What do you say?"

"Okay, Mr. Stark...Tony. You win."

"That's my boy! Come on, Happy, we have an action-packed weekend ahead of us."

A warm, peaceful feeling enveloped Peter's chest as he sat next to Tony Stark in the car. It was a mix of contentment and excitement, knowing that he was now on a first-name basis with one of the most famous and powerful men in the world. And even though he didn't say it out loud, Peter had come to see Tony as a father figure, filling the void left by Ben's death.

The ride to the compound was comfortable, with only the soft hum of the engine breaking the silence. Tony scrolled through emails on his phone while casually asking Peter about school, friends, and May. Peter answered truthfully, enjoying the rare opportunity to simply exist in the presence of such a remarkable man. As they drove on, Peter couldn't help but admire the scenery passing by his window, lost in thought, until he suddenly jolted awake with a gasp. He realized with embarrassment that they were already in the garage, and Tony was patiently waiting for him to wake up.

"Mr. Stark? What? Did I fall asleep??!! OMG! I am so sorry! Why didn’t you wake me, Mr. Stark?!"

Tony chuckled, "Relax, kid. There's nothing wrong with getting some rest. You're more tired than you think. Now, let's get inside so you can catch a couple of hours of sleep before we start working."

Peter nodded eagerly, still feeling guilty for dozing off without realizing it. As they walked into the building, Tony turned to him with a mischievous grin.

"And what happened to 'Tony'?"

A small smile tugged at the corners of Peter's mouth as he responded, "Okay, Tony. See ya in a couple of hours."

"Sleep well, kid," Tony said warmly before heading off to his lab. Peter couldn't believe how lucky he was to have someone like Tony looking out for him and teaching him so much. With a sense of gratitude and exhaustion, Peter headed to his room for some much-needed sleep.

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July 12, 2016. Surrey, Privet Drive

As Harry slowly regained consciousness, the searing pain on his back shot through his body like bolts of lightning. He could feel his spine throbbing, and the room spun as he struggled to take in a breath. Through his bedroom window, he could see that it was now pitch black outside - he had been unconscious for hours.

Drowsiness threatened to pull him under again, but Harry fought against it. He knew he needed to stay awake. Unbeknownst to him, more than 24 excruciating hours had passed since he had first lost consciousness. Vernon had locked the door, forbidding Petunia and Dudley from even approaching it - not that they were interested or worried to even try - and when he returned to check on Harry, he took sadistic pleasure in kicking and beating him while he lay helpless on the floor. But amidst the excruciating pain and concussion on his head, Harry failed to realize that he had lost all feeling and movement from his mid-chest down. With a severe spinal cord injury and lying in his urine, Harry was completely helpless and at the mercy of his cruel uncle.

Days passed by before anyone realized Harry was in desperate need of help. Three agonizing days of suffering in silence, unable to move or cry out for help. And even then, it would be a miracle if he survived the cruelty inflicted upon him by those who were supposed to protect him.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, feverish and delirious from pain and dehydration, Harry began to hallucinate. Visions of his parents and Sirius swam before his eyes, their faces kind and loving. He thought he heard his mother's voice, soft and soothing, telling him that she was proud of him and that she loved him, James and Sirius telling him to hold on just a little longer. Just a little longer.

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July 13, 2016.

Surrey, Privet Drive

Harry lay on his bedroom floor, his body battered and bruised from Vernon's attack. He struggled to clear his mind, searching for a way to contact his friends for help. But his beloved owl, Hedwig, was nowhere to be found. She had been out delivering a letter to Ron and Hermione when the attack happened, leaving Harry with no means of calling for assistance.

As he drifted in and out of consciousness over the next few days, Harry would occasionally wake up to the warm glow of sunlight streaming through the open window. But each time he did, he was greeted with confusion and fear. His body felt foreign and broken, and he longed for Hedwig's return.

Despite the pain coursing through him, Harry mustered all his strength to reach for his wand, cloak, books, and miniaturized Firebolt that he had managed to sneak into his room earlier. He had hidden them wrapped in some of his clothes and beneath a loose board under his bed as soon as he arrived home. If only he could just get to them now...

With determination gritting his teeth, Harry dragged himself towards the head of the bed where his belongings lay waiting. Each movement sent waves of agony through his body, but he refused to give up. He was almost there when exhaustion overtook him, and he collapsed onto the bed.

As he lay there catching his breath, Harry's senses began to sharpen. The pain in his head and back seemed intense at first, but then it abruptly stopped around his midsection. For a brief moment, Harry felt relieved - until he realized that he couldn't feel anything else either. Panic set in as he wondered about the condition of his legs after the brutal beating they endured.

As Hedwig soared in through the open window, Harry let out a sigh of relief. His body was weak and trembling as he made his way to the head of the bed. With great effort, he pried open the loose board, hiding his wand and cloak. His fingers wrapped around the familiar handle, a small victory amid his struggles.

The loose board felt like it weighed a ton as he struggled to move it aside. Every movement sent sharp pains shooting through his body, but he couldn't give up. He knew he was getting worse by the minute; even taking a deep breath was a daunting task, like trying to lift a pile of bricks off his chest.

Despite his exhaustion, Harry couldn't give in to rest just yet. He knew that with each passing moment, his condition deteriorated. He prayed that Vernon wouldn't come "check" on him anytime soon - he wasn't sure how much more of Vernon's rage he could handle.

All Harry wanted was to escape to a safe place, somewhere free from painful memories and constant trials. But he was helpless and scared, overwhelmed by pain and coldness. As thoughts of his parents and how different everything could have been flooded his mind, Hedwig landed next to him.

With what little strength he had left, Harry closed his eyes and wished with all his might for safety and a fresh start. As he fell into an exhausted sleep, his magic responded to his desperate plea and transported him to his last living relative on his father's side - Anthony Edward Stark.

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July 13, 2016. Avengers Compound. Upstate, New York

Peter had been determined to keep everything under control, but between his responsibilities as a high schooler and his "extra" activities, exhaustion had finally caught up to him on the way to the compound. He didn't wake up until late Saturday afternoon and finally rested.

The original plans for Saturday had been simple enough: finish some upgrades on their suits, then have a movie marathon featuring classics from the 70s and 80s. After that, they were going to do a quick shopping trip and grab lunch while they waited for Pepper and May to join them for a weekend getaway at the beach. Both women worked tirelessly, and Tony knew they deserved a well-earned break.

But instead of tinkering with his protege's suit or watching movies, Tony sat in the workshop, surrounded by various tools and pieces of machinery. He was intently studying the files that Fury had given him a few days after the debacle with Ultron, trying to make sense of all the information.

At first, he had brushed them off as irrelevant information about a supposed "friend" of his father's named Charlus Potter and their past work together. But as he delved deeper into the sparse details provided in the file, his curiosity was piqued.

It seemed like Fury only gave out bits and pieces of information, expecting Tony to put everything together himself. But this time, there was something important that Fury wanted him to know.

As he flipped through the pages for what felt like the hundredth time, he couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that lingered in the back of his mind. There was something important about this Charles Potter, Tony could feel it. And he needed answers. After some back and forth with the pirate, Tony finally persuaded Fury to meet with him within the week.

When Peter finally made his way into the workshop with a yawn and a stretch. Tony looked up from his work and raised an eyebrow at the teenager's disheveled appearance.

“Tony?”

“Hey, kid. Finally managed to catch some z’s, huh?”

“It's not like I have not been sleeping, Tony.”

“Just not enough to help with that crazy metabolism of yours, right?”

“…Mmmm…”

“Kid…” Tony said, giving him his trademark glare/stare full force.

“Ok. Yeah. But it’s no big deal. Really!”

“It is a big deal if you work yourself to exhaustion. Come on, Pete, I know you know this already.”

“No…. Sorry. I know, I just had so much school work lately, and then the Decathlon team meetings and spending time with Ned and MJ outside of school and patrols and…”

“your S.I internship?”

“Well…yeah. I am just glad that school is finally over. And I love spending time with you, Mr. Stark! Working on the prototypes, the suits, and training! Seriously! This is one of the best things in my life!”

“Ok, ok. Relax kid. All I am saying is that you need to keep a better track of your sleep times. Also, are you eating enough? Crazy fast metabolism and all…”

“Yes… ok…yeah, I get it. Sorry.”

“Ok. And what happened to “Tony”? Did you forget about our deal already?”

“What? umm… NO! not at all. Sorry... I just…” Peter walked over to him and took a seat next to him on one of the workbenches. "So what's on today's agenda?" he asked, stretching out his arms.

"Well," Tony began as he closed the file in front of him and leaned back on his chair. "I was planning on doing some tinkering on your suit and maybe having a movie marathon from the 70s and 80s later."

Peter perked up at this suggestion. "That sounds great!" he exclaimed with excitement.

"But," Tony added with a smirk. "Since you slept in so late, I'm afraid we won't have much time for that."

Peter slumped down in disappointment. "Aw man," he groaned.

“It's alright, Peter. No biggie. Let's take a look at those upgrades on your suit before Pepper and Aunt Hottie arrive,” Tony said with a lighthearted tone.

"Okay," Peter replied, slightly embarrassed for constantly apologizing.

"And no need to keep saying sorry every five minutes."

"Sorry...I mean, okay." Peter couldn't help but chuckle at his own slip-up.

With a grin, Tony turned and led the way to the elevator, assuming Peter was following behind him. However, as soon as Peter took two steps in that direction, his spider sense started tingling. But it didn’t scream danger, as it had done when an attack was about to happen. No, this time, it felt more like a warning to stay alert and be prepared for whatever was about to happen.

But there was something else too. It was as if he could taste the change in the air, a subtle shift that hinted at an impending storm in the common room of the compound.

Tony had already made it to the elevator when he noticed Peter wasn’t following.

He turned back to see his young protégé slowly scanning the room with a focused expression.

"Kid, what's going on?"

“Sir, I sense a growing disturbance in the air within the room. I am not able to pinpoint the cause of it just yet.” Friday announced through the ceiling speakers just as Peter was locking eyes with his mentor.

“I don’t know. My spider-sense is warning me to be on guard, like...something is approaching."

"What?" Tony turned to Friday for any information on potential threats nearby or inside the compound. As he did so, he moved closer to Peter, ready to call his suit for backup if needed.

“Peter, what is it exactly that you are sensing?”

“It’s like the air inside the room had started to charge itself with electricity out of nowhere. The hairs on my arms are standing up, and I can feel a tingling sensation in the air.”

“Sir, there is also a slight change in the air and humidity around the compound, but it is minimal and doesn’t seem to be related to the changes inside.” Tony rubbed his chin, deep in thought.

“Mmm… Alright, let's stay on high alert and call up for backup, just in case. And keep an eye out for Pepper and May; I don’t want them to get caught up in whatever is going on here if they arrive.”

“Very well Sir.”

“Kid, your suit? We need to be ready for anything.”

“Right. I’ll-“

Without warning, a blinding flash of light illuminated the room, startling Tony and Peter. The soundless burst was like a bolt of lightning striking inside the space where they stood. And then, out of nowhere, a figure materialized on the floor about ten feet away from them.

It was a young boy, Tony guessed he couldn't be more than a teenager. He lay on his stomach with a mop of tangled black hair partially covering his face, which was streaked with dried blood. His clothes were too big for his slender frame, making him seem even smaller and frailer. His legs were twisted in an uncomfortable position, and there was something under his arm...a cape? Books? And what was that in his hand? A stick? And next to him...an owl?! Tony's mind reeled with confusion and disbelief. Yes, it was an owl, and it was staring at him, like telling him, “What are you looking at?"

For what felt like a couple of long minutes, they stood frozen, staring at the strange figure. Finally, Friday's voice broke through their daze.

"Sir, it appears that there has been some sort of teleportation event in the communal area."

Tony and Peter blinked in unison before the younger man snapped out of it and cautiously approached the unconscious teen, mindful of the owl perched nearby.

“Yeah, Fri, thanks for that enlightening observation,” Tony replied to Friday dryly. “Please scan him and tell me what’s wrong with him.”

Turning his gaze to Peter, he continued.

”Kid, don’t get too close to him, we don’t know yet what is going on or if he is a friend or an enemy.”

“But Tony! He seems injured!” Peter protested.

"I know," Tony sighed wearily. "But remember, he just appeared out of thin air with an owl. That's not exactly normal." He also wanted to check the kid himself, but years of acquired paranoia told him to make sure it was safe first.

Before Peter could argue further, Friday spoke up again.

"Sir, I have detected multiple contusions all over the boy's back, torso, and legs. There is also evidence of a mild to severe concussion on the right side of his head, as well as broken ribs and possibly a punctured lung. His spine is also significantly damaged, and he requires urgent medical attention."

Tony was stunned. What the heck? How on earth was this even possible?!

"Friday, alert the medical team and have them here in two minutes," Tony instructed, snapping into action. "And yes, contact Dr. Helen Cho as well. And let's hold off on calling for backup for now."

As Friday carried out his orders, Tony turned to Peter, who looked pale and worried.

"We need to check on the kid and see if we can find any identification before the med team gets here," Tony said with determination. He shot a glance at Peter, who nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, let's do it," Peter replied, his voice shaking slightly.

Tony and Peter approached the injured boy cautiously, mindful of the owl that was still perched protectively nearby. It hooted softly, shifting on its perch but making no move to attack. As they got closer, they could see the extent of the boy's injuries more clearly. His clothes were torn and bloodstained, his breathing was shallow and labored, his skin was mottled with bruises, and dried blood caked his hair and clothes.

"Jesus," Tony muttered under his breath. "What happened to this kid?"

Peter knelt beside the boy, his enhanced senses picking up the faint scent of blood and sweat. "Tony, I think he's been beaten. Badly."

Tony's jaw clenched as he surveyed the scene. His eyes fell on the objects clutched in the boy's hand - a thin wooden stick about 11 inches long, what appeared to be some kind of cloak, some books, and a weird model of a broom.

"What's all this stuff?" Peter wondered aloud.

"I don't know, kid. Let's focus on finding out who he is first." Tony replied, kneeling beside Peter.

As Peter reached out to gently turn the boy over, the owl suddenly let out a screech and flapped its wings menacingly. Peter jerked back in surprise, but Tony held up a hand to calm him.

"Easy there, feathers," Tony said softly to the owl. "We're just trying to help your friend here."

The owl seemed to consider Tony's words for a moment before settling down, though it kept its amber eyes fixed warily on them.

With the owl pacified for now, Tony and Peter carefully removed the items that appeared with the boy and did their best to look for any kind of identification without moving him much, as the report that Friday had given them earlier had clearly stated that his spine was compromised and they didn’t want to make anything worse.

Peter carefully moved some of the hair off the teen’s face, trying to get a better look and let out a small gasp at the sight of a peculiar lightning bolt-shaped scar on the forehead.

"Tony, look," Peter said, pointing at the scar.

Tony leaned in closer and muttered, “That’s…odd.”

Just then, the medical team burst into the room, led by Dr. Helen Cho. They quickly surrounded the injured boy, gently pushing Tony and Peter aside.

"What happened?" Dr. Cho demanded, her eyes widening as she took in the scene.

"We don't know," Tony replied, running a hand through his hair. "He just... appeared. Out of nowhere."

Dr. Cho raised an eyebrow but didn't comment further. She turned her attention to the boy, barking orders to her team as they carefully assessed his injuries.

"We need to stabilize him before we move him," she said. "His spine is severely damaged. Any wrong movement could worsen his injuries."

As the medical team whisked the boy away, Tony noticed the owl watching them intently. To his surprise, it spread its wings and followed the stretcher, flying just above it.

"Uh, should we stop that bird?" one of the medical staff asked nervously.

"Let it be," Tony said, his attention directed to an item that had fallen from one of the boy’s books as he was moved into the stretcher. He bent down to pick it up - it was a small, worn photo. In it, a young couple smiled and waved at the camera

Tony stared at the photo, his brow furrowed in confusion. The couple in the image seemed oddly familiar, yet he couldn't quite place them. The man had messy black hair and round glasses, while the woman had striking green eyes and long red hair. But what truly caught Tony's attention was the way they were moving in the photo - actually waving at the camera as if it were a video.

"That's impossible," Tony muttered, turning the photo over in his hands.

"What is it?" Peter asked, peering over Tony's shoulder.

Before Tony could respond, Dr. Cho called out from the doorway. "Mr. Stark, we're moving him to the medical bay. You might want to come see this."

Tony pocketed the photo and nodded to Peter. They followed Dr. Cho to the medical bay, where the mysterious boy lay on a bed, surrounded by advanced medical equipment. The owl perched on a nearby chair, its amber eyes never leaving the boy.

"His injuries are... unusual," Dr. Cho began, her voice laced with confusion. "Some of them appear to be healing at an accelerated rate, while others..." She trailed off, gesturing to a holographic display of the boy's body. “It’s honestly a miracle he didn’t go into shock, given the severity of it all.”

“What do you mean? Why?” Tony asked, a bit apprehensive.

“The general state of the injuries, not to mention HIS overall state, makes me think that the attack happened several days ago. Injuries like those need to be treated ASAP. Otherwise, they can result in shock and even death. This is…uncommon.”

Tony and Peter leaned in, their eyes widening as they took in the extent of the damage. Broken bones, internal bleeding, a punctured lung, and severe yet already partially healed bruising covered nearly every inch of the boy's body.

"It's like he's been through a war," Peter whispered, his face pale.

"Or worse," Tony muttered, his jaw clenched. He'd seen injuries like this before, but never on someone so young. It made his blood boil.

Dr. Cho continued, "One of the most concerning injuries is his punctured left lung. We need to get that fix as soon as possible. Then there’s his spine. There's significant damage to the spinal cord in multiple places. From the preliminary scans, we can see severe swelling from T3 to T7 and what seems to be a complete detachment at T5. We’ll run a CT Scan in a few minutes, but if our assessment proves correct, this will most definitely mean this boy is now paralyzed.”

Dr. Cho let that sink in for a few seconds before continuing.

“After the scan, we’ll get him into surgery. In a situation like this, I would like to use the cradle, but…” Dr. Cho paused, her brow furrowed in concern. "But given the unusual nature of his injuries and the unknown factors at play, I'm hesitant to use it without more information. We'll have to rely on traditional surgical methods for now."

Tony nodded grimly. "Do whatever you need to do, Helen. Spare no expense."

As the medical team prepared for surgery, Tony turned to Peter. "FRIDAY, I need you to do some digging. Find out everything you can about this boy - who he is, where he came from. And..." he hesitated, then pulled out the photo he'd found.

"See if you can find anything about these people. There's something familiar about them, but I can't place it.”

Peter nodded, determination etched on his face. "On it, Boss."

Tony nodded. “And look into any strange occurrences - energy spikes, unexplained phenomena, anything out of the ordinary."

Tony's gaze fell on the owl, who was still watching the unconscious boy intently. There was something eerily intelligent about its gaze.

"Also, FRIDAY," Tony said quietly, "run a full spectrum analysis on our feathered friend here. I want to know if it's... normal."

"Right away, boss."

Tony's gaze fell back on Peter as he stood by his side, uncharacteristically silent, holding the unconscious teen’s belongings as the CT Scan was done and the medical team prepped and moved the kid for surgery. Tony found himself drawn to the strange objects.

“Peter,” He said, placing a hand on Pater’s shoulder. “Let's see what we have over there. FRIDAY will let us know if anything happens.”

Tony directed Peter to a nearby desk and waited until the kid had put everything on top of it before picking up the thin wooden stick and turning it over in his hands. It was intricately carved and seemed to hum with an odd energy he couldn't quite explain.

"Friday, run a full analysis on this... whatever it is," Tony muttered, placing the stick carefully on one side of the table.

"Certainly, boss," Friday replied. "Initial scans indicate it's made of holly wood with an unknown core material. There are trace energy signatures that don't match any known power source."

Tony frowned, his mind racing. He shifted his focus to the books in hopes of finding at least a name for the teen currently on his way to surgery. One book in particular caught his eye, its title causing him to do a double-take: 'A History of Magic' by Bathilda Bagshot.

What kind of nonsense is this? Tony thought to himself as he opened the book. To his surprise, he found the owner's initials on the first page: H.J Potter.

"Hmmm... H.J Potter," Tony said aloud, thinking about the peculiar name.

Potter... Potter... wait, isn't that the last name of the man mentioned in the files that Fury gave him? Could this boy be related to him?

"No, it can't be," I think to myself.

Turning back to the book and flipping to the index page, he was surprised to see entries about witch hunts, goblin rebellions, giant wars, and other fantastical events. It was clear that this was a work of fiction.

"This is insane," Peter whispered, his eyes wide as he scanned the book's contents. "Giant wars? Goblin rebellions? It's like some kind of fantasy novel."

Tony nodded as Peter voiced his thoughts.

"Look at this, Tony!" Peter exclaimed, pointing at another book. "This one's called 'The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5' by Miranda Goshawk. And here's another - 'Magical Drafts and Potions'!"

Tony's brow furrowed as he examined the books. They all seemed to be textbooks of some sort, but for subjects that couldn't possibly be real. Potions? Magic? What kind of elaborate prank was this?

Tony felt a shiver run all over him as he thought of Loki and Thor. He had seen “magic” before, but it was from an alien. An alien from a mythical planet…

Tony shook his head and tried not to think about that too much for now. He didn’t want to end up having a panic attack in front of the kid.

"FRIDAY, run a search on these book titles and authors," Tony instructed. "See if you can find any information about where they might have come from."

"Certainly, boss," FRIDAY replied.

Tony set the book aside and opened the next one. To his surprise, it was a photo album unlike any he had ever seen before. Similar to the picture he found of the teenager earlier, these photos were also animated, like mini videos on a loop that lasted around 5 seconds. He was impressed by the technology but also puzzled as he couldn't find any power source or circuitry in the album or on the parchment pages. Even his hologram phone couldn't replicate the texture and visuals of an actual photograph. This kind of technology was new to him, and his engineer brain was itching to understand how it worked.

Moving on, Tony focused his attention on the photographs. The first one depicted a young couple captured in a moment of dancing and pure joy. The woman's striking red hair and green eyes immediately caught Tony's eye. Her partner had a charming smile and tousled black hair. It was the same couple from the loose photograph he found earlier. Turning to the next page, he saw more pictures of the couple, some with other people in them as well. A few showed them with their beautiful baby boy, who inherited his mother's eyes and his father's hair.

Then there was a gap. One more picture of the child with his parents and two additional adults behind them. The following photo showed the boy, now around 10 or 11 years old, posing with another boy who had fiery red hair and freckles and a girl with untamed brown hair and crooked teeth.

Tony couldn't help but stare at the same teenager who was currently undergoing surgery.

“What happened to you, kid?” he wondered out loud.

Peter had gone silent again, taking hold of the album as Tony set it aside to look at the cloak and carefully studying the photos as well, especially the first ones.

"Boss, I'm afraid I can find no record of these books or authors in any known database." FRIDAY was announced through the speakers.

Tony's frown deepened as he listened to FRIDAY and took the cloak. It shimmered oddly in the light, almost as if it wasn't fully there. When he touched it, he felt a strange tingling sensation, marveling as the material felt impossibly light and fluid, like water woven into fabric.

"Friday, any idea about this?" he asked.

"Analyzing, Boss." Friday responded. After a moment, she continued, "Initial scans show the fabric is unlike any known material. It has unusual optical properties that seem to bend light around it. I'm unable to determine its exact composition or origin."

Tony frowned, rubbing the silky material between his fingers. It felt almost alive like it was responding to his touch. He draped it over his arm experimentally and gasped as his arm disappeared completely from view.

"What the hell?" he muttered, quickly pulling the cloak off. His arm reappeared instantly.

Peter's head snapped up, and his eyes widened in shock. "Tony, did your arm just...disappear?"

Tony nodded slowly, his mind racing. "Yeah, kid. It did." He draped the cloak over his arm again, watching as it vanished from sight. "An invisibility cloak. Actual invisibility. This is beyond advanced tech, kid. I've never seen anything like it."

Peter reached out hesitantly to touch the invisible area where Tony's arm should be. His fingers met solid resistance. "It's still there," he said in awe. "You can feel it, but you can't see it. How is this possible?"

Tony shook his head, at a loss for words. He removed the cloak again, folding it carefully. "I don't know, Pete. But I have a feeling we're dealing with something way beyond our usual understanding here."

As they marveled at the cloak, a soft hoot drew their attention back to the owl. It was watching them intently, its amber eyes seeming to hold an intelligence far beyond that of a normal bird.

"Boss," FRIDAY's voice interrupted their thoughts. "I've completed the analysis on the owl. While its DNA matches that of a common snowy owl, there are some anomalies in its brain structure and energy readings that I can't explain."

Tony exchanged a glance with Peter.

"An intelligent owl, magic books, an invisibility cloak..." Tony muttered, running a hand through his hair. "This is starting to feel less like advanced tech and more like..."

"Magic?" Peter finished hesitantly.

Tony shot him a look. "I was going to say 'completely impossible,' but yeah, magic works too."

Just then, FRIDAY's voice cut through their musings. "Boss, I've completed the analysis on the wooden stick. It appears to be emitting low levels of an unknown energy signature. The core contains a biological material I can't identify."

Tony picked up the stick again, examining it closely. "A wand," he said softly. "It's a goddamn magic wand."

Peter's eyes widened. "You don't think... I mean, it can't be real magic, can it?"

Tony took his time to think about his answer. After everything that had happened the last few years, everything he had seen that shouldn’t be possible…

“A decade ago, I would have said, ‘No, absolutely not.’ But after New York, Thor, Wanda… Loki…”

Peter’s eyes widened slightly, understanding the implications.

"Look, kid," Tony said, his voice low and serious. "I don't know what we're dealing with here. But whatever it…”

"Boss," FRIDAY interrupted, "I've completed the search on the names you requested. There are two records of Charles Potter in the old SHIELD database. However, the mentions were very vague. I also did find some classified SHIELD files mentioning 'James Potter' and 'Lily Potter.' These files are heavily redacted, but they seem to be connected to some kind of secret society in the UK."

Tony's head snapped up. "James and Lily Potter? Are you sure, FRI?"

"Positive, boss. The files are dated from the late 1980s to early 2000s."

Tony's mind raced. The names matched the couple in the photos. Could they be the boy's parents? And how were they connected to his father's friend, Charles Potter?

" FRIDAY, dig deeper into those files. I want everything you can find on the Potters and this secret society. See if you can find a photo of them. If you find one, cross-reference it with the pictures on the boy’s album. And keep searching for any information on… our mysterious guest."

Tony glanced at the initial book. "Give H. J. Potter a shot."

"On it, boss."

Peter, who had gone back to looking at the items on the table, suddenly spoke up. "Tony, look at this." He was holding up the miniature broom they had found with the boy's belongings. "It's got writing on the handle. It says 'Firebolt'."

Tony took the model broom, examining it closely. Like everything else they had found, it seemed to hum with an odd energy. He ran his fingers along the smooth handle, marveling at the intricate craftsmanship.

"Firebolt, huh?" Tony muttered. “FRIDAY, scan this too," Tony instructed, turning the broom over in his hands.

"Scanning complete, boss," FRIDAY replied after a moment. "The broom appears to be made of an ebony wood with hazel twigs for the tail. It seems to have unusual aerodynamic properties. There are trace energy signatures similar to those found in the wand."

Tony hummed as he continued to study the miniature broom. Suddenly, he felt a slight vibration in his hand, which startled him and made him drop the tiny broom. But as the broom fell, it began to grow, expanding rapidly until it was full-sized, hovering a few inches above the ground instead of crashing on the ground.

"Holy sh-" Tony exclaimed, stumbling backward in surprise.

Peter's eyes widened in amazement. "Whoa! Did you see that, Mr. Stark? It just... grew!"

Tony stared at the now full-sized broom, his mind reeling. "Yeah, kid. I saw it." He reached out cautiously to touch the broom again. It felt warm under his fingers, almost alive. "This is... impossible."

The broom hovered steadily as if waiting for someone to mount it. Tony's engineer brain was working overtime, trying to understand the mechanics of how this could work. There was no visible propulsion system, no engines, nothing that could explain how it was defying gravity.

"It's a flying broom," Peter said in awe. "Like in the stories about witches and wizards!”

"Boss," FRIDAY interrupted once again, "I've found some additional information on H. J. Potter. There's a heavily redacted file in the SHIELD database mentioning a 'Harry James Potter,' born July 31, 2000, to James and Lily Potter."

Tony and Peter exchanged glances. "That matches the timeline of the photos," Peter said softly.

"There's more," FRIDAY continued. "The file mentions an incident on October 31, 2001, in a small town called Godric's Hollow, UK. James and Lily Potter were killed, but their son, Harry, survived. He was then placed with his maternal aunt and uncle."

Tony's heart sank. The boy they found - Harry - had lost his parents as a baby. No wonder he had those haunted eyes in the later photos.

"What happened to him after that?" Peter asked quietly, his voice tinged with concern just as Tony asked, "What else, FRIDAY?" his voice tight.

"The file becomes increasingly redacted after that point, boss. There are vague references to a 'hidden society,' and something called the 'Statute of Secrecy'. The last clear entry is from 2011, stating that Harry Potter was enrolled in a private boarding school in Scotland."

Tony rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. "So we've got a kid who's apparently a wizard from a secret magical society who just appeared in our compound after being severely beaten. And he's connected to my father somehow. Great. Just great."

Peter looked at Tony with concern. "What do we do now?"

“FRIDAY, keep looking. I want everything on the relatives the kid went to live with, financials, school records… anything and everything.” Tony looked back at Peter.

“I am going to make some calls, I think we may need some reinforcements here, kid. Don’t touch anything while I am gone.”

“What?! But Mr. Stark!…”

“Nothing, kid, I mean it. We still don’t know what is going on, and I don’t want to risk anything.” Tony took out his phone and started dialing. “Be right back.”

Tony released a deep breath as his best friend, Col. James Rhodes, AKA Rhodey, answered his call,

“Hey, Tones, to what do I owe this pleasure?” Rhodey asked, his tone a mix of playfulness and mild exasperation.

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Rhodey, I need you at the compound. ASAP. We've got a... situation."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "What kind of situation? Are we talking Avengers-level threat or...?"

"No, nothing like that. At least, I don't think so," Tony replied, glancing back at the medical bay where the mysterious boy was being treated. "It's... complicated. A kid appeared out of nowhere in the compound. He's badly injured, and there's some weird stuff going on that I can't explain."

"Appeared out of nowhere?" Rhodey's voice was skeptical. "Tony, what exactly do you mean by that?"

"I mean exactly what I said. One minute, the room was empty, the next, there was a flash of light, and boom - injured kid on the floor. With an owl."

There was another pause. "An owl."

"Yep, an owl. Look, I know how it sounds, but I need you here. There's... there's something about this kid that's connected to my father, and I've got a feeling we're dealing with something way out of our usual wheelhouse."

Rhodey sighed. "Tony, please tell me you're not jumping to conclusions here. We've dealt with some strange stuff before, but-"

"Rhodey," Tony interrupted, his voice serious. "Would you believe me if I said magic?"

Another pause. "Magic? Tony, what are you talking about?"

"I know it sounds crazy, but I don't know how else to explain it. This kid just materialized with a bunch of stuff straight out of a fairy tale. And Rhodey, some of it... some of it works."

Rhodey sighed heavily. "Alright, I'm on my way. Don't do anything stupid until I get there, okay?"

"No promises," Tony quipped, but his heart wasn't in the joke. "Thanks, Rhodey. I owe you one."

"You owe me several, but who's counting?" Rhodey replied. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Chapter Text

Tony ended the call and returned to the medical bay, his mind racing with all the new information. As he walked back, he saw Peter still examining the magical items on the table, a look of wonder on his young face.

"Remember what I said about not touching anything, kid?" Tony called out, raising an eyebrow.

Peter jumped slightly, looking guilty. "Sorry, Mr. Stark. It's just... this is all so incredible. I mean, if this is real magic, think of all the possibilities!"

Tony sighed, understanding the kid's excitement but also feeling the weight of responsibility. "I know, Pete. But we need to be careful. We don't know what we're dealing with here."

Just then, Dr. Cho emerged from the medical bay, looking tired but relieved. "Mr. Stark,”

“Helen. Tell me you have good news.”

“As a matter of fact, I do. But I’m afraid I also have some bad news”

“Mhm. Ok. Let’s hear it.”

“I think it would be best if we discuss this in private, Mr. Stark.”

Tony turned to Peter, “Kid, wait here for a minute, ok?”

Peter was about to protest, but a sharp look from Tony changed his mind instantly. He didn’t want to be left in the dark about the other kid’s situation, but considering that his condition seemed to be pretty serious, he simply nodded and directed his attention toward the owl while his mentor and the doctor walked away.

After walking into one of the unused rooms in the compound’s medical wing Dr. Cho turned to Tony and started speaking.

"Mr. Stark, I want to emphasize my approach of avoiding needless inquiries. However, considering the circumstances surrounding this young man, I require you to share every single detail you know about him."

"Helen, we're in the same boat here. The kid quite literally materialized out of nowhere. I have just as many questions about him as you do."

“You really know nothing about him?” Dr. Cho asked a bit skeptical.

“All I have is a name. H. J. Potter. And no, before you ask, I’ve no idea what the H.J. stand for. Not yet at least.”

“How…?”

“From his belongings. It’s on the books he had with him.”

“I see. That’s not much to go by.”

"No, it's not. I've got FRIDAY digging for more information, but so far we don't have much," Tony replied, running a hand through his hair. "What can you tell me about his condition?"

Dr. Cho took a deep breath. "Well, as I mentioned, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that we've managed to stabilize him. We’ve treated the severe concussion on the right side of his head to prevent swelling, his punctured lung has been repaired, and we've treated the internal bleeding. His vitals are improving, which is remarkable given the severity of his injuries.”

Tony nodded, relief washing over him. "And the bad news?"

Dr. Cho's expression turned grave. "During surgery, his heart stopped for just over a minute. It was quite a close call, but we were luckily able to bring him back. Since he hasn't regained consciousness yet, we can't assess any potential damage, though we are optimistic. On the other hand, the damage to his spine was... extensive. We found that the swelling of the spine was caused by several fragments of the multiple broken vertebrae. Unfortunately, we also confirmed that the spinal cord was completely severed at the T5 level, making the injury a complete one. I am sorry to say, this means he will be paralyzed from the chest down.”

Tony felt his heart sink. "Gosh," he muttered. "He's just a kid… Are we certain we still can’t use the Cradle?" he asked, grasping at straws.

Dr. Cho shook her head. "I did reconsider it, but given the unusual nature of his injuries and the unknown factors at play, I'm hesitant to use it without more information. The Cradle works by replicating organic tissue, but we don't fully understand how it might interact with whatever caused his rapid healing or the other anomalies we've detected in his system."

Tony nodded, understanding her caution. "What kind of anomalies are we talking about?"

"His blood work shows some unusual components that we can't identify. And like I mentioned before he was taken to surgery, his body seems to be healing at a somewhat accelerated rate, even without intervention. It's unlike anything I've ever seen before." Dr. Cho paused, her brow furrowed. "There's something else, Mr. Stark. When we were treating him, we noticed multiple old injuries that had healed improperly. Broken bones that weren't set correctly, scars that suggest repeated trauma..."

Tony felt a cold anger settling in his chest. "Are you saying what I think you're saying, doc?"

Dr. Cho met his eyes, her expression grim. "Mr. Stark, the evidence suggests that this boy has been subjected to long-term physical abuse. Some of these injuries are several years old. But there's something else that's bothering me.” she paused gathering her thoughts as Tony listened intently.

“There’s more?”

She nodded. “Like I mentioned earlier, we lost his pulse for a little over a minute.” At Tony’s nod of acknowledgment, she continued, “While we were trying to revive him, all the equipment started malfunctioning, with some devices even restarting entirely. We were able to get his heart beating again, and the glitches ceased almost entirely.”

Tony's brow furrowed as he processed this new information. "The equipment malfunctioned when his heart stopped? How is that possible?"

Dr. Cho shook her head. "I don't know, Mr. Stark. It's as if there was some kind of energy surge when we lost his pulse. I've never seen anything like it before. Also, when we were treating his head injury, before the surgery, we noticed another scar. This one was on his forehead, shaped like a lightning bolt."

Tony's eyes widened. "A lightning bolt scar? Pete and I saw that when he first appeared."

Dr. Cho nodded. "It's an old scar, but it... well, it reacted strangely when we tried to examine it."

"Reacted? How?"

"It... glowed red, as if it was being ignited from the inside. Just for a moment, but I swear it emitted some kind of energy pulse. The nurse who was closest to it said she felt a sudden chill."

Tony ran a hand over his face, trying to process all this information. "So we've got a kid with unexplainable injuries, rapid healing, strange blood composition, and a scar that glows and emits energy. Anything else I should know?"

Dr. Cho hesitated for a moment. "One last thing Mr. Stark. When we were treating him, we found something... unusual on his right hand."

"Unusual how?"

"There were words carved into the back of his hand. They've healed into scars, but they're clearly legible. They say 'I must not tell lies'."

Tony felt his stomach turn. "Carved? As in someone deliberately..."

Dr. Cho nodded grimly. "Yes. It appears to have been done repeatedly, over a period of time."

Tony clenched his fists, anger boiling inside him. Who could do this to a child? And why? He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Okay. What's our next move, doc?"

"For now, we'll keep him sedated for a couple of days to allow his body to heal. We'll monitor him closely and run more tests to try and understand these anomalies. Once he regains consciousness, we'll be able to assess his cognitive functions and determine the full extent of his injuries. After that, we'll need to start planning for long-term care and rehabilitation."

Tony nodded, the look on his face showing that he was already making plans.

“But Mr. Stark," Dr. Cho's voice turned serious as she continued, "we need to consider notifying the authorities about the abuse. This child needs protection."

Tony nodded grimly. "I understand, Helen. But let's hold off on that for now. I don’t want him to deal with them on top of everything else. It just doesn’t feel right. There's more going on here than we understand, and I want to get a clearer picture before we involve anyone else. I’ll take responsibility for him while we figure everything out."

He paused, considering his next words carefully. "Can you keep this quiet for now? Just between us and the medical team?"

Dr. Cho looked hesitant but nodded. "For now, Mr. Stark. But we can't keep this under wraps forever."

"I get it," Tony responded. "I just need some time to work through this. And Helen? Thanks for all your help. Let me know if anything changes."

"Got it." She then glanced at him with a smirk. "You seem to have a knack for picking up strays everywhere you go."

"Hey," Tony chuckled, a slight grin forming on his face.

As Dr. Cho left to return to her patient, Tony leaned against the wall, his mind racing. A severely injured kid with apparent magical abilities, somehow connected to his father's past, is now paralyzed and under his care. The situation was becoming more complex by the minute.

—————————

While Peter was waiting for Tony to finish his conversation with Dr. Cho, the doors of the operating room swung open once more. Several nurses and doctors emerged, wheeling out the teen on a stretcher. Multiple tubes were hanging around the stretcher, some connected to machines, others to bags. The sight was unsettling. Peter had never witnessed anything like that so up close. The owl perched on his knee immediately shifted at the sight, attempting to land at the stretcher's end, but the nurses prevented her.

“Why is this animal here? This area needs to remain sterile. Young man, call your pet and get it out of here.” said the person Peter assumed was the head nurse, scolding him.

“I’m sorry but she isn’t my pet. She is HIS pet. And she just wanted to check on her owner, that’s all. She hasn’t caused any trouble the entire time we've been here, waiting.” Peter explained, trying to persuade her.

“Regardless, animals aren’t permitted in a sterile environment. I’m sorry, but for now, she can’t be near him.” The nurse said, feeling slightly guilty for her stern tone with the kid.

“It’s alright. Where are you taking him now?”

“To the recovery room.” The nurse replied, signaling the other nurses to resume moving.

“Can I come with you? I promise we won’t get in the way and won’t stay long. Please?”

“Alright. But SHE stays outside.”

Peter glanced at the owl, uncertain. She somehow managed to look displeased but resigned, understanding it was necessary. “Ok, she will.” Peter agreed with the nurse.

“Very well, let's go.”

"FRIDAY, once Tony is done speaking with Dr. Cho, let him know our current location," Peter requests while quickly collecting the boy’s -‘Harry’ he reminded himself - belongings with care and trailing behind the nurses.

“Will do, Peter.”

“Thanks, FRIDAY”

————————————

Harry dreams.

He dreams of the battle at the Ministry of Magic.

He dreams, of his group being nearly defeated by Lucius Malfoy and his fellow Death Eaters.

He dreams, as the Order members suddenly arrive to help them just in time, fighting fiercely to help them survive.

He dreams, of the glass sphere shattering and the prophecy lost. Malfoy couldn’t believe it. He had been so close…

He dreams of Sirius as he is hit by Bellatrix, his Death Eater cousin, then falling backward.

He dreams of Sirius disappearing through the mysterious veil, the same veil that called to him…

The same veil that feels like it holds more, much more than everyone else believes.

He dreams of broken promises, fleeting illusions, and crushed hopes.

He dreams, of himself… as he gave in to the pain, the anger, the denial. His godfather was gone, and all he could do was watch. Watch as Bellatrix took another member of his family, leaving him alone...once more.

He dreams of Remus holding him back, stopping him from chasing after Sirius to bring him back. The sorrow spilling from his lips as Remus kept telling him that Sirius was dead. Gone.

He dreams, of his parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins that he never got the chance to meet.

He dreams of the aunt, uncle, and cousin he had the misfortune to meet.

He dreams of himself, screaming in anguish.

————————————

As Peter followed the nurses into the recovery room, he couldn't help but feel a mix of curiosity and concern for the mysterious boy - Harry, he reminded himself. The room was filled with various medical equipment, beeping softly as they monitored Harry's vital signs.

Peter's enhanced senses picked up the faint smell of antiseptic and the steady rhythm of Harry's heartbeat. He watched as the nurses carefully transferred Harry from the stretcher to the hospital bed, adjusting tubes and wires with practiced efficiency.

Once they finished, Peter approached the bed cautiously, taking in Harry's appearance. The boy looked small and fragile against the stark white sheets, his face pale and bruised. A bandage was wrapped around his head, and various tubes and wires connected him to the surrounding machines.

"Hey," Peter said softly, even though he knew Harry couldn't hear him. "I don't know if you can sense this or anything, but... you're safe now. We're going to help you."

He glanced at the monitors, trying to make sense of the readings. His biology knowledge from school helped him understand some of it, but much of it remained a mystery.

"FRIDAY," Peter whispered, "can you give me an update on his condition?"

"I'm afraid I don't have access to his medical records, Peter," FRIDAY responded quietly. "But from what I can observe, his vital signs are stable, though weak. He appears to be in a medically induced coma to aid his recovery."

Peter nodded, his eyes still fixed on Harry's unconscious form. He couldn't help but wonder about the boy's story - where he came from, what had happened to him, and how he ended up appearing in the Avengers compound of all places.

As he stood there, lost in thought, Peter noticed something odd. The air around Harry seemed to shimmer slightly, like heat waves rising from hot pavement. It was barely perceptible, but Peter's enhanced senses picked it up.

Suddenly, one of the monitors began to beep more rapidly. Peter's head snapped up, alarm coursing through him.

"FRIDAY, what's happening?" he asked urgently.

"It appears his heart rate is increasing," FRIDAY responded. "I'm alerting the medical staff."

Before Peter could react further, a nurse rushed into the room, quickly assessing the situation. She checked the monitors and adjusted some of the equipment.

"Is he okay?" Peter asked anxiously.

The nurse glanced at him, her expression softening slightly at his obvious concern. "His vitals are fluctuating a bit, but that's not uncommon after major surgery. We'll keep a close eye on him."

As she spoke, the beeping gradually slowed back to its previous steady rhythm. Peter let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

After she finished making sure everything was fine, Peter moved closer to the bed.

"FRIDAY," he whispered again, "did you detect any unusual energy readings around Harry?"

There was a brief pause before FRIDAY responded. "Yes, Peter. There appears to be a low-level energy field surrounding the patient. It's unlike anything in my database."

Peter's brow furrowed. Was this related to the magic they suspected Harry possessed? He reached out hesitantly, his hand hovering just above Harry's arm. He could feel a slight tingling sensation, like static electricity but warmer somehow.

Just then, he heard footsteps approaching. Peter quickly withdrew his hand and stepped back from the bed as Tony entered the room, his face etched with concern and deep in thought.

"Hey kid," Tony said softly, coming to stand beside Peter. "How's our mystery guest doing?"

"Stable, I think," Peter replied. "But Mr. Stark, there's something weird going on. I can sense some kind of energy around him."

Tony's eyebrows rose. "Energy? What kind of energy?”

Peter hesitated, trying to find the right words. "It's hard to describe. It's like... a warm tingling sensation. Almost like static electricity, but different."

Tony's brow furrowed as he processed this information. He reached out with his hand, hovering it above Harry's still form. After a moment, his eyes widened slightly.

"I feel it too," he murmured. "FRIDAY, run a full spectrum analysis on the energy surrounding our guest."

"Analyzing now, boss," FRIDAY responded.

As they waited for the results, Tony turned to Peter. "Did anything else unusual happen while I was gone?"

Peter nodded. "His heart rate spiked for a moment. The nurse said it wasn't uncommon after surgery, but..." he trailed off, unsure how to explain the feeling of wrongness he'd experienced.

Tony placed a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Trust your instincts, kid. What else?"

Peter took a deep breath. "It felt like... like the energy around him got stronger for a second. And I could have sworn I heard... something."

"Heard what?" Tony pressed gently.

"I don't know. It was like... a whisper? Or maybe more like an echo? I couldn't make out any words, but it felt... sad. Desperate."

Tony's expression grew more serious. "FRIDAY, did you pick up any audio anomalies during the heart rate spike?"

"Negative, boss. No unusual sounds were detected in this room during that time."

Tony frowned, his mind racing. "Alright, keep monitoring for any unusual energy or audio signatures. Let me know immediately if anything changes."

"Will do, boss."

Tony turned back to Peter, his voice low. "Kid, I need you to keep this between us for now. We still don't know what we're dealing with here, and I don't want to alarm anyone unnecessarily."

Peter nodded solemnly. "Got it, Mr. Stark. But..."

Just then, FRIDAY's voice interrupted their conversation. "Boss, I've completed the energy analysis. The field surrounding the patient doesn't match any known energy signatures in my database. It's fluctuating in intensity, seemingly in sync with his heartbeat. The energy seems to be emanating from the patient himself, rather than any external source."

Tony's eyebrows shot up. "That's... interesting. Any theories on its purpose or origin?"

"Insufficient data to form a conclusive hypothesis, boss.” Tony nodded, not too happy with the lack of information. "Alright, keep monitoring it. Let me know if there are any significant changes."

Peter shifted nervously beside him.

Tony observed Peter closely. "Are you alright?" he asked, noticing the obvious change from the typically energetic young man to someone more subdued and reserved.

Peter looked up at Tony and then back to the teen in the bed. “Yeah, I’m cool. What did Dr. Cho say? Is he going to be alright? Because it looks serious. I mean, really, really serious. Just look at all those things attached to him, and all the machines… it’s crazy.” Peter paused a moment to take a deep breath.

Tony couldn't fathom how someone could speak so fast in such a short span and with just a single breath. Despite this, he adored it. It was likely one of his favorite things about the kid—how he would chatter on endlessly. Tony found it unbelievably charming.

"I mean, I've watched medical dramas and reality TV, but seeing it firsthand is just wild. Do you think he's in pain? It all seems like it would hurt a lot. How long do you think it'll take for him to recover from all of that? What's going to happen to him?"

Tony walked next to Peter and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Dr. Cho mentioned he'll be staying here for quite some time. She went over his condition and… well… it's not good."

Peter tensed up at the tone in his mentor’s voice and asked, "How not good?"

"Not good," Tony replied, hoping Peter would accept that answer. It was foolish, really. He knew Peter would want more.

Sensing Tony's reluctance, Peter pressed further. "How not good?"

With a heavy sigh, Tony elaborated. "Really not good. Helen’s pretty sure he won’t be walking anywhere, anytime soon… More like never again.” Tony said, sighing sadly.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Peter’s gaze shifted to the bed. “That's...

"It's... complicated, Pete,” Tony sighed, deciding to share with the kid what he was told. “He's stable for now, but his injuries are serious. We're going to need to take care of him for a while."

Tony's expression softened as he looked at the unconscious teen. "For now, he stays here. We'll keep him safe and help him recover. Once he wakes up... well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Peter nodded, relief evident on his face. "Good. I mean, we can't just abandon him, right? Especially after everything he's been through."

Tony squeezed Peter's shoulder. "No, we can't. And we won't." He paused, considering his next words carefully. "Dr. Cho explained the severity of his spine injury. The damage is... extensive. She believes he'll be paralyzed from the chest down."

Peter's eyes widened in shock. "Paralyzed? But... but can't we do something? What about the Cradle? Or... or maybe his magic could help?"

Tony shook his head sadly. "The Cradle isn't an option right now. We don't know how it might interact with whatever's causing his rapid healing or the other anomalies in his system. As for his magic... we don't even know how it works, let alone if it could help with something like this."

Peter's shoulders drooped. "What about…” he hesitated, “what about Mr. War Machine? He was paralyzed after the airport incident too, but you helped him, and now he can walk."

Tony shook his head. “I did my research regarding spinal cord injuries after what happened to Rhodey, but this situation is far more complex."

“As far as I know, each spinal cord injury case is unique. In Rhodey's case, his injury is lower and incomplete. His spine was swollen but not completely severed. Although he's still paralyzed, his injury allows for more sensation and movement, as well as control over more… personal physical needs. This made it possible for him to begin rehabilitation immediately and allowed me to create support braces that amplify the signals from his brain to his lower body."

“Instead, with Harry’s injury being complete and at a higher level, it's going to be much more challenging," Tony explained gently.

"The damage is more extensive, there is a total loss of function from the lower chest down. He will have to cope with issues like losing control over his abdominal muscles, which will result in difficulty maintaining balance when sitting up,” Tony continued explaining to Peter, his voice somber. "issues with temperature regulation, blood pressure control, and respiratory function. It's a whole different ballgame from Rhodey's situation."

Peter's face fell as he processed this information. "So there's really nothing we can do?"

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't say that, kid. We give him the best care possible, we support him, and we figure out what the heck is going on. And when he wakes up... we'll be there for him, doing everything we can to help him adapt and have the best quality of life possible. It'll be a long road, but we've got resources and technology that most people don't have access to. We'll figure something out."

Peter nodded, a determined look settling on his face. "Okay. Yeah, we can do that."

Just then, a soft hoot drew their attention. The snowy owl had somehow managed to find its way into the room and was now perched on the windowsill, its amber eyes fixed on Harry.

"How did she get in here?" Tony wondered aloud.

Peter shook his head, a wry smile on his face. “She’s been out for a little while. Had to sneak her in when Harry was moved here. The nurse was not happy about an animal here. Then she seemed reluctant to leave until I told her that I’d keep an eye on him while she was away. Kind of sweet really. I wonder how he managed to domesticate her.” He explained as he moved to let her into the room. The owl immediately flew in, landing on top of the I.V. pole next to the bed.

“I see. Of course, you had to do that. I guess I’ll have to get used to it then.”

“Used to what?”

“Having an animal at home. Never had anything even remotely close to a pet in my life.”

“Wow. Really? Me either. I was allergic to a lot of things before the bite. Plus my asthma didn't help things either. So, yeah, definitely get used to her. I like her a lot. It's different, most people have cats or dogs. We'll have an owl.”

Tony's eyebrows shot up at Peter's casual use of "we". The kid had already mentally adopted both Harry and his owl into their makeshift family. He felt a warmth spread through his chest at the thought, and couldn't help but smile at Peter's enthusiasm, despite the gravity of the situation. "Alright, kid. But you're in charge of owl-sitting duties. And if she makes a mess, you're cleaning it up."

Peter grinned. "Deal!"

As Tony chuckled at Peter's smile, he recalled his intention to invite Peter to spend the remainder of the summer at the compound. The situation with the Rogues, the Accords, and Rhodey's injury and recovery had been weighing heavily on him. His relationship with Pepper, which was just being mended after a break, and Peter, who had been a constant source of support through texts and occasional video calls during Tony's own recovery from his clash with Rogers in Siberia, were what kept Tony grounded. He had already discussed the idea with May, who agreed, so now he just needed to ask Peter before he needed to go back to the city.

Tony was well aware that this wasn’t the time and place for this type of conversation, but it was already Sunday afternoon and their time together was running out.

“Are you ready to go back to Queens tomorrow?” Tony asked, deciding not to overthink it.

The question caught Peter off guard. “Tomorrow, really?... Wow. I completely lost track of time; I can't believe it's Sunday already."

“Yeah, time flies when you are not thinking about it,” Tony said, not giving Peter a chance to respond before continuing. "I was wondering if you'd like to stay longer—perhaps for the rest of the summer? I already spoke with your aunt about it. She was hesitant at first, but I managed to persuade her. I even invited her to join us for a couple of weeks, but she said she could only manage a few weekdays. So, what do you say?"

Surprised by the sudden offer, Peter nodded slowly. It felt unreal. But noticing that his mentor was waiting for a spoken reply, he answered.

"Yeah... I mean, yes. Yes, I'd love to stay here for the rest of the summer. It sounds fantastic. But what about my patrols? I need to be in the city for those. Also, can I have Ned visit sometime?"

With a chuckle, Tony replied, "We can arrange for Happy to drive you back every few days or-"

"Awesome," Peter interjected, his voice a mix of whisper and squeal, cutting off Tony's suggestion.

"-something like that. And sure, go ahead and invite your friend Ned. Does he know you're Spider-Man?" Tony asked, grinning.

"Umm... Nooo," Peter responded hesitantly. "And I don't think I can tell him anytime soon. He's not exactly great at keeping secrets."

"Got it. Well, we can work something out for that too if you're sure you don't want him to know just yet." Tony said, with a soft smile.

Their light moment was interrupted by a soft whine from the bed. Both Tony and Peter's heads snapped towards Harry.

"FRIDAY, alert Dr. Cho," Tony said quickly, moving closer to the bed.

Harry's face was scrunched up in what looked like pain or distress. His breathing had become more rapid, and the monitors showed an increase in his heart rate.

"Hey, hey," Tony said softly, unsure if Harry could hear him. "You're safe. You're okay."

Peter stood on the other side of the bed, his enhanced senses picking up the subtle changes in the energy field around Harry. "Mr. Stark, the energy... it's getting stronger."

Tony nodded, feeling the increased tingling sensation in the air. "FRIDAY, what's happening?"

"I'm picking up some energy fluctuations near him, but it's not definitive, boss. His brain activity is also spiking, particularly in the areas associated with REM sleep and emotional processing."

At that moment, Dr. Cho hurried into the room, rapidly evaluating the situation. "What happened?" she inquired while examining the monitors. "He isn't supposed to be waking up yet. It’s too soon."

"He started showing signs of distress," Tony explained. "Increased heart rate, rapid breathing…”

Dr. Cho quickly checked Harry's vitals and adjusted some of the IV medications. "It seems he may be experiencing some form of nightmare or distress in his sedated state. This can happen sometimes, especially with trauma patients."

As she spoke, Harry's face contorted further, a low moan escaping his lips. Suddenly, the lights in the room began to flicker, and the medical equipment emitted a series of erratic beeps.

"What's happening?" Peter asked, his voice tight with concern.

Dr. Cho looked around, bewildered. "I'm not sure. This equipment shouldn't be malfunctioning like this."

Tony's eyes narrowed as he felt the change in the room. "It's him," he said quietly. "Whatever this energy is, it's reacting to his distress."

As if in response to Tony's words, Harry's arms clenched, as if he was trying to hug himself, while a hoarse cry of anguish tore from his throat. "Sirius!"

The lights in the room exploded in a shower of sparks, plunging them into darkness save for the glow of the emergency lights. The medical equipment went haywire, alarms blaring from every direction.

"We need to stabilize him!" Dr. Cho shouted over the chaos, her hands moving swiftly to adjust Harry's medication. “Increase the sedation!” She barked orders to the nurses.

Tony and Peter stood frozen, unsure how to help as the air in the room felt heavy and charged around them like an invisible storm. The owl let out a distressed screech, flapping its wings agitatedly.

As Dr. Cho and the nurses worked frantically to stabilize Harry, Tony felt the need to reach out to the boy. Despite the chaos around them, he stepped closer to the bed and gently placed his hand on Harry's bandaged forehead.

"Hey, kid," Tony said softly, his voice barely audible over the blaring alarms. "I don't know if you can hear me, but you're safe now. Whatever you're seeing, whatever you're going through, it's not real. You're okay."

To everyone's surprise, Harry's whimpers began to subside at Tony's touch. The air in the room seemed to calm, the chaos slowly receding.

Peter, sensing the change, moved to the end of the bed. Following Tony's lead, he gently took hold of Harry's feet. "That's it," Peter murmured. "You're safe here. We've got you."

Dr. Cho watched in amazement as Harry's vital signs began to stabilize. The alarms quieted, and the remaining functional equipment showed his heart rate and blood pressure returning to normal levels.

"I... I don't understand," Dr. Cho said, her voice filled with confusion and awe. "The sedatives hadn't even taken effect yet. How did you...?"

Tony shook his head, his eyes never leaving Harry's face. "I don't know, doc. I just... felt like I needed to reach out to him somehow."

As the chaos subsided, the room fell into an eerie silence, broken only by the soft beeping of the remaining functional equipment and Harry's now steady breathing. The emergency lights cast a dim glow over the scene, highlighting the bewildered expressions on everyone's faces.

Dr. Cho quickly regained her composure and began assessing the damage. "We need to move him to another room immediately. This equipment is compromised, and we need to ensure he remains stable."

Tony nodded, finally stepping back from Harry's bedside. "FRIDAY, prep the nearest available medical suite. Full lockdown protocols."

"Right away, boss," FRIDAY responded.

As the nurses began preparing Harry for transfer, Tony turned to Peter, who was still standing at the foot of the bed, looking shaken. "You okay, kid?"

Peter nodded slowly, his eyes wide. "Yeah, I just... that was intense. I've never felt anything like that before. It was like the whole room was... alive with energy."

Tony placed a hand on Peter's shoulder, squeezing gently. "I know. We're dealing with something way beyond our usual scope here."

Just then, Tony's phone buzzed. He pulled it out to see a message from Rhodey: "On my way. ETA 30 minutes. This better be good, Tones."

Tony sighed, pocketing his phone. "Rhodey's almost here. We should head back to the common area and brief him on the situation."

Peter hesitated, glancing back at Harry. “I’ll stay with him. Even though he’s unconscious, I don’t think leaving him alone is a good idea.”

Right on cue, the owl hooted in agreement.

"Alright, kid," Tony nodded, understanding Peter's concern. "Stay with him, but be careful. If anything - and I mean anything - starts to feel off, you get out of there immediately. Got it?"

Peter nodded solemnly. "Got it, Mr. Stark."

As the medical team began to move Harry to the new room, Tony turned to Dr. Cho. "Helen, Keep me updated on his condition."

Dr. Cho gave him a tired smile. "Of course, Tony. We'll do everything we can for him."

With a final glance at Harry's unconscious form, Tony left the medical bay, his mind racing with questions and theories. He made his way to the common area, where he knew Rhodey would be arriving soon.

As he waited, Tony paced the room, trying to piece together everything that had happened. A magical teenager appeared out of nowhere, severely injured and now paralyzed. Strange energy, unexplainable phenomena, and a connection to his father's past. It was all too much, too fast.

The sound of the elevator doors opening broke Tony from his thoughts. Rhodey stepped out, his braces whirring softly as he walked.

"Alright, Tones," Rhodey said, his voice a mix of concern and exasperation. "What's this big emergency that couldn't wait?"

Tony took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "Platypus, you might want to sit down for this one. It's... complicated."

—————————————-

Harry dreams still.

He dreams, of hope.

Hope of leaving the Dursleys. Forever.

Hope of having a family. One of his own. Of being loved.

He dreams of Sirius, again.

Of meeting him for the first time and accusing him of being the traitor who sold his parents to Voldemort. Of hearing his defense and the following unveiling of the true traitor.

He dreams of the idea of getting Sirius pardoned, because he wasn’t supposed to go to Azkaban in the first place. At all.

He dreams of the chance they lost.

The chance of freedom, for both of them. The chance of family.

Harry dreams… and somehow… it hurts.

Chapter Text

Re-Write CHAPTER 3

"Platypus, you might want to sit down for this one. It's... complicated." Tony said, gesturing to the nearby couch.

Rhodey raised an eyebrow but complied, lowering himself into one of the plush armchairs. "Alright, I'm sitting. Now spill."

Tony paced in front of his friend, trying to figure out where to start. "Okay, so...” He took a deep breath and began recounting the events of the past few hours. He told Rhodey about the mysterious appearance of the injured boy, the strange objects that came with him, and the inexplicable energy that seemed to surround him. He explained about the boy's severe injuries, the paralysis, and the bizarre incident in the medical bay.

As Tony spoke, Rhodey's expression shifted from skepticism to concern to outright disbelief. When Tony finally finished, Rhodey sat in stunned silence for a moment.

"Let me get this straight," Rhodey said slowly. "A teenager appeared out of thin air, severely injured, with an owl and a bunch of fairy tale/wizard-like stuff. He's now paralyzed, emitting some kind of energy that messes with electronics?"

Tony nodded grimly. "That about sums it up, yeah."

Rhodey leaned back, rubbing his temples. "Tony, this is... I don't even know what this is. Are you sure this isn't some elaborate prank?"

"I wish it were, Honeybear," Tony sighed. "But I've seen it with my own eyes" Tony paused, taking another deep breath. "Rhodey, I think... I think we're dealing with magic here. Real, honest-to-god magic."

Rhodey leaned back in his chair, his expression a mix of disbelief and concern. "Tony, are you sure you're okay? Did you hit your head or something?"

Tony shook his head, frustration evident in his voice. "I know how it sounds, but I'm telling you, this is real. The kid had books with him. Books about magic, a wand, an invisibility cloak - and they all work…" He shook his head. “After Loki and Wanda… tell me Platypus, is the possibility of magic really that farfetched?”

Rhodey's expression softened as he saw the genuine concern and confusion in his friend's eyes. "Okay, Tones. I believe you. But you have to admit, this is a lot to take in. What's your plan here?"

Tony ran a hand through his hair, a habit he had when thinking deeply. "For now, we keep this under wraps. The kid needs medical attention and protection. We need to figure out where he came from, why he's here, and what exactly we're dealing with."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Rhodey asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"I've got FRIDAY digging into everything we can find about the kid and this... magic stuff. And there's something else," Tony paused, his expression turning serious. "Rhodey, the kid's been abused. Badly. Dr. Cho found evidence of long-term physical trauma."

Rhodey's face darkened at this news. "Dammit, Tony… Why are you always getting involved in this kind of thing? Who’s the monster that would do that to a kid?"

Tony let out a humorless laugh. "I don't know, Honeybear. As for the monster… I intend to find out," Tony replied, his voice hard. "And when I do..."

"Easy there, Tones," Rhodey said, recognizing the dangerous glint in his friend's eye. "We need to handle this carefully. If what you're saying is true, we're dealing with something way beyond our usual scope."

Tony nodded, taking a deep breath to calm himself. "You're right. We need to look at this carefully.” He shifted to remove something from his pocket.

“There’s something else,” He said, handing the photo he had found earlier. "This was with the kid's stuff. Take a look."

Rhodey took the photo, his eyes widening as he saw the moving figures. "What the... How is this possible?"

"I don't know," Tony admitted. "But that's not the strangest part. Look at the man in the photo."

Rhodey studied the image more closely, his brow furrowing. "He looks... familiar somehow."

Tony nodded in agreement. “Right?! I just can’t figure out where I've seen him before."

Rhodey stayed quiet for a moment, studying the picture and every so often glancing at Tony.

"He resembles you a bit... but honestly..." he paused, "he resembles Howard even more."

Tony's blood froze at Rhodey's words. He snatched the photo back, studying it intently. Now that Rhodey had pointed it out, he couldn't unsee it. The man in the photo did bear a striking resemblance to his father.

"That's... that's impossible," Tony muttered, but even as he said it, he felt a seed of doubt taking root in his mind.

Rhodey leaned forward, his expression concerned. "Tony, what's going on here? Is there something you're not telling me?"

Tony sighed heavily, sinking into the chair opposite Rhodey. "A few days ago, Fury gave me some files. Classified, old school, SHIELD files. They mentioned a friend of my father's named Charlus Potter. I didn't think much of it at the time, but now..."

"Potter?" Rhodey interrupted. "Isn't that the kid's last name?"

Tony nodded grimly. "H.J. Potter. Harry James Potter, according to the files FRIDAY found."

Rhodey's eyes widened as he connected the dots. "You think this kid is related to your father's friend?"

"I don't know what to think anymore, Platypus," Tony admitted, his voice tinged with frustration and confusion. "I know that the guy in the pictures is not ‘Charlus, as the guy should be in his 70s or 80s by the time the picture was taken. But… The resemblance, the name.”

Just then, FRIDAY's voice interrupted their conversation. "Boss I've completed the analysis you requested on H.J. Potter."

Tony sat up straight, his attention fully focused. "Go ahead, FRI. What have you got?"

"Harry James Potter, born July 31, 2000, to James and Lily Potter. Parents deceased October 31, 2001. There are no records of James Charlus Potter other than his death certificate. Records for Lily Mary Potter nee Evans, cease after the age of 11, with a few mentions here and there, including the passing of her parents in a house fire. The last record available is her death certificate.

Harry James Potter was placed, by an unknown source, with his maternal aunt and uncle, Vernon and Petunia Dursley. He attended primary school in Little Whinging, Surrey until he was 10 years old. After that, the records become sparse and inconsistent."

Tony and Rhodey exchanged glances.

"James Charlus Potter?" Tony repeated, his mind racing. "FRIDAY, cross-reference that name with the SHIELD files Fury gave me."

After a brief pause, FRIDAY responded, "Boss, there is a match. The SHIELD files mention a Charlus Potter having a son named James, born sometime in 1979. However, most of the information about James Potter is heavily redacted."

Tony leaned back, rubbing his temples. "So the kid’s father shares a name with the son of my dad's mysterious friend…” he looked at Rhodey, “How much you want to bet they are the same person? And somehow, this kid ended up in our compound, injured. This is getting weirder by the minute."

Rhodey nodded slowly, processing the information. "Okay, so we've got a potential family connection here. But that still doesn't explain the magic, the injuries, or why the kid suddenly appeared here."

Tony stood up, pacing again. "No, it doesn't. But it's a start. We need to dig deeper into this. FRIDAY, what about the sparse and inconsistent records?" Tony asked, leaning forward.

"There are large gaps in his records, boss. No school attendance for most of the year, only showing up in a couple of local records during summer months. Medical records are similarly scarce after the age of 11. Before that, while he was attending primary school, there are multiple records of injuries that seemed to never get followed up by any doctor or even the authorities."

Tony's jaw clenched. "What kind of injuries?"

FRIDAY's voice seemed to hesitate. "Multiple instances of broken bones, contusions, lacerations. Often explained away as sports injuries or little accidents, but the frequency and severity were... concerning."

Rhodey's expression darkened. "That sounds like textbook abuse cover-ups."

Tony nodded grimly. "FRIDAY, what can you tell me about the Dursleys?"

"Vernon Dursley is employed as a director at Grunnings, a drill manufacturing company. Petunia Dursley is a homemaker. They have one son, Dudley, born in 1999. Financial records show they live comfortably, but there are no signs of extravagant spending or unexplained income."

"Any red flags?" Tony pressed.

"Nothing in official records, boss. However, analyzing local news and social media posts, there are occasional mentions of disturbances at their address, 4 Privet Drive. Neighbors have complained about shouting and strange noises, particularly during summer months."

Tony's frown deepened. "Any records of child services involvement? Police reports?"

"Negative, boss," FRIDAY replied. "There are no official reports of abuse or neglect associated with the Dursley household."

"That doesn't mean it didn't happen," Rhodey said quietly, voicing what they were both thinking.

Tony nodded, his jaw clenched. "No, it doesn't. And given the state the kid was in when he appeared... someone hurt him, badly. And I intend to find out who."

Just then, FRIDAY's voice interrupted again. "Boss, I've detected another energy surge in the medical bay where Mr. Potter is being treated."

Tony jumped to his feet, Rhodey following suit. "What kind of surge, FRI?"

"Similar to the earlier incident, but on a much smaller scale. It appears to be centered around Mr. Potter’s head."

Tony and Rhodey exchanged worried glances before hurrying towards the elevator. As they rushed to the medical bay, Tony's mind raced with possibilities. What could be causing these energy surges? Was the kid in danger? Was he putting others in danger?

They burst into the room to find Peter standing still by Harry's bedside, frowning in concentration.

Dr. Cho was checking the monitors, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"What's happening?" Tony demanded, striding over to the bed.

Dr. Cho glanced up, her face a blend of bewilderment and intrigue. "His brain activity is off the charts. It's like nothing I've ever seen before. It's aiding his concussion recovery, but its also countering the sedation effects.” She paused to look at her chart “Which in turn, means that he is dreaming again.”

Tony approached the bed cautiously, feeling the change in the area as he got closer to the kid. He looked down at Harry's face, noticing his eyebrows twitching with distress, then calming, and twitching once more.

"He's having a nightmare," Peter said softly, his enhanced senses picking up on subtle changes in Harry's breathing and heart rate. "Not as bad as before, but... different somehow."

Tony nodded, studying Harry's face intently. The boy's features were tense, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Suddenly, Harry's breath hitched, and a single tear escaped from the corner of his eye.

Peter moved immediately, taking one of Harry’s hands and mumbling quiet assurances. Just like before, the contact and soft words of encouragement helped to ease whatever nightmare Harry was having.

Dr. Cho gave Peter a gentle smile. "Good job, Peter."

Moving away from the bed and closer to Tony and Rhodey, she spoke quietly, "If he maintains this progress, he might wake up much sooner than we anticipated. We need to have a plan.”

She noticed the startled look on Tony. It was indeed earlier than expected. He hadn't had the chance to process everything and plan ahead. Colonel Rhodes appeared equally confused, likely because he'd only been informed of the situation less than an hour ago, she guessed.

Dr. Cho took pity on them. “Once he wakes up, we'll conduct an assessment to verify our diagnosis, and then we'll need to consider bringing back the rehab specialists who assisted with Colonel Rhodes' recovery, to begin with."

Tony nodded grimly, his mind racing with everything they needed to prepare. "You're right, Helen. We need to be ready. How soon do you think he might wake up?"

Dr. Cho shook her head slightly. "It's hard to say with certainty, especially given the unusual circumstances. But based on his current brain activity and the rate at which he's healing, I'd estimate within the next 24 to 48 hours."

Rhodey let out a low whistle. "That's fast. Are you sure it's safe for him to wake up so soon after such severe injuries?"

"Normally, no," Dr. Cho admitted. “but the situation is beyond our control. As I mentioned, his..." she hesitated, still uncertain about the boy's condition, "...abilities are counteracting the sedatives we've administered. We've even used those specifically designed for Peter and Rogers. They are lasting longer, but I can clearly observe his body developing resistance to them. Soon, the sedatives will be ineffective.”

“On the other hand, the concussion symptoms are already showing significant improvement, and a few of his other injuries are also healing slightly faster than normal."

Rhodey raised his eyebrows in astonishment. Tony ran a hand through his hair, a habit he had when he was stressed. "Okay, so we need to prepare for him waking up. Helen, what do we need?"

Dr. Cho thought for a moment. "We'll need to set up for comprehensive neurological tests to assess the extent of his spinal injury. We should also prepare for potential psychological support - waking up in a strange place, paralyzed, after such trauma... it's going to be a lot for him to process."

Tony nodded. "I'll make some calls, get the best specialists here ASAP. Anything else?"

"Yes," Dr. Cho said hesitantly. "There's something else we need to consider. Given the... unusual nature of his abilities, we should be prepared for any unexpected reactions when he wakes up. The energy surges we've seen so far have been while he's unconscious. We don't know what might happen when he's awake and potentially distressed."

Tony exchanged a glance with Rhodey. "You're right. We'll need to set up some kind of containment protocol, just in case. FRIDAY, start working on that. Also, keep digging into those SHIELD files. See if you can find any mention of a secret society or group that might be connected to this."

"On it, boss," FRIDAY replied.

Rhodey, who had been quiet for a while, finally spoke up. "Tony, what about the Accords? If this kid has powers, we might need to report it."

Tony's face darkened. "No. Absolutely not. We don't know enough about the situation yet, and I'm not about to hand over a traumatized, injured kid to Ross and his goons."

"Exactly," Dr. Cho intervened, her expression serious. "We need to consider his emotional state when he wakes up. From what you've told me about his background and the circumstances of his arrival, he's likely to be disoriented, frightened, and possibly defensive. We need to approach this carefully. The last thing this kid needs is more stress."

Tony nodded grimly. "Agreed. Any suggestions?"

Dr. Cho thought for a moment. "I think it would be best if there weren't too many people in the room when he wakes up. Perhaps just two of us. Three at most." She glanced over at Peter, who was still holding Harry's hand. "Peter seems to have a calming effect on him. It might be good to have him here."

"Right," Tony agreed. He turned to Rhodey. "Platypus, I hate to ask, but..."

Rhodey held up a hand, cutting him off. "Say no more, Tones. I'll make myself scarce when the kid wakes up. You are more familiar with him than I am, and we don't want to overwhelm him."

Tony smiled gratefully at his friend. "Thanks, Rhodey. FRIDAY, please make sure Honeybear has access to the visual and audio feed while we are with the kid. Keep him always on the loop.”

“Will do, boss,” FRIDAY replies.

"Tony," Dr. Cho said as she approached the door, "you should join us too. The boy reacted positively to you being around. I'll handle the dull professional discussions, and you and Peter can play the good cop role."

As they finalized their plans, Peter remained by Harry's bedside, keeping an eye on him as he occupied himself doing some of his summer homework, reading one of Harry’s books, helping with preparations, and sitting with Harry, talking to him softly about everything and nothing. He couldn't help but feel a connection to this mysterious boy who had appeared so suddenly in their lives. Maybe it was because they were close in age, or maybe it was the shared experience of loss and trauma that Peter sensed in him. There was just something about him that called to Peter.

The next 24 hours passed in a blur of preparation and anticipation. Tony made calls, bringing in specialists and setting up protocols. Dr. Cho monitored Harry's condition closely, still amazed by his rapid progress.

Chapter Text

Harry's eyelids fluttered open, the world a hazy blur of shapes and muted colors. His head throbbed, each pulse sending waves of discomfort through his body. Where am I? What happened? Panic rose in his chest as he tried to piece together his fragmented memories.

A gentle hoot pierced through the fog of his mind. Hedwig? Relief washed over him at the familiar sound. His vision gradually sharpened, revealing a white ceiling and the blurry outlines of figures surrounding him.

"Easy there, kid. You're safe." A man's voice, confident yet tinged with concern.

Harry blinked rapidly, willing his eyes to focus. Three faces came into view: a middle-aged man with a goatee, a teenage boy with a soft expression, and an elegant Asian woman in a lab coat.

"W-where am I? Who are you?" Harry croaked, his throat dry and voice raspy.

The woman stepped forward, her movements calm and precise. "You're in a medical facility. I'm Dr. Cho. How are you feeling? Can you tell me your name?"

Harry's brow furrowed as he tried to assess his condition. Something felt off, but he couldn't quite pinpoint what. "I... My name is Harry. And… I'm not sure. Everything's a bit fuzzy."

"That's normal, Harry" Dr. Cho assured him, nodding and checking something on a monitor beside his bed. "The medication we've given you for pain management can cause some mental fogginess."

Harry tried to sit up but found his body wouldn't respond as expected. Panic flashed across his face. His breathing quickened as he attempted again, his hands clutching at the sheets.

"Why can't I—" His words caught in his throat as realization dawned. He could feel his arms, his shoulders, his chest, but below that... nothing. Just... absence. "I can't feel my legs," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Dr. Cho moved closer, her expression compassionate but direct. "Harry, you've experienced major trauma to your spinal cord. The extent of the injury is considerable, primarily affecting the T5 vertebra. This means you currently have no motor or sensory function below your chest."

The clinical words hung in the air as Harry's mind raced, trying to process what she was saying.

"You mean I'm paralyzed," he stated flatly, surprising even himself with his composure. "Is it permanent?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

The man with the goatee stepped closer, exchanging a glance with Dr. Cho before addressing Harry directly. His eyes surprisingly gentle despite his imposing presence. "Name's Tony Stark. This is Peter," he gestured to the teenage boy who gave a small wave and a soft “Hi.”

Tony exchanged a glance with Peter before speaking. "And Yes, unfortunately. But before you spiral into worst-case scenarios, you should know you're in the best possible hands.”

"Medicine, even with the most recent advancements, has its limitations," Dr. Cho interjected. "But there are many possibilities with rehabilitation, adaptive technologies."

Harry stared at them, his mind struggling to process this information. The Dursleys, Vernon's rage, his unexpected attack—fragments of memory crashed over him like waves.

Harry's gaze drifted to the window where Hedwig was perched, her amber eyes watching him protectively. "How did you find me? How did Hedwig—" he asked, his British accent more pronounced in his confusion as his gaze darted between the three faces, a mixture of gratitude and apprehension swirling in his chest. They seemed genuinely concerned, but years of facing danger had taught him caution.

Tony and Peter exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of concern and something else—wonder, perhaps? Tony cleared his throat, leaning in slightly.

"That's actually a bit of a story, kid. You and your owl there," he gestured to Hedwig, "showed up out of nowhere, right in the middle of my lab. Nearly gave poor me a heart attack."

Peter nodded enthusiastically. "It was crazy! One second, everything's normal, and the next—poof! An injured person and a beautiful snowy owl appeared in a burst of light.”

Harry's eyes widened. Accidental magic. His magic must have reacted to his distress. And Hedwig’s own, natural magic probably enhanced the reaction. She was his familiar, after all.

Sensing his distress, Hedwig swooped down from her perch, landing gently on the bed beside him. Her familiar weight and warmth grounded him, and Harry instinctively reached out to stroke her feathers. Harry felt a lump form in his throat, overwhelmed by the owl's unwavering loyalty. "Thanks, girl," he whispered, drawing comfort from her presence.

Tony continued, his voice softer now. "After we got over the shock, I had my AI, FRIDAY, run a scan over you and called my medical team to help you."

Dr. Cho stepped in, her presence calm and composed. "When we got to you, Harry, you were in critical condition. There was severe trauma to your spine, among other injuries. We brought you into surgery almost immediately."

Harry nodded slowly, processing the information. His fingers absently stroked Hedwig's soft feathers, drawing comfort from her familiar presence as he spoke. "I... I remember my uncle. He was angry. Angrier than usual." His voice grew quiet. "He… he attacked me. In my bedroom..." Harry said, pausing as he tried to piece together the fragments of his memory.

He swallowed hard, fighting back the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "How long have I been here?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

A flash of deep anger crossed Tony's face, quickly replaced by concern. Peter's eyes were wide in shock.

"About three days," Tony replied, his expression softening. "You've been in and out of consciousness, but this is the first time you've been lucid." He paused, watching the mixed emotions clear in Harry’s face.

"Harry," Tony said gently, "You're safe now. No one's going to hurt you here."

Harry met Tony's gaze, seeing the sincerity in the man's eyes. He felt a flicker of hope, fragile but present. This person, whom he knew nothing about, and yet, he somehow knew he could trust him.

"What happens now?" Harry asked, his voice small but steady.

Dr. Cho stepped forward, her clipboard clutched to her chest. "Now, we focus on your recovery, Harry. You’ll need to stay in bed for a few weeks, depending on how long does it take for your injuries to fully heal. Then, there will be a lot of physical therapy, we'll work on building your strength, and we’ll help you adapt to your new circumstances, aiming to regain as much independence as possible. It will be a long process, but we have some of the best resources and technology available to help you."

Harry's green eyes blazed with a sudden intensity. "I've faced worse," he said, his voice low but steady. "I'll learn to manage this too."

Tony stepped closer, his usual bravado tempered by genuine concern. "Kid, you're not alone in this. We've got resources -”

Peter, who had been uncharacteristically silent until now, chimed in, his enthusiasm infectious. "And Mr. Stark's always has some really cool ideas for new tech that can help you. And I've been brainstorming some designs that might work with your... unique abilities."

Harry's eyebrows shot up at that. "What? What are you… You know about...?"

Tony smirked. "Kid, when someone shows up out of nowhere with an owl, books packed with fantastical themes, and a bunch of magical items, it's pretty obvious something's unusual. We put two and two together."

Harry's heart raced. They knew about magic. His hand instinctively moved toward where his wand would be, but found nothing. Panic flashed across his face.

"Your wand is safe," Tony said quickly, reaching into his jacket and carefully extracting the holly and phoenix feather wand. "I figured you'd want this close by."

Harry's shoulders sagged with relief as Tony placed the wand in his hand. The familiar warmth spread through his fingers, comforting in its constancy even as everything else had changed.

"The Statute of Secrecy..." Harry murmured, his voice trailing off as he glanced nervously between them, his mind racing through potential consequences. "I'm not supposed to reveal magic to Muggles —non-magical people," he clarified at their confused expressions.

"Is that a real policy?" Peter asked, eyes wide with excitement. "Because, umm, I think that ship has sailed."

Despite everything, Harry found himself smiling faintly at Peter's words. "I could get in serious trouble for this."

"Not if no one knows," Tony countered smoothly. “Kid, I've fought aliens from outer space and mythical gods. There is a kid that swings around New York in spandex. A magic wand isn't exactly going to break our worldview. And trust me, discretion is something I've gotten pretty good at over the years. This facility is secure, off the grid, and the people here are trustworthy."

Peter nodded reassuringly. "Your secret is safe with us, Harry."

Relief washed over Harry, and then he blinked, processing Tony’s words. "Aliens? Spandex?"

Peter grinned, bouncing slightly on his toes. "Mr. Stark's Iron Man! He built this amazing suit of armor that can fly and—"

"Perhaps we could save the superhero story time for later," Tony interjected gently, though his eyes twinkled with amusement. "I think Harry's had enough bombshells dropped on him for one day."

Harry nodded gratefully, feeling overwhelmed but strangely comforted by their openness. He glanced down at his wand, then back up at Tony and Peter. "So... you're not afraid of magic? You don't think I'm a freak?"

Tony's expression hardened for a moment. "Kid, whoever told you that was dead wrong. You're not a freak. You're just... uniquely gifted. Like us."

Peter nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! Maybe we can figure out how to help you with Mr. Stark's tech!"

Harry felt a spark of interest in the idea. "You really think that's possible?"

"Only one way to find out," Tony replied with a grin. "But first, we need to focus on getting you better."

Dr. Cho, who had been quietly observing, stepped forward. "Harry, I know this is a lot to process. But I want you to know that we have some of the most advanced medical technology available here. We're going to do everything we can to help you recover and adapt."

Harry nodded, feeling a mix of fear and determination. "What... what should I expect? With the paralysis, I mean."

Dr. Cho's expression was compassionate as she explained, "A T5 level injury can affect your breathing and coughing capacity, but we'll work on strengthening your respiratory muscles. You'll see issues with your balance when sitting up, regulating your body temperature, muscle atrophy, and potentially, spasticity. You’ll need to learn new ways to manage bodily functions and avoid issues such as pressure sores and Autonomic dysreflexia."

Harry listened intently, his face set in determined concentration. He glanced down at his unmoving legs, then back up at Dr. Cho. "And... walking?"

Dr. Cho paused, choosing her words cautiously, "Given the state of modern medicine and the severity of your injury, regaining the ability to walk is unlikely. However," she continued swiftly as she noticed the disappointment in Harry's eyes, "we're continually researching new treatments and therapies. It's possible that one day we might find a solution to help you walk again. Remember, though, not being able to walk doesn't mean your life is over."

She let that sink in before continuing, “First and foremost, we must conduct an assessment to evaluate the extent of your injury and determine your exact motor and sensory functions.” She paused, stepping a bit closer and making sure Harry was paying attention and understanding everything, using a hologram of his back and spine.

“When we performed the scans and then started working on your injuries during surgery, we discovered that several fragments of your fractured vertebrae were lodged in your spinal cord between the T3 and T7 levels,” she indicated the specific area, “causing significant swelling. Unfortunately, we also found that at the T5 level,” she zoomed in on the image “ your spinal cord was completely severed.”

Harry stared at the holographic image of his damaged spine, the glowing blue light illuminating his pale face. The clinical reality of his injury hovered before him, undeniable and stark.

"Completely severed," he repeated, the finality of those words hit him with unexpected force.

Dr. Cho nodded solemnly. "Yes. Unfortunately, the human body cannot naturally regenerate severed spinal cord tissue. This is why we're certain about the permanence of your condition, but we also need to figure out if there is any extra damage due to the swelling. "

"I see," he said quietly, his voice steadier than he felt. He'd faced death at Voldemort's hands, survived the Basilisk's attack, and endured years of the Dursleys' abuse. This was just another challenge to overcome. "What happens next, then?"

Dr. Cho seemed slightly taken aback by his composure. "We stabilized your spine and fused a couple of your vertebrae where the worst of the damage is located. I've already started you on anti-inflammatory medications to reduce the swelling, and…” she glanced at Tony and Peter. “we are already seeing faster than normal healing in regards to your broken bones, cuts, and bruises, so I am optimistic that we can start your rehabilitation within a couple of weeks instead of the 4 to 6 weeks that regular patients usually need.”

A heavy silence filled the room. Harry nodded as took a moment to think about everything, his fingers tightening around his wand, drawing comfort from the familiar smooth wood. The magic hummed within it, responding to his touch even as parts of his body no longer could.

"What about magic?" Peter blurted out, his eyes wide. "If medicine can't fix it, maybe magic can?"

Harry's expression flickered with uncertainty. "I... I don't know. Healing magic is complex. There are potions and spells, but I don't know if anything exists for this kind of injury." He paused, remembering something. "There is a potion that can regrow bones overnight, but nerve damage... that's different."

“Oh,” Peter said not sure if he should keep asking, given the expression on Harry’s face.

Tony stepped forward, his eyes soft with understanding. "Kid, how about we let you and Helen go through the assessment and you get some rest afterward? We can keep talking later. Besides, I have someone I want you to meet."

Harry nodded, feeling a mix of exhaustion and curiosity. "Alright," he agreed, his voice betraying his weariness.

As Tony and Peter moved towards the door, Harry called out, "Wait!" They turned back, and Harry met their eyes. "Thank you," he said softly. "For everything."

Tony's expression softened. "No need to thank us, kid. We're here for you."

Peter grinned and gave a small wave. "Yeah, what he said. See you later, Harry!"

As they left, Dr. Cho approached Harry's bedside. "Are you ready to begin the assessment?" she asked gently.

Harry took a deep breath, steeling himself. "As ready as I'll ever be," he replied, his voice steady despite the nervousness churning in his stomach.

Dr. Cho nodded, her manner professional yet kind. "We'll start with some simple tests to determine your exact level of sensation and motor function. It might be a bit uncomfortable at times, but it's crucial for us to understand the full extent of your injury. I want you to tell me if you can feel anything when I touch different areas of your body."

For the next hour, Harry endured a series of tests. Dr. Cho's touch moved methodically up his body, and Harry reported when he could feel the pressure or temperature changes and when he couldn't. The line where sensation ended was stark and definitive, a physical representation of his new reality.

Harry's frustration grew as he struggled to make his body respond to his commands. His legs remained stubbornly still, no matter how hard he concentrated. Dr. Cho's calm voice guided him through each attempt, her hands gently supporting his limbs.

"It's alright, Harry," she reassured him. "This is just to establish a baseline. Remember, your body has been through significant trauma and we're still in the early stages. It's normal to feel frustrated, but try not to push yourself too hard right now."

Harry nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. He'd faced dark wizards and magical creatures, but this invisible, immovable barrier felt more daunting than any spell or monster.

As Dr. Cho finished her assessment, she looked at Harry with a mix of professional detachment and genuine compassion. "You're doing remarkably well, Harry. Your injury is consistent with what we observed during surgery - a complete spinal cord injury at the T5 level. This means you have no motor or sensory function below the middle of your chest.” She paused, allowing Harry to process this information. “Your breathing capacity has also been affected and I am sure you notice the different levels of sensation on your upper chest. This is due to the swelling we discussed earlier. With time, as the swelling recedes, we might see improvement with that.”

Dr. Cho consulted her notes, “I would like to add that, your upper body strength is impressive, which will be a significant advantage in your rehabilitation."

Harry managed a small smile. "Years of Quidditch practice, I suppose," he murmured, then quickly added, "Er, it's a sport. On broomsticks."

Dr. Cho's eyebrows raised slightly, but she nodded without missing a beat. "Well, whatever it involves, it's given you a good foundation to work with. Now, I think it's time you got some rest. We'll discuss a more detailed treatment plan tomorrow."

As Dr. Cho left the room, Harry sank back into his pillows, the weight of his new reality settling over him like a heavy cloak. Hedwig hopped closer, nuzzling against his hand. Her warmth and presence were anchors in this storm of uncertainty.

"What am I going to do, Hedwig?" he whispered, stroking her feathers. "I can't go back to Hogwarts like this. I can't even use the bathroom on my own." His voice cracked as the enormity of his situation finally hit him.

Hedwig hooted softly, her amber eyes fixed on him with unwavering loyalty.

"I know, girl. At least I have you," he said, drawing a shaky breath. His thoughts turned to Ron and Hermione. Would they stand by him if they knew? Would Dumbledore still see value in the Boy Who Lived if he couldn't even stand?

Harry’s eyes closed as his thoughts of the future drifted away.

****

As Tony and Peter exited Harry’s room, they met up with Rhodey, who was quietly observing the feed through a hologram in the sitting room.

Tony approached him, sitting next to him on the couch, “So, what do you think?”

Rhodey closed the holographic display and turned to face Tony, his expression a mix of concern and determination. "He's a tough kid, that's for sure. Reminds me a bit of you, actually."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Should I be flattered or concerned?"

"Both, probably," Rhodey replied with a wry smile. "He's handling the news remarkably well, all things considered. But he's going to need a lot of support moving forward."

Tony nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I know. There's something about him, Rhodey. The way he just... accepted it. Like he's used to dealing with impossible situations."

"From what little we know about his background, he probably is," Rhodey replied grimly. "But accepting it and living with it are two different things. Trust me on that."

Peter, who had been fidgeting nearby, chimed in. "We'll help him, right Mr. Stark? I mean, we can't just send him back to those awful people who hurt him."

Tony nodded, his jaw set. "No way in hell is that kid going back there. We'll figure something out." He turned back to Rhodey. "Think you're up for meeting him later? Your perspective could be invaluable."

Rhodey nodded, absently rubbing his legs under his braces. "Of course. I know how overwhelming it all felt at first. If I can help make that transition easier for him, I'm all in."

"Thanks, Rhodey," Tony said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "Now, we need to start thinking about long-term plans. FRIDAY, pull up everything we have on spinal cord injury rehabilitation and tailor it to Harry’s specific injury." He glanced back at Rhodey “Do you think your old PT is up to dealing with a kid? He did a good job with you, but… you’re old and seasoned…” He teased with a smirk.

Rhodey rolled his eyes at Tony's comment. "Martinez is one of the best physical therapists available. I’m sure he is up to the challenge. I'll give him a call." His expression turned serious. "But Tony, we need to discuss the elephant in the room."

"You mean the magical, teleporting elephant?" Tony quipped, but his eyes remained serious.

"Exactly," Rhodey nodded. "This kid isn't just dealing with a spinal cord injury. He's got abilities we barely understand, and from the little bits and pieces he let on, there's some whole hidden society with its own laws. We need to tread carefully."

Peter, who had been unusually quiet, perked up. "What if his magic could help with his recovery? He mentioned that potion that regrows bones. Maybe there's something similar for nerves?"

Tony's eyes lit up with that familiar spark of inspiration. "That's not a bad thought, kid. We need to learn more about what magic can and can't do." He turned to Rhodey. "First things first, though. Let's get him stabilized medically, then figure out the magical angle."

"We should also look into his legal situation," Rhodey added. "If those relatives of his did this to him, they need to face consequences. But we need to be smart about it—especially if we're dealing with two different worlds here."

Tony nodded, his expression hardening. "FRIDAY, consolidate all the information we have on the Dursleys and Harry. Start building a case. Use the sample of blood collected during surgery to see if we can find any other relatives that can get custody, if not… “ He looked from Rhodey to Peter and back. “I have to talk to Pepper. I need to let her in. If this becomes a long-term kind of thing, she needs to know...”

***

Harry drifted in and out of a fitful sleep, his dreams a chaotic mix of flying broomsticks that suddenly plummeted to earth and shadowy figures looming over him. He jolted awake several times, momentarily panicked by his inability to move, before remembering his new reality.

He woke in the morning to the soft beeping of monitors and the gentle rustling of Hedwig's feathers. The events of the past few days came flooding back, and he took a deep breath, steeling himself for the challenges ahead.

A gentle knock at the door drew his attention. "Come in," he called, his voice stronger than he expected.

The door opened to reveal Tony, accompanied by a man Harry hadn't met before. The stranger was African-American, tall and well-built, with a kind face that bore the lines of someone who had weathered their own battles.

"Hey, kid," Tony greeted, his tone warm. "How are you feeling?"

Harry managed a small smile. "Better, I think. Less... foggy."

Tony nodded, then gestured to his companion. "Harry, I'd like you to meet my friend, Colonel James Rhodes. We call him Rhodey."

Rhodey stepped forward, offering Harry a warm smile. "It's good to meet you, Harry. Tony's told me a lot about you."

Harry gave Colonel Rhodes a swift nod. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Rhodey gave him a kind smile “Rhodey is fine, Harry.”

Tony pulled up a chair, moving it closer to the bed while Rhodey sat down in a sofa near the other side of his bed. From his viewing angle, Harry notice some sort of braces around the Colonel’s legs. He was deciding if he could ask about it, when Tony spoke up.

“Harry, first of all, I would like to apologize,” Tony started, drawing Harry’s attention fully with his words. What could he possibly be apologizing for? Harry thought. He was the one who should be apologizing, after all, he was the one who showed up out of nowhere.

Tony continued, unaware of Harry’s inner monologue. “When you appeared, you had some items with you, other than your little stick of destiny.” he teased with a smile “Peter and I took the liberty to look through them. We were trying to find a name or something that would tell us who you were.”

Tony paused for a moment, watching Harry closely. Harry, who had just realized what exactly was Tony talking about.

“And…?” Harry asked in a shaky voice.

Tony's expression softened. "And we found some interesting things, like the photo album…" His voice gentled further. "Pictures of your parents, I'm guessing?"

Harry nodded, a lump forming in his throat. "Yes. It's all I have of them."

"Everything's safe," Tony assured him quickly. "I had it all moved to a secure room here. The album is in the drawer beside you, actually. I thought you might want it close."

Harry's hand instinctively reached for the bedside drawer, although he could barely move, he felt relief wash over him knowing that it was safe. "Thank you," he whispered.

Tony nodded. ”You’re welcome, Harry.” Another small pause and Tony continued. “We looked into the… what we assume are your schoolbooks…? And we were able to find your full name. Harry James Potter. Am I correct?”

Harry blinked a couple of times, a cross of surprise and confusion. “Yes… Yes, that is my full name.”

Tony gave him a brilliant smile and another nod. “Great! Nice to properly meet you, kid.”

His words brought a smile of amusement to Harry’s face.

“Well, like I was saying, I owe you an apology, because I went ahead and looked up any information I could find about you and people related to you.” Tony paused again, rubbing a hand over his mouth and jaw and looking down, as if trying to find the best way to voice his thoughts. “Harry, when you were scanned to figure out the kind of injuries you had and later on, during surgery, Helen found signs of old injuries that seemed to have never been treated, or at least not properly. We also found mentions of barely explained injuries and accidents during your primary school.”

Tony watched Harry’s face carefully as the kid stared at him dumbfounded.

“In other words, I am apologizing for not respecting your privacy, but I hope you understand that it was necessary due to the circumstances. That being said… Harry, I… you mentioned your uncle. He was the one who attacked you. Am I correct to assume that this was not the first time?”

Harry's expression shuttered, his gaze moving towards the ceiling as his hands twisted in the soft hospital blanket. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths.

"It wasn't always... physical, mostly called me a freak, locked me away. Uncle Vernon, he…" Harry finally said, his voice barely audible. "It was usually just... neglect. Not enough food. The cupboard."

"Cupboard?" Rhodey asked, his tone carefully neutral despite the anger flickering in his eyes.

Harry swallowed hard. "My bedroom. Until I was eleven, I slept in the cupboard under the stairs." He glanced down briefly, catching the darkening expressions on both men's faces before looking away again. "It's not—it wasn't that bad. I'm used to it."

Tony's jaw clenched. "Kid, that's not something anyone should get used to."

Harry shrugged, a small, defensive gesture. "Lots of people have it worse."

"That doesn't make what happened to you okay," Rhodey said gently but firmly. "And it doesn't mean you didn't deserve better."

Harry looked up at that, something vulnerable flickering across his face before he masked it. "I survived. That's what matters."

Tony leaned forward, his expression intense. "Harry, I need you to understand something. What your relatives did—what your uncle did—was abuse. Plain and simple. And none of it was your fault."

Harry's fingers tightened around the blanket. "They're not... fond of magic," he said carefully, his British accent clipped. “It was their way to protect themselves, to feel safe… Besides, not all my injuries came from them…”

"Still doesn’t make it right." Tony prodded gently. "So, some of those old injuries Helen found—they're not from sports accidents, are they?"

Harry's jaw clenched, the memories of everything he had dealt with at Hogwarts flashing through his mind. "No," he admitted quietly. "They’re not."

Harry hesitated, weighing how much to reveal. These people already knew about his family and magic, but explaining the details of his childhood and the wizarding world's complexities seemed overwhelming.

"Some are from... Harry hunting. My cousin and his friends had a habit of going after me to entertain themselves when we were children. Most of the injuries that you mention from primary school were from that. Some others… my aunt never touched me directly, but she wasn’t shy about hitting me with items she had handy if I made her mad enough. It only happened a few times…” He paused to take a deep breath while Tony and Rhodey exchanged another glance, patiently waiting for Harry to continue.

“The other injuries… the most recent, are from… adventures at my school," he finally said, choosing his words carefully. "Hogwarts isn't exactly the safest place sometimes."

Tony and Rhodey exchanged concerned glances.

"Adventures?" Rhodey prompted gently. "What kind of school are we talking about here?"

Harry sighed, absently stroking Hedwig who had shuffled closer on the bed. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It's where young witches and wizards learn to control their magic." A faint smile touched his lips. "The safest place in Britain. Most of the time… Still, it's the first place that ever felt like home."

"And these 'adventures' at your magical school left you with broken bones?" Tony asked, his tone carefully neutral despite the concern evident in his eyes.

"It's complicated," Harry said, suddenly feeling exhausted. "There was a basilisk in my second year—that's a giant snake that can kill you with a look. A troll and a three-headed dog guarding a magical stone in my first. Third year, there were dementors—creatures that feed on happiness and can suck out your soul. Fourth year there was… a lot." He shrugged as if this were perfectly normal. "Things happen."

The silence that followed was profound. Tony opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

"You… You fought a giant killer snake when you were what—twelve?" Tony finally managed, his voice rising in disbelief.

"Well, technically I was almost thirteen," Harry replied matter-of-factly. "And I had help. Fawkes—that's Dumbledore's phoenix—he blinded the basilisk so it couldn't kill me with its gaze. And he brought me the Sorting Hat, which had Gryffindor's sword inside it. I killed the basilisk with it after it bit me."

"It bit you?" Rhodey echoed, leaning forward in his seat. "How are you still alive?"

"Phoenix tears," Harry replied matter-of-factly. "They have healing properties."

"Of course," Tony said faintly, running a hand over his face. "A phoenix and a magical hat with a sword. Why not?"

Rhodey leaned forward, his expression serious but gentle. "Harry, I'm trying to understand here. You're telling us that your school—a place meant to educate and protect children—regularly puts you in life-threatening situations? What about your guardians? Were there no other adults in your life who noticed what was happening with your relatives and in the school?"

Harry's expression darkened. "Mrs. Figg -she is a neighbor, knew something wasn't right, I think, but she couldn't do much. My primary school teachers asked questions sometimes, but the Dursleys were good at making excuses." He paused, his fingers absently tracing patterns on the blanket. "And at Hogwarts...”

Harry hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "At Hogwarts, there are adults who care, but it's complicated. Professor McGonagall, she's strict but fair. And Hagrid—he's always been there for me. But Dumbledore..."

He trailed off, conflicting emotions playing across his face.

"Dumbledore?" Tony prompted gently.

"He's the headmaster. The greatest wizard of our age, they say." Harry's voice held a mixture of reverence and something more complex. "He's always looking at the bigger picture, I suppose. Sometimes that means individual concerns get… overlooked."

Rhodey leaned forward slightly. "Harry, I'm going to be direct with you. From what you've described, both your relatives and this school have failed in their duty to protect you. No child should face the dangers you've mentioned, especially not alone."

Harry's jaw tightened. "I wasn't alone. I have friends—Ron and Hermione. They've been with me through everything."

"Other kids," Tony noted quietly. "Not responsible adults. No child should have to face the things you've faced—not from relatives, not from other kids, and certainly not from their school."

Harry's eyes flashed. "But I'm not just any child though, am I? I'm Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived." His voice became bitter. "The one who survived when his parents didn't."

The silence that followed was heavy. Tony leaned forward, his expression serious.

"Harry, I don't know what that means in your world. But in mine—in ours—" he gestured to include Rhodey, "—you're a kid who deserves safety and care. No matter what titles people have given you."

Harry's throat tightened. No adult had ever spoken to him quite like that before. Not even Sirius.

Rhodey cleared his throat, sensing it was time to change the subject. "Harry, there's something else I wanted to talk to you about." He shifted slightly in his seat, and Harry noticed again the mechanical braces on his legs. "Tony asked me to come meet you mostly because I've got some experience with spinal cord injuries myself. Not quite the same as yours, but..." He shrugged, his expression empathetic.

Harry’s expression was full of curiosity now.

Rhodes positioned himself beside Harry's bed, his eyes meeting the young wizard's with understanding as he towered over Harry. "Tony, why don't you give us a moment?" he suggested, his tone gentle but firm.

“See you later kiddo.” Tony said, nodding and clapping a hand on Rhodes' shoulder before leaving the room. As the door closed, Rhodes leaned in, his voice low and empathetic.

Rhodes settled into the chair Tony had vacated, the subtle mechanical whir of his leg braces audible in the quiet room. "I figured you might have questions," he said, gesturing to his legs. "About living with this kind of injury."

Harry's gaze flickered to the braces, then back to Rhodes' face. "What happened?" he asked softly.

Rhodes' expression remained calm, though his eyes held shadows of old pain. "About five months ago," Rhodey began, sitting back down and looking Harry in the eye, "I was involved in a... conflict. Got knocked out of the sky while wearing one of Tony's suits. Fell from pretty high up." He gestured to his legs. "My injury was incomplete, but affected my L3 and L4 vertebrae. Not as high as yours, but enough to change everything."

Harry absorbed this information, his green eyes thoughtful. "But you can walk now? With the braces?"

"These aren't just any braces," Rhodes explained, tapping the sleek metal. "Tony designed them. They interface with my nervous system, amplifying the signals that still get through and supplementing where needed. I can walk, but it's not the same as before. It takes concentration, and energy. Some days are better than others and half of the time I am still using the wheelchair."

Harry nodded slowly, hope and realism warring in his expression. "Could something like that work for me?"

Rhodes' gaze was gentle but honest. "I would like to say yes, but I also don't want to give you false hope. Your injury is different, Harry. More severe, higher up on the spine. But," he added, seeing the disappointment flash across Harry's face, "if there's anyone who could figure out a solution, it's Tony. And with your magic in the mix? Who knows what might be possible."

Harry nodded, his expression pensive. "I appreciate the honesty. What's it like?" he asked finally. "Living with it, I mean."

Rhodes settled back in his chair, considering the question. "Honest answer? It's hard. There are days when I'm angry, and frustrated that simple things now take so much effort. Days when I miss how things used to be." He paused, meeting Harry's eyes directly. "But there are also days when I realize how much I've adapted, how much I can still do. Different ways, maybe, but still effective."

"How do you... handle it?" Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"One day at a time," Rhodes replied simply. "I focus on what I can control, not what I can't. I won't lie to you, Harry. There will be moments when you feel like giving up. Days when you hate your body for betraying you. But there will also be victories—when and how you least expected. I’m still working on this. I've had to learn patience with myself, which—" he chuckled, "—was never my strong suit. And I've had to accept help, which was even harder."

Harry's fingers twisted in the blanket. "I'm not very good at that either."

"I noticed," Rhodes said with a wry smile. "Tony mentioned that. Said you reminded him of himself—stubborn to a fault."

"Is that a compliment?" Harry asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Another thing we have in common," Rhodes replied, his expression warm. "It's both a strength and a weakness. Stubbornness kept me going when doctors said I might never stand again. But it also made me push too hard sometimes, set myself back."

Harry nodded, absorbing this. "What was the hardest part? At the beginning?"

Rhodes considered this, his expression thoughtful. "The loss of independence," he said finally. "Having to rely on others for basic needs. And the uncertainty—not knowing exactly what my new normal would look like." He paused, studying Harry's face. "But you know what helped the most?"

"What?"

"Having people around who saw me, not just my injury. Tony never treated me like I was broken. He pushed me, challenged me, made terrible jokes—just like always." Rhodes smiled at the memory. "He gave me space to be frustrated, but never let me wallow in it for too long."

Harry's eyes drifted to the window where Hedwig perched, watching them with her amber gaze. "I don't know if I'll have that," he said quietly. "My friends—they're back in Britain. And even if I could contact them, I don't know how they'd react."

"If they're real friends," Rhodes said gently, "they'll stand by you. It might be awkward at first—people don't always know what to do or how to react when someone close to them faces injuries like ours. They’ll need time as well. And you can always make more friends. A new friend can give you a better perspective on things. Maybe start with Peter. I know he will be back from the city soon.”

Harry nodded, accepting Rhodes's words. As they continued talking, Harry felt a small spark of hope ignite in his chest. For the first time since waking up, he allowed himself to imagine a future beyond the confines of his current limitations.

Outside the room, Tony paced, his mind racing with possibilities and contingencies. When Rhodes finally emerged, Tony's expression was a mix of concern and determination.

"How is he?" Tony asked, his usual bravado momentarily set aside.

Rhodes's expression was thoughtful as he closed Harry's door behind him. "He's processing. Handling it better than most adults would, if I'm being honest. He's tough, Tones. Scared, but tough. Your instincts were right – this kid's something special."

Tony nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Kid's been through more than we initially thought. A giant snake? At twelve? And those relatives..." His voice hardened. "They're not getting anywhere near him again."

"Agreed," Rhodey said firmly. "But Tony, we need to think about what happens next. Legal guardianship, his education, rehabilitation—not to mention the whole 'secret magical society' angle."

Tony's eyes gleamed with determination. "I'm already on it. FRIDAY's running background checks on everyone involved in the kid's life. As for the rest..." he glanced back at Harry's door. "I've got some ideas."

"Of course you do," Rhodes replied with a knowing smile. "Just remember, this isn't something you can fix with technology alone. The kid needs stability, support, patience, understanding, and a whole lot of creativity," Rhodes advised. "He's going to have good days and bad days. Our job is to be there for both, without pushing too hard."

"He'll have it," Tony promised, his voice unusually solemn. "Whatever it takes."

*****

The afternoon sun cast long golden fingers through the windows of Harry's room, creating patterns of light across the pristine floor. Harry had been dozing, lulled by the steady beep of the monitors and the comforting presence of Hedwig, who had made herself comfortable at the head of his bed. When a soft knock at the door roused him, he blinked away the drowsiness, calling out a slightly hoarse, "Come in."

The door opened hesitantly, revealing the teenage boy Harry vaguely remembered from earlier—Peter, was it? The boy stood awkwardly in the doorway, clutching what appeared to be a backpack to his chest, his brown eyes wide and earnest. He was dressed in a faded science pun t-shirt that read "I make terrible chemistry jokes, but only periodically" and jeans that looked slightly too big for his lanky frame.

"Um, hi," Peter said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "You're awake. That's good. I mean, obviously, it's good that you're awake, because sleeping all the time wouldn't be... not that there's anything wrong with sleeping, especially when you're healing, but..." He took a deep breath, visibly collecting himself. "Sorry. I'm rambling. I do that when I'm nervous. Or excited. Or breathing, really."

Despite everything, Harry found himself smiling faintly at the boy's nervous energy. There was something endearing about his awkwardness.

"I, um, brought you something." From behind his backpack, Peter produced a paper bag that emanated the rich aroma of chocolate. He approached the bed, his movements betraying a nervous energy that seemed integral to his personality.

Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Hi," he replied, suddenly aware of how little he remembered from their previous brief introduction while he was still groggy from medication. "Peter, right?"

Peter nodded eagerly, his face lighting up. "Yeah! And you're Harry. I mean, I know that already, but it's good to properly meet you when you're, you know, fully conscious."

Peter held out the paper bag. "I brought you some real food," He said, placing the paper bag on the bedside table. "Hospital food is always terrible, even in fancy places like this. And I figured you might be tired of Jell-O and broth." He opened the bag to reveal several items: a thermos, a container of what looked like pasta, and a smaller box. "Hot chocolate—my aunt's recipe, which is basically just adding cinnamon and a tiny bit of chili powder. And some pasta from this little Italian place in Queens. Oh, and brownies!" He produced the smaller box with a flourish.

Harry stared at the spread, momentarily overwhelmed by the unexpected kindness. "That's... thank you," he managed, his throat suddenly tight. After years of receiving so little at the Dursleys, spontaneous generosity still caught him off guard.

"It's no big deal," Peter shrugged, though his pleased smile suggested otherwise. He glanced around, spotting a table that could be wheeled over the bed. "Do you want some now? I could set it up for you."

"That would be great, thanks," Harry admitted. He was suddenly aware of how hungry he was—the emotional and physical toll of the day had left him ravenous.

Peter busied himself arranging the food, chattering all the while. "So, Mr. Stark told me a bit more about you. You're from England, right? I've never been, but I'd love to visit someday. Is this ok?” He asked, looking at Harry with an expectant look. “Do you need he…” Peter stopped himself remembering some of the instructions Dr. Cho gave Tony earlier “No, wait. FRIDAY, is Harry allowed to sit up yet? or how far up can we raise the bed so he can eat comfortably?”

Harry and Peter shared a glance as FRIDAY replied in her pleasant, crisp voice, "Dr. Cho has approved raising the bed to a 45-degree angle for meals and short periods. I can adjust it now if you'd like."

"Yes, please," Harry responded, still finding it strange to address the disembodied voice. The bed hummed softly as it elevated, bringing Harry to a more upright position. The shift in perspective made him momentarily dizzy, and he closed his eyes briefly until the sensation passed.

"You okay?" Peter asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

Harry nodded, opening his eyes. "Yeah, just got a bit lightheaded. Dr. Cho mentioned that might happen." The sensation of sitting upright, even if just partially, was strange—he could feel the movement of his upper body but nothing below his chest. It was like existing in two separate worlds simultaneously.

Peter nodded understandingly, continuing to arrange the food on the table. "Yeah, blood pressure changes and all that. My aunt had surgery once, and she said sitting up felt like riding a roller coaster at first."

As Peter wheeled the table over Harry's lap, Harry became acutely aware of a new problem—how exactly was he supposed to eat? His arms felt weak, and the coordination required for handling utensils suddenly seemed daunting.

Peter, noticing Harry's hesitation, paused. "Do you want me to—"

"I can do it," Harry said quickly, perhaps too sharply. The last thing he wanted was to be fed like an infant. He reached for the fork, determined to manage on his own.

His first attempt was clumsy, his fingers fumbling with the fork as he tried to spear a piece of pasta. The utensil slipped from his grasp, clattering against the plate.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, frustration coloring his cheeks with heat.

"No worries," Peter said easily, retrieving the fork and cleaning it with a napkin. He handed it back without comment, his expression matter-of-fact rather than pitying. "The meds can make your hands shaky. Plus, hospital beds aren't exactly designed for comfortable dining."

Harry appreciated Peter's casual approach, the way he didn't make a big deal out of the mishap. Taking a deep breath, he tried again, concentrating on the simple motion. This time, he managed to secure a bite of pasta and guide it to his mouth. The rich flavor of garlic, tomato, and herbs burst across his tongue, and he couldn't suppress a small sound of pleasure.

"Good, right?" Peter grinned, settling into the chair beside the bed. "I told Mr. Stark that Gino's has the best pasta in Queens, but he's all about these fancy restaurants in Manhattan."

Harry nodded, focusing on the task of eating without embarrassing himself further. Each bite became slightly easier as he regained some coordination, though the effort was more tiring than he would have expected.

While Harry ate, Peter kept up a friendly conversation, sharing tales of his school, his friends, and life in Queens. He spoke about his aunt and his internship with Tony. When Harry finished eating, Peter paused. The bed gently lowered on its own, and Harry let out a relieved sigh. Peter noticed the subtle signs of pain and discomfort on Harry's face, although it was evident that Harry was making an effort to appear strong.

"So, um, how are you feeling? I mean, that's probably a stupid question, but..." Peter asked softly, moving the table and sitting closer to the bed,

"It's not stupid," Harry assured him. "I'm... managing. Everything feels very surreal, to be honest. One moment I'm at my relatives' house, the next I'm waking up in a strange place and being told I'll never walk again." He gave a small, humorless laugh. "Just another year in the life of Harry Potter, I suppose."

Peter's expression was sympathetic but not pitying. "Yeah, that's... a lot to process. When I got my powers, it took me weeks to adjust, and that was a good change. I can't imagine what you're going through."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Your… powers? What do you mean?"

Peter's eyes widened slightly, and he glanced around as if checking for eavesdroppers. "Oh, right… I guess... This is supposed to be a secret, ok? I'm, uh..." He lowered his voice dramatically. "I'm Spider-Man."

Harry nodded then stared at him blankly.

"You know, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man? I swing around Queens, stop bike thieves, help old ladies cross the street..." Peter trailed off, noting Harry's continued confusion. "Right, you're not from around here. Plus, you've been unconscious for days. And you have your own whole magical world thing going on."

"You have powers?" Harry asked, curiosity momentarily overriding his discomfort. "Like magic?"

"Not magic exactly," Peter explained, suddenly animated. "More like... enhanced abilities from a genetic mutation. I got bit by a radioactive spider on a field trip, and it changed my DNA. Now I can climb walls, sense danger before it happens, and I'm super strong." He hesitated, then added with a sheepish grin, "I also made these web-shooters that let me swing between buildings."

Harry's eyes widened. "That sounds... brilliant."

"It's pretty cool," Peter admitted, then his expression grew more serious. "But it comes with responsibility, you know? Having these abilities means I have to use them to help people. That's what my Uncle Ben taught me before he..." His voice faltered slightly. "Before he died."

Harry's expression softened with understanding. "I'm sorry about your uncle." He said, thinking of Sirius.

Peter nodded, accepting the sympathy. "Thanks. It was a couple of years ago now. My Aunt May is amazing, though. She's been raising me mostly on her own since then. Mr. Stark—Tony—he, came in one day and after some time he sort of took me in, expanded my family.”

"What about your parents?" Harry asked quietly.

"They died when I was little," Peter said, his voice matter-of-fact but tinged with old pain. "Plane crash. I don't remember them much."

Harry's eyes met Peter's, recognition flashing between them—the silent understanding that can only exist between those who've experienced similar loss. "Mine were murdered when I was a baby," he offered quietly. "I don't remember them either. Just... flashes sometimes.” He paused, feeling like he could tell Peter about his godfather. “A few weeks back, I lost my godfather as well. He… he died fighting by my side.”

Harry looked at Peter, really looking at him, seeing the astonishment and understanding behind the boy's gentle smile. "How do you do it?" he asked. "Move forward, after everything?"

Peter's expression grew thoughtful, his eyes reflecting a wisdom beyond his years. "Honestly? Some days I don't know if I am moving forward. It's more like... sideways? Different, but still going." His fingers fidgeted with the edge of Harry's blanket. "After Uncle Ben died, I kept thinking about all the things I could have done differently, all the ways I could have saved him. The guilt nearly broke me."

"Guilt?" Harry prompted, recognizing the emotion all too well. "That's how I feel about Sirius—my godfather. If I hadn't been so reckless, so sure I knew what was happening..."

"Yeah," Peter said softly, his eyes distant. "I could have stopped the man who killed him. I had my powers already, but I... I chose not to act. I told myself it wasn't my problem." His voice grew quieter. "And then it became my problem in the worst possible way."

Harry swallowed hard, Sirius's face flashing in his mind. "I understand that," he said. "My godfather died because I rushed into a situation I shouldn't have. I led him straight into danger."

Peter met Harry's gaze, and for a moment, they simply existed in shared understanding—two young men carrying burdens far heavier than their years should allow.

"So how do I move forward?" Peter finally continued. "I guess I try to honor him. Uncle Ben always said that with great power comes great responsibility. I try to live by that. Not just with the Spider-Man stuff, but in everything." He gave a small, sad smile. "The 'what-ifs' are the worst. They can eat you alive if you let them." He looked up, meeting Harry's gaze again. "My Aunt May told me something that helped. She said Ben wouldn't want me to live in the past—he'd want me to build a future. One where I used what he taught me to become someone he'd be proud of."

Harry absorbed this, thinking of Sirius's reckless courage, his fierce loyalty. "That sounds like good advice."

"It is," Peter agreed. "Doesn't make it easy, though." He shifted in his seat, his expression brightening slightly. "But having people around helps. Mr. Stark, Ned—he's my best friend—and May. They remind me there's still good stuff ahead, you know?"

Harry thought of Ron and Hermione, wondering if they were worried about him, if Dumbledore was searching for him. The realization that he was worlds away from everyone he knew settled heavily on his chest.

"What about you?" Peter asked gently. "Who's your support system back home?"

"My friends Ron and Hermione," Harry replied, a faint smile touching his lips as he thought of them. "They've been with me through everything—dragons, dark wizards, deadly tournaments. Ron's family has been the closest thing to a real family I've ever had." His expression clouded. "And there's my godfather's friend, Remus. He was friends with my dad too."

"Dragons?" Peter's eyes widened comically. "That's—wow. Actual dragons? With fire and scales and everything?"

Harry laughed despite himself, the sound rusty but genuine. "Yeah, actual dragons. I had to get past one during this tournament last year. Hungarian Horntail—nasty piece of work."

"That's insane," Peter breathed, looking genuinely awestruck. "And you... what, fought it?"

"Flew past it, actually," Harry clarified, remembering the exhilarating, terrifying flight. "On my broomstick…" His smile faded as the realization struck him—another thing he might never do again. The joy of flying, the freedom it represented, suddenly seemed impossibly distant.

Peter, noticing the change in Harry, as if reading his mind, placed his hand over Harry’s. "Let's just take it one day at a time. Who knows, maybe one day you’ll be able to ride it again. It helps to have people who believe in you, even when you don't believe in yourself. You can count me in on that."

As Harry absorbed Peter's words, he felt something shift inside him. These people—Tony with his fierce protectiveness, Rhodes with his experience, Peter with his open empathy—weren't just offering platitudes. They genuinely wanted to help.

Harry felt a wave of gratitude toward Peter. There was something refreshingly genuine about the other boy. Despite their vastly different backgrounds, Harry sensed a kindred spirit in him—someone who understood what it meant to carry responsibilities beyond their years.

"Thank you," Harry said quietly. "For the food, and... everything else."

"No problem," Peter smiled brightly "I’m happy to help, however you need me to."

Harry studied his face, searching for any hint of pity or insincerity. Finding none, he allowed himself to relax. "I... appreciate that," he said cautiously. "But why? You hardly know me."

Peter's expression softened, his usual energetic demeanor momentarily subdued. "Because someone did it for me when I needed it," he said simply. "After my uncle died, I was pretty lost." He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, a nervous habit. "Besides, I know what it's like to feel different. To have abilities that set you apart and responsibilities most people don't understand."

Harry nodded slowly, "That's one way to put it." he said, recognizing the sincerity in Peter's words.

"Plus," Peter added with a shrug, "I like you. You seem cool. Anyone who can face dragons and giant snakes has to be pretty awesome."

A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by Hedwig's soft hooting as she shuffled her feathers. The owl had been watching their interaction with her intelligent amber eyes, seemingly assessing Peter.

"Your owl is amazing," Peter said, glancing at Hedwig with admiration. "I've never seen one up close before. Does she have a name?"

"Hedwig," Harry replied, his expression softening as he looked at his faithful companion. "She was my first real birthday present.”

Peter's eyes widened. "Your first? How old were you?"

"Eleven," Harry replied, his fingers gently stroking Hedwig's feathers. "Hagrid—he's the gamekeeper at Hogwarts—took me to get my school supplies. That's when I found out I was a wizard."

"Wait," Peter said, leaning forward. "You didn't know you were a wizard until you were eleven?"

Harry shook his head. "The Dursleys—my aunt and uncle—they hate magic. Kept it from me my whole life. Told me my parents died in a car crash." His voice grew quieter. "They called me a freak whenever I did accidental magic."

Peter's expression darkened momentarily. "That's... that's really messed up, Harry."

Harry shrugged, the gesture almost defensive. "It is what it is. Hogwarts made up for it. The first place that ever felt like home."

Peter nodded, understanding written across his face. "I get that. Not the same way, obviously, but... finding your place, your people. That matters."

Hedwig hopped closer to Peter, giving him an approving hoot.

"She likes you," Harry said, surprised. "She's usually pretty wary around strangers."

Peter grinned, extending a finger to stroke Hedwig's head. "She let me pet her for a while when we were waiting for you to get out of surgery and transferred to the recovery room.”

Harry stared at him and Hedwig. If she liked him that much already…

"So," Peter said, interrupting Harry’s inner monologue, "what's it like? Magic, I mean. Can you show me something? If you're feeling up to it, of course," he added hastily.

Harry glanced at his wand on the bedside table, feeling a flutter of anxiety. He hadn't attempted any magic since waking up in this strange place. What if his injury had affected his magical abilities too? The thought sent a chill through him.

"I'm not sure I should," he hedged. "The Ministry—our government—has rules about using magic outside the school, especially around Muggles. Non-magical people," he clarified at Peter's confused expression.

"Oh," Peter's face fell slightly, but he nodded understandingly. "That makes sense. Secret society rules and all that."

Harry bit his lip, then reached for his wand. "But I suppose since I've already broken the Statute of Secrecy just by appearing here... maybe something small wouldn't hurt. The Ministry can't track me here, I don't think. They monitor magic in Britain, but I'm not even sure where we are right now."

"New York," Peter supplied helpfully. "Specifically, the Avengers compound, Upstate, New York."

"Definitely outside their jurisdiction, then," Harry murmured. His fingers closed around his wand, the familiar warmth spreading through his hand. It felt right, like greeting an old friend.

Peter's eyes lit up with excitement as Harry raised his wand.

"Lumos," he whispered, and the tip of his wand ignited with a soft, white-blue light that illuminated their faces in the dimming room.

Peter's eyes widened with wonder, his face bathed in the magical glow. "Whoa," he breathed, leaning closer to examine the light. "That's incredible! Is it some kind of energy manipulation? Or does it create actual photons? How does it know to stop at just the tip?"

Harry couldn't help but smile at Peter's enthusiasm. "Honestly? I have no idea how it works. We learn the incantations and wand movements, but the theory behind it..." He shrugged, staring to feel faint and out of breath, "Hermione would know. She reads everything she can get her hands on."

"Nox," Harry wheezed and the light winked out. He felt a small surge of relief—his magic still worked, at least, but there was also worry. He shouldn’t be this exhausted from casting a simple charm. Harry closed his eyes and leaned his head back, unsure of what to think.

Peter noticed Harry's sudden fatigue, concern flashing across his face. "Hey, you okay? You look really pale all of a sudden."

Harry nodded weakly, his breathing shallow. "Just... tired. Didn't think a simple spell would take so much out of me."

"Maybe your magic uses your body's energy," Peter suggested, instinctively reaching for the call button. "Like how my powers burn through calories super fast. I have to eat like, three times what a normal person does."

Before Harry could respond, the door opened and Dr. Cho entered, followed by Tony, her expression shifting to professional concern as she assessed Harry's condition.

"His heart rate is elevated and oxygen saturation has dropped," she noted, checking the monitors. "Harry, are you experiencing any pain or discomfort?"

"Just... hard to catch my breath," Harry admitted, his voice faint.

Dr. Cho adjusted something on one of the IVs, then placed an oxygen mask over Harry's face. "This should help. Try to take slow, deep breaths."

Peter hovered anxiously nearby. "Is he okay? Did I tire him out too much?"

"It's not your fault," Dr. Cho assured him, her tone gentle but firm. "Harry's body is still adjusting to his injury. The spinal cord doesn't just control movement and sensation—it's involved in regulating many bodily functions, including breathing capacity." She turned to Harry. "Did you exert yourself in any way?"

Harry exchanged a glance with Peter, unsure whether to admit what he'd done.

"I... used magic," Harry admitted quietly through the oxygen mask. "Just a simple light spell. It shouldn't have been draining at all."

"Magic requires energy," Tony interjected, stepping closer to the bed. His expression was thoughtful rather than accusatory. "Just like any other ability. And right now, your body is directing most of its energy toward healing."

Dr. Cho nodded in agreement. "Your injury affects the nerves that help control your diaphragm and intercostal muscles—the ones between your ribs that help you breathe. When you exert yourself, even minimally, your respiratory system can't compensate as effectively as it used to."

Harry closed his eyes briefly, frustration washing over him. Even magic—the one thing that had always made him special, that had given him freedom—was now limited by his injury.

"I didn't think," he said softly through the oxygen mask. "It was just a simple spell."

"Hey, don't beat yourself up," Tony said, his tone gentler than Harry had heard before. "This is all new territory. For all of us. We're learning the limitations together."

"And limitations can change over time," Dr. Cho added encouragingly. "With proper respiratory therapy and as your body adapts, your breathing capacity could improve significantly."

Harry nodded, though the disappointment remained heavy in his chest.

"We should monitor this," Dr. Cho said decisively. "Harry, I'd advise against using magic until we better understand how it's affecting your recovery. At least not without supervision."

Harry nodded reluctantly. The thought of not using magic felt like losing yet another part of himself, but he understood the logic.

"It's just temporary, kid," Tony assured him, correctly reading his expression. "Think of it like physical therapy for your magic. We'll start small and work our way up."

Peter, who had been hovering anxiously nearby, suddenly perked up. "Maybe we could measure it!" he suggested enthusiastically. "Like, hook you up to monitors and see exactly how much energy different spells use. Then we could develop a scale, figure out which ones are safe to try while you're healing."

Despite his discomfort, Harry felt a smile tug at his lips behind the oxygen mask. Peter's eager problem-solving reminded him so much of Hermione.

Tony's eyebrows rose, his expression shifting from concern to interest. "That's... actually not a bad idea," Tony mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "The kid's got a point. We could design a monitoring system specifically calibrated to track your vitals during magical activities."

Harry's eyes moved between them, a flutter of interest replacing some of the disappointment. "You could do that?"

"Kid, I built a suit of armor that can fly into space," Tony replied with a hint of his usual confidence. "Monitoring energy expenditure during spellcasting should be a walk in the park."

Dr. Cho nodded thoughtfully. "From a medical standpoint, having that data would be invaluable. It could help us establish safe parameters and potentially incorporate magical exercises into your rehabilitation program."

Harry took a slow, deep breath, feeling the oxygen fill his lungs. The mask was helping; his lightheadedness was receding. "Okay," he agreed. "I'd like to try that."

"Great," Tony clapped his hands together. "I'll have FRIDAY start designing the sensors. Pete, you want in on this project?"

Peter's face lit up. "Absolutely, Mr. Stark!"

"For now, though," Dr. Cho checked Harry's vitals again, nodding with satisfaction as his oxygen levels began to stabilize. "Your breathing is improving. I'd like you to keep the mask on for another hour." She made a note on her tablet. "And I think that's enough excitement for one day. You need rest."

Peter looked guilty. "Sorry, I didn't mean to tire you out."

"It's not your fault," Harry said, his voice muffled by the mask. "I wanted to show you."

"There'll be plenty of time for magical demonstrations later," Tony assured them both. "When you're stronger."

As Dr. Cho finished checking Harry's IVs, Peter reluctantly stood. "I should probably go.” He turned to Tony “Happy is going to drop me off so i can go on patrol for a few hours.”

Harry looked at Peter with a mixture of curiosity and fatigue. "Patrol?"

"Spider-Man stuff," Peter explained with a small smile. "Neighborhood watch, but with web-swinging."

"Be careful," Harry found himself saying, surprising even himself with the genuine concern in his voice.

"Always am. Well, mostly." Peter replied with a grin. He glanced at Tony, who raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Okay, sometimes. But I'm getting better!" He turned back to Harry. "I'll come back tomorrow with more contraband food if you want. Maybe some books or something?"

"I'd like that," Harry admitted, feeling the day's emotional and physical toll settling heavily upon him, but there was something about Peter's enthusiastic energy that made his current situation feel less overwhelming.

As Peter left with a cheerful wave, Dr. Cho adjusted Harry's position to make his breathing easier. Tony lingered by the bed, his expression thoughtful as he studied Harry. "He's a good kid," Tony said after a moment. "Talks too much when he's nervous, but his heart's in the right place."

"I like him," Harry said with a small smile behind the breathing mask.

"You did good today, kid," Tony said quietly. "First full day of consciousness, and you're already making friends and testing boundaries."

Harry's eyes were growing heavy, but he forced them open. "Mr. Stark... Tony," he corrected himself, remembering Tony's earlier insistence on informality. "What happens next? With me, I mean."

Tony settled into the chair Peter had vacated. "Well, short-term, you heal. Build your strength back up. We figure out how your magic works with your new physical reality." He paused, worried about Harry's fatigue. "Long-term... that's something we need to talk about. But not right now."

Harry nodded, too tired to press further. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice fading as exhaustion began to claim him.

Tony's expression softened. "Get some rest, kid. We'll be here when you wake up."

As Harry drifted off to sleep, his mind swirled with images of dragons and spider-boys, magical light and technological wonders. For the first time in years, he felt truly seen – not as The Boy Who Lived, but simply as Harry.

*****

Tony watched as Harry's breathing evened out, the young wizard slipping into sleep. His gaze shifted to Hedwig, who regarded him with intelligent amber eyes.

"He's something else, isn't he?" Tony said softly to the owl. Hedwig gave a soft hoot that Tony chose to interpret as agreement. "Don't worry, we'll take care of him."

As Tony quietly left the room, his mind was already racing with plans—monitoring systems for Harry's magic, adaptive equipment designs, legal considerations. The kid needed stability, support, and protection—all things Tony was determined to provide.

Chapter Text

Morning arrived with unwelcome clarity through the hospital-grade curtains. Harry stared at the ceiling, counting the seconds until someone would come to help him through the indignities that paralysis had made routine. His body felt like a borrowed thing now – still his to command above the chest, but below that line, nothing but deadweight and complications.

When the nurse entered, Harry closed his eyes. A week in and he still couldn't look at their faces during these moments. The clinical touch of latex gloves against his skin burned hotter than any Incendio charm he'd ever cast.

"Nearly finished, Mr. Potter," the nurse remarked as he attended to the two main consequences of Harry's paralysis: his bladder, now drained via a catheter, and his bowel, which required manual assistance. Harry bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, overwhelmed by a profound sense of helplessness and humiliation.

By the time the nurse finished, Harry's forehead gleamed with sweat, his breath coming in short, tired bursts. Although his legs were limp and numb, his body still reacted somewhat to the stretches the nurse had gone through, leaving him feeling as if he had just endured an intense Quidditch practice with Wood.

"Have a nice day, Mr. Potter. See you in the afternoon." the nurse mentioned before leaving.

Harry's body trembled as he adjusted the new glasses that Tony had gotten him when he mentioned that he could not read without his glasses. The small action added to the exhaustion, frustrating Harry.

There was a knock on the door before it was opened softly. Tony sauntered in, Peter trailing behind with an armful of DVDs.

"Morning, Merlin," Tony said, dropping into the visitor's chair. "How's the magical mystery tour today?"

Harry's lips quirked upward. "Still mysterious."

"We bring offerings," Peter announced, dumping the stack of DVDs onto the table at the foot of Harry's bed. He arranged the DVDs, each plastic case clicking against the next. "We've got options – original Star Wars trilogy, Lord of the Rings extended editions, or classic Trek."

"Complete with director's commentary from yours truly," Tony added, tapping his temple.

Peter nodded enthusiastically, "We thought you might want some distraction. There's a whole world of movies you probably haven't seen, living in wizardland and all."

"That obvious, is it?" Harry asked, grateful for their presence despite the lingering shame of his morning routine. He glanced down at his unresponsive legs and then forced his attention back to his visitors.

Tony leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Listen, kid. Dr. Cho says you're making progress. Your magical mojo is apparently doing wonders for your upper body recovery."

"Fat lot of good that does below the waist," Harry muttered, then immediately regretted the bitterness in his voice. "Sorry. I just—"

"Don't apologize," Peter interrupted, setting down the DVDs and moving closer to the bed. "You're allowed to be frustrated. Mr. Rhodes says that's normal." His hand hovered uncertainly near Harry's before retreating.

Harry caught the gesture and something warm flickered in his chest, momentarily displacing the heaviness that had settled there. "How is Colonel Rhodes?"

"He's coming by later," Tony said, his eyes tracking the interaction between the two teenagers with interest. "Wants to go over some boring, legal stuff. Got some ideas for your chair too."

Harry nodded. For the first time that morning, he felt something other than shame and fatigue. The warmth in his chest wasn't quite happiness – too many broken pieces for that – but it was the closest he'd come since waking up paralyzed.

"So… Trek?" Harry asked. "I've never seen it."

Tony clutched his chest in mock horror. "Educational emergency. Clear the afternoon, Underoos."

Peter's smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Already did, Mr. Stark."

Harry settled back against his pillows as Peter busied himself with the DVD player. Tony had complained to Harry that Peter had insisted on going ‘old school’ with the movies, his point being that there was something sacred about having the physical media instead of just streaming them. The whole thing had gone over Harry’s head, but he had enjoyed the ranting nonetheless. The familiar ritual of their visits was becoming an anchor in the churning sea of his new reality.

"Fair warning," Tony said, propping his feet on the edge of Harry's bed, "once we start Trek, there's no going back. It's a lifelong commitment."

"Like magic," Harry replied, his voice soft. "Once you know it exists, you can't unknow it."

Something passed between them then—an understanding that transcended words. Tony nodded slowly, his usual quips momentarily set aside.

Peter returned to Harry's bedside, remote in hand. "Ready for your initiation into sci-fi greatness?"

As the opening theme filled the room, Harry found himself drawn into this new world of starships and unexplored galaxies. Occasionally, Tony would pause the show to offer commentary that made Peter groan and Harry laugh. The weight on his chest lightened with each chuckle, even as most of his body remained unmoved.

Harry would occasionally ask questions that made Tony launch into elaborate explanations and Peter add enthusiastic commentary.

Halfway through the third episode, a familiar twinge of discomfort on his upper back reminded Harry of the earlier indignity coming back.

"I need—" he began, heat rising to his face.

Tony stood immediately. "Pete, go grab that protein shake Helen made. The one with the extra nutritional whatever."

Peter blinked, confused for a moment before understanding dawned. "Right! Be back in ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. Definitely not less than ten."

As Peter slipped out, Tony's demeanor shifted subtly. The casual smirk remained, but his eyes softened with understanding.

"Nurse call button or the direct Tony Stark service?" he asked, keeping his tone light.

Harry swallowed hard. "I can manage the button."

"Sure you can," Tony replied, but he was already moving to the side table where the bedpan was kept. "But humor me. I've got this dad-thing I'm working on where I help people who need it without making a big production."

Harry's throat tightened. "It's not—I thought it was done… when the nurse left."

"Kid, the human body doesn't exactly run on a schedule," Tony said, his voice gentle but firm and matter-of-factly, pulling on a pair of gloves from the dispenser on the wall. "And between you and me, Rhodey needed help for months. Still does sometimes. You think I haven't seen it all? Besides, I'm notorious for forgetting everything that isn't related to engineering or saving the world."

Harry looked away, staring at a spot on the wall while Tony, with practiced efficiency, helped Harry with the bedpan, maintaining a casual conversation about an upcoming project making it somehow bearable. Harry found himself focusing on Tony's words rather than his own helplessness.

"You know what Rhodey told me when he first started rehab?" Tony asked, working quickly.

Harry shook his head, still not meeting Tony's eyes.

"He said the hardest part wasn't learning to live without his legs. It was learning to let other people help him with the stuff nobody talks about." Tony finished the necessary tasks and disposed of the gloves. "Took him months to admit that. Took you what, a week?"

Harry finally looked at Tony, surprised to find no pity in the older man's expression – just a quiet respect.

"There," Tony said, adjusting Harry's position with practiced ease. "Crisis averted. And for the record, this isn't even in the top fifty awkward situations I've handled. Ask Pepper about Monaco sometime. Also, not a word to the spiderling about our little bonding moment. He'd get jealous."

A small laugh escaped Harry's lips despite himself. "Thanks." he said softly.

Tony waved away the gratitude. "Don't mention it. Seriously, don't. I have an image to maintain. Besides, FRIDAY monitors your vitals anyway, so we'll get better at anticipating these things."

The door cracked open and Peter's voice floated through. "Is it safe to return to the bridge, Captain?"

"Permission granted, Ensign Parker," Tony called back.

Peter entered with not only the protein shake in one hand but also a paper bag emitting the unmistakable aroma of homemade food in the other. He handed the shake to Harry, who accepted it gratefully.

"What's that?" Harry nodded toward the bag.

Peter smiled brightly and mischievously. “The best Thai food you’ll ever have. But it's for later. Let's just continue with the marathon for now, deal?” he asked as he handed Harry the shake.

"Deal," Harry agreed, taking a sip of the protein shake. The taste was better than he expected—slightly sweet with hints of vanilla and something earthy. Dr. Cho had explained that it contained specialized nutrients to support his healing, enhanced with compounds that worked particularly well with his enhanced physiology.

As Peter settled back into his chair and restarted the episode, Harry caught himself watching the other boy more than the screen. There was something about Peter's animated expressions, the way his eyes lit up during the action sequences, that was more captivating than any science fiction adventure.

When their eyes met briefly, Peter's cheeks flushed pink, and he quickly looked away, fumbling with the remote. Harry felt a flutter in his stomach that had nothing to do with his condition.

Three episodes later, Harry was engrossed on the screen. "So the transporters just... take you apart and put you back together somewhere else?" He asked, fascinated. "That's not too different from Apparition, except we stay whole during the journey."

"Wait, you can teleport?" Peter's eyes widened. "Like, actually teleport?"

"It’s called ‘Apparition’. Adult wizards can. I couldn’t, not yet. You are supposed to take lessons and then get a license to be able to do it." Harry corrected, his smile faltering. "It was on the plans for this year before..." He gestured vaguely at his legs.

A brief silence fell over the room before Tony cleared his throat. "Sounds too complicated. The first time Rhodey watched Trek with me, he kept complaining and pointing out the flaws in the system."

The mention of Rhodes was perfectly timed as the door swung open, revealing the colonel himself, maneuvering his wheelchair with practiced ease.

"Speak of the devil," Tony said, raising his coffee cup in greeting.

Rhodes rolled his eyes. "I've been called worse by better." He positioned himself beside Harry's bed, glancing at the paused TV screen. "Original series? A bold choice for the first-timer."

"It was that or subject him to Peter's Star Wars theories," Tony replied.

"They're not theories, they're well-reasoned analyses," Peter protested.

Harry watched Rhodes, studying how confidently he navigated his chair.

Rhodes glanced at Harry, noticing his attention. "Eyes up here, Potter," he said with a wry smile. "You'll get your own set of wheels soon enough. Though if you let Tony design them without supervision, you'll end up with rockets and a self-destruct button."

"That was one prototype," Tony muttered, "and the self-destruct was clearly labeled."

Harry couldn't help but laugh, a sound that surprised even himself. "I wouldn't mind rockets."

"See?" Tony gestured triumphantly. "The wizard gets it."

Rhodes laughed, a deep, genuine sound that filled the room. "That's exactly what I said before Tony blew up half the lab testing the propulsion system." He wheeled closer to Harry's bed, his practiced movements smooth and deliberate. "How're you holding up? And don't give me that 'fine' business. I invented that line."

Harry's smile faded slightly. He glanced at Peter, who was watching him with those earnest brown eyes that somehow made lying impossible.

"The mornings are the worst," Harry admitted quietly. "When I first wake up and forget for a second, try to move my legs and..." He swallowed hard. "But it's getting more... routine, I suppose."

Rhodes nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Any phantom sensations?"

"A couple of times I’ve felt like my toes are itching," Harry said. "I want to scratch them but..."

"Nothing's there to feel it," Rhodes finished. "Yeah, different injury but same song. The brain's still wired to those nerves, still sending and expecting signals." He tapped the side of his head. "Up here, you're still whole. Takes time for everything to sync up with the new reality."

Tony cleared his throat and stood. "I need coffee. Peter, help me bring more movie time snacks?" He jerked his head toward the door.

Peter looked between Harry and Rhodes, understanding dawning. "Oh! Right. Snacks. Yeah. Coming."

As they left, Rhodes shook his head fondly. "Subtlety was never Tony's strong suit."

Harry appreciated the gesture nonetheless. Something about Rhodes' presence made the weight of his condition feel less crushing. Perhaps it was seeing someone who had traversed this path already, who carried himself with such dignity.

"So," Rhodes said once they were alone, "I've got some practical stuff to cover. But first, straight talk. You're allowed to grieve, kid. Not just for your legs, but for your old life. The person you were before."

Harry's throat tightened. "I keep thinking about flying. Quidditch." His voice cracked on the word. "It was the one place I felt... free."

Rhodes nodded, his eyes reflecting a deep understanding. "For me, it was the suit. Feeling that power, that control." He leaned forward. "But here's what I learned – what I'm still learning. Freedom doesn't just come from what your body can do. It comes from here." He tapped his temple. "And here." He placed a hand over his heart.

Harry stared at his own hands, flexing his fingers. At least those still responded to his commands. "Everyone knew me as 'The Boy Who Lived.' Then as a Seeker. Now I'm just... broken."

"Nah," Rhodes said firmly. "You're adapting. There's a difference." He maneuvered his chair closer. "Look at me, Harry."

Harry raised his eyes reluctantly.

"Remember, this isn't the end of your journey. You're still young and there are plenty of opportunities ahead. Even though the world may not be very accommodating to people like us with disabilities, there are ways to navigate it, adapt to it, and work with it. You'll discover who you are now, beyond the titles and responsibilities you once had." Rhodes gestured to his chair. "When this happened, I had to understand who James Rhodes is without all those prestigious titles that used to define me. They're still a part of me, yet not entirely. I'm still figuring it out. But you know what? I'm realizing that there's more to me than I ever acknowledged."

Harry absorbed this, his green eyes intense behind his glasses. "How long did it take? To feel... I don't know, normal again?"

Rhodes laughed, though there was no mockery in it. "Normal? I'll let you know when I get there." His expression softened. "But better? That started happening in pieces. The first day I dressed myself completely on my own—that was a win. Same thing when I was able to handle my bathroom routine on my own again. The first time I made Tony laugh after the accident?—another win. You stack enough of those small victories, and one day you realize you've built something new.

The first time I made it through a full day without thinking about what I'd lost was about three months in. It wasn't a big moment – just realized at bedtime that I hadn't spent the day mourning."

Harry nodded, relief washing over him at Rhodes' honesty. No platitudes or false promises.

"You're a wizard, though," Rhodes continued. "That gives you options I never had."

"But it’s not enough to fix my spine," Harry said quietly.

"Maybe not. But it'll be part of your adaptation," Rhodes replied. "Your magic, our tech – between the two, we'll get you mobile and independent faster than you think."

The door opened again, and Peter poked his head in. "Sorry to interrupt, but Dr. Cho's here for Harry's afternoon check-up."

Rhodes nodded. "Perfect timing. We'll continue this later." He extended his hand to Harry, who took it firmly. "Remember, Potter – one day at a time. That's how this works."

As Rhodes wheeled himself toward the door, he paused beside Peter. "He's doing better than he thinks," he said, just loud enough for Harry to hear.

Dr. Cho entered with her tablet and professional smile, nodding respectfully to Rhodes as they passed. "Colonel."

"Doc," Rhodes returned. "Take good care of our wizard."

Dr. Cho entered with her tablet and professional smile, her white lab coat pristine as always. "Good afternoon, Harry. How are we feeling today?"

***

Tony's workshop thrummed with a vibrant symphony of creative energy, the air alive with the shimmer of holographic designs that floated like ethereal apparitions of technology. At the heart of the room, a three-dimensional rendering of a wheelchair hovered and rotated slowly, casting faint shadows on the floor. This was far from ordinary medical equipment; it was a masterpiece of innovation and style. Sleek lines of titanium alloy crisscrossed with sections that looked like they were crafted from the padded leather of a luxury sports car, offering both comfort and elegance. The wheels, though thin, exuded strength and concealed motors that seemed capable of outperforming even the fastest Olympic sprinters.

"What do you think about gyroscopic stabilization?" Tony inquired, his fingers moving deftly through a luminous holographic menu. "With it, the kid could navigate stairs without any help."

Peter, hunched over his workbench, glanced up from the intricate circuit board he was soldering with meticulous attention. "That would be incredible, Mr. Stark, but what about the magic? Won't it clash with the electronics?"

Tony's lips tightened into a thoughtful line. "That's exactly why you're here, Spider-Boy. With my engineering expertise and our firsthand knowledge of unstable energy fields, including that web-shooter incident last month, we'll crack this puzzle."

***

Later, Harry's hospital room was undergoing its own transformation. Gone were the sterile white walls, replaced by posters Peter had carefully selected – a mix of Avengers memorabilia and classic science fiction films. A small bookshelf held Harry's spellbooks alongside paperback novels and technical manuals. The effect was something between a teenager's bedroom and a wizard's study, hodgepodge but welcoming.

Harry was propped up against pillows and bundled in a warm and clearly oversized hoodie, looking marginally better than he had that morning. He stared at the strange hybrid of a room that was gradually becoming his own. The medical equipment remained, an unavoidable reminder of his condition, but now coexisted with these touches of normalcy – of life beyond the injury.

"What do you think?" Peter asked, hanging the last poster – a vintage Star Trek print featuring the Enterprise soaring through stars. "Too much?"

"It's brilliant," Harry said, meaning it. The room felt less like a hospital and more like... home. The thought caught him by surprise. He'd only known these people for a little over a week, yet somehow they'd become essential to him with a speed that rivaled his friendship with Ron and Hermione.

The memory of his friends sent a sharp pang through his chest. What were they doing now? Were they searching for him? Did they think him dead?

Peter must have noticed the shadow crossing his face. "Hey, you okay?"

Harry forced a smile. "Just thinking about my friends back home. They must be worried."

Peter perched on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle Harry's legs. "You miss them a lot, huh?"

"Yeah," Harry admitted. "Ron and Hermione... they've been with me through everything. Death threats, dangerous creatures, possessed teachers—"

"Possessed teachers?" Peter's eyebrows shot up. "And I thought Midtown High was rough."

Harry laughed, the sound lighter than it had been in days. "Hogwarts had its challenges."

Just then, Tony entered with a case of equipment. "Time for some basic magical-science, kids" he declared, unpacking sensors that looked like silver spiders with too many legs. "FRIDAY will be our designated magic detector today."

"Ready to monitor all anomalous energy signatures, boss," the AI's voice confirmed from overhead.

Harry reached for his wand, eleven inches of holly that felt both too light and impossibly heavy. "What should I cast?"

"Something simple," Tony suggested, adjusting a sensor near Harry's bed. "Nothing that'll set the compound on fire preferably. And we don’t want you passing out on us."

Harry's lips curved into something almost like a smile. "Ok. Lumos," he whispered, and the tip of his wand bloomed with gentle light.

The sensors around the room pulsed with activity. Invisible data streams flowed into FRIDAY's systems as they captured the magical energy signature.

"Fascinating," Tony murmured, watching readings materialize on his tablet. "It's like nothing I've ever seen before."

Peter leaned forward, eyes wide. "Yeah. It's beautiful."

As the trio continued their experiment, Harry couldn't believe what he was seeing. The sensors were picking up on energies and power levels that Harry had no idea factored in when casting spells, and FRIDAY was able to analyze and interpret the magical energy in a way that even wizards couldn't.

"Nox," Harry murmured, extinguishing the light. After the spell faded Peter breathed, "This is amazing," staring at the data screen on Tony's tablet.

Harry's chest tightened with unexpected emotion. For years at Hogwarts, magic had been something to master—a tool, a weapon, a responsibility. Now, seeing it through Peter and Tony's eyes, he rediscovered its wonder.

"The energy signatures are unlike anything in our database," Tony said, swiping through data streams with practiced precision. "It's not cosmic, not gamma, not anything we've cataloged before."

Peter leaned closer to Harry, their shoulders almost touching. "Can you feel it when you cast? Like, physically feel the magic moving through you?"

Harry nodded, suddenly aware of Peter's proximity. "It's like... warmth spreading from my core through my arm to the wand. Different spells feel different, though. Defensive magic feels sharper, takes more power."

"Can you try something else?" Peter asked, eyes bright with curiosity. "Maybe something more complex?"

Harry hesitated, considering his options. Most complex spells required more energy and concentration than he could currently muster. "Wingardium Leviosa," he decided, pointing his wand at a water glass on the bedside table.

The glass wobbled, then rose shakily into the air. Harry's hand trembled slightly with the effort, but he maintained the spell, guiding the glass in a small circle before gently setting it down.

"Holy shit," Tony breathed, watching the sensors pulse with new data. "FRIDAY, are you getting this? The energy signature completely changed its pattern."

"Affirmative, boss. The magical output appears to operate on multiple frequency bands simultaneously, with oscillating harmonic resonance, unlike any known energy source."

Harry lowered his wand, feeling the familiar drain of energy that came with spellcasting in his weakened state. "Different spells use different... channels, I suppose. Professor Flitwick tried explaining it once, but it was all theoretical."

Peter's eyes hadn't left the floating glass even after it settled back on the table. "That was—you just defied gravity. With a stick and two words." His voice held pure wonder.

"A highly specialized quantum field manipulator and a verbal trigger," Tony corrected, already making notes on his tablet. "The 'stick' is clearly channeling something inherent to the kid's biology."

Harry leaned back against his pillows, suddenly exhausted. "I could do more before... before everything. It takes more concentration now."

Tony glanced up, his keen eyes noting Harry's pallor. "That's enough Science Bros for today. FRIDAY's got plenty to analyze."

"But we were just getting started," Peter protested, though his concerned gaze betrayed his awareness of Harry's fatigue.

"It's fine," Harry insisted, though his eyelids felt increasingly heavy. "I could try one more—"

"Nope," Tony declared, switching off his tablet with a decisive tap. "Rule number one of magical research: don't drain the wizard. We've got time, kid. Pete, help me pack this up."

Peter hesitated, eyes darting between Tony and Harry before reluctantly moving to collect the sensors. "We'll continue tomorrow?"

Harry nodded, relief washing over him despite his disappointment. The simple levitation spell had drained him more than he wanted to admit. "Tomorrow," he agreed.

As Tony and Peter dismantled the makeshift laboratory, Harry sank deeper into his pillows, watching their efficient movements. There was something comforting about their presence—Tony's protective authority balanced by Peter's enthusiastic curiosity.

"You did good today, Merlin," Tony said, stowing the last sensor. "Those readings will keep me busy all night."

"Don't you dare stay up all night," Peter admonished, sounding remarkably like May. "You promised Dr. Cho you'd maintain a regular sleep schedule."

Tony rolled his eyes dramatically. "Et tu, Parker? Between you and Pepper, I'm practically under house arrest."

Their easy banter continued as they finished cleaning up, but Harry found himself drifting, the voices becoming increasingly distant as exhaustion claimed him.

He must have fallen asleep because when he opened his eyes again, the room was dimmer, evening shadows stretching across the floor. The only light came from the muted television and a small lamp in the corner. Peter sat alone in the visitor's chair, head bent over a textbook, occasionally jotting notes in the margins. He hadn't noticed Harry was awake yet, his brow furrowed in concentration as he chewed absently on the end of his pencil.

Harry watched him silently for a moment, struck by how normal the scene was—a teenager doing homework—amid the chaos that had become his life. It was oddly comforting.

"Advanced biochemistry on a Friday night?" Harry's voice was rough with sleep. "And I thought wizard homework was demanding."

Peter's head snapped up, a smile breaking across his face. "Hey! You're awake." He quickly set aside his textbook. "It's actually for this project I'm working on. I have some ideas about your chair—well, Mr. Stark's ideas mostly, but I'm trying to figure out how to shield the electronics from magical interference."

Harry shifted, wincing as muscles protested the movement. "Sorry about falling asleep earlier."

"Don't be," Peter said, moving closer to help adjust Harry's pillows. "Dr. Cho says your body is still healing. The magic helps, but it takes energy."

Their hands brushed as Peter reached across, pulling the blankets higher and Harry felt that same flutter in his stomach from earlier. Neither boy acknowledged it, but Peter's cheeks colored slightly as he stepped back.

"How long was I out?" Harry asked, glancing at the darkened windows.

"About four hours. How are you feeling?"

Harry took a mental inventory. His upper body felt leaden with fatigue, but the fog in his mind had cleared. "Better," he admitted. "Did I miss dinner?"

"Nope. May sent lasagna." Peter retrieved a container from an insulated bag. "Still warm, too. She's been stress-cooking since I told her about you."

"She knows about me?" Harry asked, suddenly tense. "About the magic?"

Peter paused, the container halfway to the bedside table.

"Not exactly," Peter admitted, setting the container down. "She knows I'm helping Mr. Stark with a special project involving a teenager who was injured. I told her you're from overseas and that you're staying at the compound for specialized treatment." He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up in unruly tufts. "I hate keeping secrets from her, but..."

"But telling her about magic would put her at risk," Harry finished, understanding all too well. "It's better this way."

Peter nodded, relieved that Harry understood. He opened the container, releasing the rich aroma of tomato sauce and herbs. "May's lasagna is legendary in Queens. Not always for the right reasons, but she's gotten really good lately."

Harry's stomach growled loudly in response, and they both laughed.

"Here," Peter said, pulling over the adjustable table and setting up the meal. "Need help, or...?"

"I can manage," Harry said, grateful that Peter had asked instead of assuming. He carefully maneuvered himself more upright, his arms shaking slightly with the effort.

Peter watched, visibly restraining himself from jumping in to assist. When Harry was settled, he handed him a fork with a small smile. "Independent when possible, help when needed, right? That's what Colonel Rhodes always says."

Harry took a bite of the lasagna, savoring the rich flavors. "This is brilliant," he said after swallowing.

"May's lasagna has healing properties, I swear. Not magical like your stuff, but close."

Harry took a bite and closed his eyes in appreciation. "This is brilliant," he said after swallowing. "Better than Hogwarts' food, and that's saying something."

"I'll tell her you said that. She'll adopt you on the spot." Peter sat back in his chair, watching Harry eat with obvious satisfaction. "She's already asking when she can meet you."

"She sounds nice," Harry said between bites. "Your aunt."

Peter nodded with a smile just as the door opened slightly, Tony peeking in.

"She is," Peter confirmed, his expression softening. "May's the best. She's been working extra shifts at the hospital to cover for me spending so much time here."

Tony stepped fully into the room, a sleek tablet tucked under his arm. "Ah, Sleeping Beauty awakens. And I see Parker's already feeding you the famous Parker lasagna. Smart move—those hospital protein shakes can taste like chalky disappointment after a while."

"Mr. Stark!" Peter jumped slightly. "I thought you were with Miss Potts."

"I was, until FRIDAY alerted me that our resident wizard had rejoined the land of the conscious." Tony dropped into the second visitor chair, spinning it backward and straddling it. "How're you feeling, kid? That little light show earlier knocked you out good."

Harry swallowed another bite of lasagna. "Better now. Sorry about passing out mid-experiment."

Tony waved dismissively. "Don't apologize for basic biology. Though I've got to say, the data we collected was..." He paused, searching for the right word. "Unprecedented. Your magic operates on principles that make quantum physics look like kindergarten finger painting."

"Is that... good?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"It's fascinating," Tony replied, his eyes lighting up with the fervor Harry had come to recognize as pure scientific excitement. "The energy signatures shift based on your intent, not just the words you use. FRIDAY's been running analyses all afternoon, and we've barely scratched the surface of it all.” Tony paused as he watched Harry eat and Peter prepare two more plates, one significantly fuller than the other.

Peter moved around the bed, offering Tony the normal-size portion. “Thanks, Pete.” Tony took the plate and a big bite, savoring the lasagna. They ate in comfortable silence.

“Harry, I wanted to ask you something,” He paused as Harry swallowed the last bite. “Pete, can you get the books Harry had with him?”

Peter looked between Tony and Harry, then he stood up and walked to the small bookshelf, carefully picking up the few textbooks Harry had appeared with. He placed them on the table before taking Harry’s empty plate.

A few moments later, they gathered around Harry's magical textbooks, spread across the table like mysterious treasures.

"So, is this your entire magical library?" Tony asked, carefully picking up 'A History of Magic.'

Harry shaked his head. "Everything else is in my trunk, at the Dursleys. And those are just the books I needed for school. There are many more books about all kinds of magic. Most are sold in London at Diagon Alley or are in the library at Hogwarts."

"Nothing closer?" Peter asked. "Like a magical strip mall or something?"

"I don't know much about American wizarding locations," Harry admitted. "There must be something, though."

Tony tapped his chin thoughtfully. "FRIDAY, make a note. We need to find the American equivalent of Hogwarts ASAP. Preferably something with a decent library."

"Noted, boss. Shall I begin researching unexplained energy signatures in major metropolitan areas?"

"Yes. Start with New York," Tony said. "If there's a wizard shopping center around, I want to know about it."

****

The next day, after a light physical therapy session, the afternoon light softly filtered through the blinds, casting a gentle glow around the room. Tony was out handling some matters related to S.I., leaving Peter and Harry alone in a comfortable silence that felt natural rather than awkward.

Peter sat in the chair beside the bed, his fingers tapping an absent rhythm on the open book over his knee, eyes drifting occasionally to Harry's face – the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the tired shadows beneath those startling green eyes.

"You don't have to stay," Harry said, voice low. "I'm sure you've got better things to do than babysit."

Peter shook his head. "Not really. Besides, I like the company."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, wincing as he tried to adjust his position. Peter was on his feet immediately, hands steady as he helped Harry sit up straighter, rearranging the pillows behind him.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, the familiar heat of embarrassment creeping up his neck.

"No problem," Peter replied, and there was something in his casual tone – the complete absence of pity – that made Harry look up. "May was sick for a whole week last year. I was her personal pillow-fluffer for weeks."

Harry's lips quirked. "Professional experience then?"

"Totally certified," Peter grinned, then his expression softened. "It will get easier, I’m sure. Not being able to do everything yourself."

Harry nodded, not entirely convinced. "I found freedom at Hogwarts – my school. But now..." He gestured vaguely at his immobile legs.

"Now you're here," Peter completed. "With us."

Something wordless passed between them, a recognition of similar wounds.

"Can I—" Harry shifted again, discomfort evident. "I need to move a bit more to the left."

Without hesitation, Peter stood again. "Here, let me help."

His hands were gentle but not hesitant as they supported Harry's shoulders, helping him reposition. The casual way he treated Harry's body – not as something broken or uncomfortable, but simply as something that needed assistance – loosened something tight in Harry's chest.

Their fingers brushed as Peter stepped back, and Harry felt a spark – not magic, something else entirely. From Peter's sudden intake of breath, he'd felt it too.

"So," Peter said, his voice slightly higher than before, "you're a wizard who's never seen Star Trek, and I'm a guy who can stick to walls. We're like the start of a really weird joke."

Harry laughed, the sound surprising him with its genuineness. "Or a really strange superhero team-up."

"The Wizard and the Wall-Crawler," Peter said, eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'd read that comic."

Their shared laughter filled the room, bridging distances neither had realized they needed to cross.

****

Tony swept into the room with the focused energy of a man who'd discovered something worth his attention. His hands moved through the air with practiced precision, and the room's lights dimmed automatically as holographic displays blossomed around them – glowing charts, flowing graphs, and three-dimensional models that pulsed with colorful energy signatures.

"Ladies and gentlemen – well, just gentlemen actually – welcome to Magic 101," Tony announced, eyes bright with the fervor of scientific breakthrough.

A shimmering blue graph rotated slowly in the center of the room, peaks, and valleys of energy captured from Harry's earlier spellcasting.

"This," Tony pointed at a particularly high spike, "is what happened when you cast that light spell. Lumos, right? Simple illumination, but the energy signature is anything but simple."

Peter leaned forward, fascination evident in every line of his body. "It doesn't match any known energy pattern in our database."

"Because it's not science, it's magic," Harry said quietly.

Tony's finger traced another pattern, this one in deep red. "And this is where it gets interesting. These readings were captured last night, during your sleep."

Harry's brow furrowed. "During my nightmares?"

"Bingo." Tony expanded the hologram. "Your magical output during REM sleep spiked almost as high as conscious spellcasting. Whatever you're dreaming about, your magic is responding."

The image shifted to a rendering of Harry's body, outlined in glowing blue with concentrations of energy at specific points – his head, his heart, his hands, and then stopping abruptly around his spine where the paralysis began.

Harry stared at the holographic image, his throat suddenly dry. The magical energy flowing through his body looked beautiful in Tony's rendering—vibrant streams of blue-white light coursing through his upper body. But the abrupt cessation at his injury site was stark and unmistakable, a visual confirmation of what he already knew. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the lump forming in his throat.

"The magic doesn't flow past the injury," he whispered.

Tony nodded, his expression a careful balance of clinical interest and compassion. "No. But your magic is adapting to your current physical state. Look here." He gestured, and the image zoomed in on Harry's spine where the cord was severed. "See these faint traces? Your magical energy is slowly making its way around it. These readings, the way the energy… your magic, changes and adapts" Tony continued, tapping the display, "could be key to understanding your healing process. Or lack thereof."

"You mean my magic might..." he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence, afraid to voice the possibility aloud.

Tony's expression turned cautious. "I don't want to promise anything we can't deliver, kiddo. I'm saying it's doing something. Whether that's healing or just reacting, we need more data."

——

Meanwhile, deep within an unassuming building disguised as a condemned warehouse in lower Manhattan, a map of the Eastern Seaboard glowed on a wall. A small, pulsing dot marked the location of the Avengers compound, surrounded by scrolling data in a script that no ordinary human could read.

A woman with steel-gray hair pulled into a severe bun studied the readings, her wand tapping thoughtfully against her palm. Her colleague, a younger wizard with a precisely trimmed beard, frowned at the data.

"Unregistered magical activity at the Avengers facility," he noted. "Again. That's the third incident this week."

"And growing stronger," the woman observed, her voice cool and measured. "Interesting that it's coming from Stark's compound."

"Should we intervene? It could be a breach of the Statute of Secrecy."

The woman's lips formed a thin line as she considered. "No. Monitor only, for now. The last thing MACUSA needs is a confrontation with the Avengers. Besides," she added, studying a particular pattern in the data, "I'm curious about what they've found."

Her colleague nodded reluctantly. "I'll assign a field agent to observe from a distance."

——

Back at the compound, unaware of the distant scrutiny, Tony closed his presentation with a flourish. "Bottom line – we're just scratching the surface of understanding what your magic can do, Harry. And more importantly, what it might be able to do for you."

Harry stared at the holographic representation of his own body, the swirl of magical energy that both was and wasn't him. "I've been using magic for years," he said softly, "but I've never seen it like this before."

"That's because you didn't have me," Tony replied with a smirk that couldn't quite hide his genuine enthusiasm. "Sometimes you need an outside perspective. Speaking of which—" he glanced at his watch, "—it's time for your next dose of pain medication and our first Star Trek episode."

The holograms faded, leaving the room in warm, natural light once more.

****

Evening, the following day settled over the compound like a blanket, the last rays of sunlight painting long shadows across Harry's room. Rhodey stood by the monitoring equipment, his military posture softened by genuine curiosity. Tony adjusted sensors on either side of Harry's bed while Peter had gone out on patrol, promising to come back with food – "brain fuel" he'd called it, meaning enough snacks to feed a small army.

"You sure you're up for this?" Rhodey asked, noting the fatigue that clung to Harry's features like a thin veil after a somewhat busy day of therapies.

Harry nodded, his wand gripped between his fingers. "I need to know what I can do."

"All sensors online," Tony confirmed, stepping back. "FRIDAY's recording every fluctuation. Whenever you're ready, Gandalf."

Harry took a deep breath, centering himself the way Professor Flitwick had taught years ago. "Aquamenti," he said, his voice clear and controlled despite his exhaustion, directing his wand toward the empty glass on the table in front of him.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then a thin stream of water trickled from the tip of his wand, filling the glass with crystal-clear liquid. The sensors around the room pulsed with activity, capturing the magical energy. The effort made Harry's hand tremble slightly, but he maintained the spell until the glass was nearly full.

"Vital signs stable," Rhodey reported, watching the monitors. "Blood pressure elevated slightly, but within normal parameters."

Harry's concentration deepened. The machines monitoring Harry's vital signs hummed steadily, their digital displays tracking the intersection of human physiology and otherworldly power. Each object responding to Harry's will carried its own signature on Tony's sensors – the glass of water shimmered with blue-green energy, while the heavier book pulsed with deeper, more concentrated force.

"The readings are beautiful," Tony said, sounding almost reverent. "It's like watching a perfectly calibrated engine running at peak performance."

"Remarkable," Rhodey murmured, watching the water materialize from seemingly nowhere. "Conservation of mass would like a word with you."

Tony was already studying the readings on his tablet. "Energy output is consistent with your previous spells, but the energy configuration is completely different from the levitation spell."

Harry lowered his wand, breathing harder than he should have been from such a simple spell. "It used to be easier," he admitted, but the success brought a smile to his face. "But it worked," he said, relief evident in his voice.

"Did you think it wouldn't?" Rhodey asked, walking closer to the bed.

Harry shrugged, his fingers tracing the grain of his wand. "Some spells require more power, depending… on how advanced they are and how powerful the wizard is. This is a sixth-year spell, I am supposed to learn it this year at school, but… i had to learn it earlier… on my fourth year…”

Harry trailed off, lost in memories of the Tri-Wizard Tournament and everything that had followed. The room fell silent for a moment, Tony and Rhodes exchanging looks over Harry's head.

"Well," Tony finally said, breaking the silence, "your magic seems to be working, even if it takes more out of you. That's consistent with physical recovery from any trauma—your body's resources are divided between healing and function."

Harry took a sip of the water he'd conjured, finding it cool and crisp. "It feels different now. Before, magic was just... there, ready whenever I needed it. Now I have to concentrate more, like it's farther away somehow."

"Your magical core is adapting to your new physical state," Tony said, still scrolling through data on his tablet. “Just be patient, kiddo.

"You did well, Harry" Rhodey said with genuine admiration.

——

Outside the facility, beyond the perimeter fence and sophisticated security systems, a figure stood motionless in the gathering darkness. Draped in robes that seemed to absorb the twilight rather than reflect it, they raised what appeared to be an antique brass telescope to one eye. The instrument, however, was no ordinary viewing device – intricate runes carved along its length glowed faintly as it penetrated the compound's defenses, focusing unerringly on the window of Harry's room.

The figure lowered the telescope, tucking it into voluminous robes. A hand emerged – pale, long-fingered, adorned with a ring bearing an unfamiliar crest. From within the shadows of a hood, eyes watched the Avengers compound with calculating intensity.

Then, with a sound like fabric tearing, the figure vanished, leaving behind only disturbed air and the lingering sense that boundaries had been crossed – between worlds, between magic and science, between safety and the unknown dangers that would inevitably follow the Boy Who Lived, even to this new sanctuary.

——

Inside, unaware of the watcher, Harry leaned back against his pillows, exhausted but satisfied.

"We'll figure this out," Tony promised, shutting down the monitoring equipment and moving closer to Harry, lowering the head of the bed and pulling the blankets high up over his shoulders. "Between your magic and our science, we'll find a way forward."

Harry nodded, his eyes already growing heavy. The last thing he saw before drifting to sleep was Peter returning, arms full of colorful snack packages, his smile bright enough to chase away the shadows – at least for now.

Chapter Text

The holographic display cast a blue glow across Tony's face as genetic sequences scrolled past his eyes, each new line of data making his throat tighter, his breath shorter. He'd run the analysis seven times now, each result more impossible than the last.

"FRIDAY, run it again," Tony commanded, his fingers drumming an uneven rhythm on the sleek console. "Cross-reference with Howard's archived DNA samples."

"Boss, I've already confirmed the match thirteen times," FRIDAY responded, her Irish lilt carrying a note of gentle exasperation. "The genetic markers align perfectly with what we'd expect from a second cousin once removed. It's all through the Potter line," she continued, as numbers and DNA sequences flashed across the holographic display in front of Tony, providing irrefutable evidence of the connection.

Tony's hand froze mid-tap. The lab suddenly felt too warm, too close, despite its carefully regulated temperature. On the transparent screen before him, a family tree materialized – a complex web of connections linking Howard Stark to Charlus Potter, and through him, to Harry.

"Show me the Charlus Potter file again," Tony muttered, more to himself than to FRIDAY. A series of aged photographs appeared, showing a sharp-featured man in impeccable suits, standing beside Howard in what appeared to be various research facilities. The timestamps spanned decades, yet Charlus barely seemed to age – a detail Tony had dismissed as poor photo quality until now.

"This can't be real," Tony said, but the words lacked conviction. The evidence streamed before him in irrefutable strings of genetic code, each sequence a puzzle piece clicking into place. His father's mysterious absences, the classified projects with no paper trail, and the gaps in Stark Industries' historical records – all led to this moment.

Tony's jaw clenched as he thought of Harry, lying in the medical wing a few floors below. The kid who quite literally fell into his life, bringing with him a world of magic and danger that should have sent Tony running. Instead, here he was, discovering that blood ties have existed all along.

"FRIDAY, encrypt all this data. Authorization level omega," Tony ordered, gathering the physical files into a neat stack. "And get me everything you can find on Howard’s experiments that mention Charlus Potter..." He trailed off, his mind already racing ahead to implications and possibilities.

"Already encrypting, Boss," FRIDAY confirmed. "Should I alert Ms. Potts?"

Tony paused, weighing the question. His fingers traced the edge of a photograph where Howard and Charlus stood shoulder to shoulder, both wearing expressions that suggested they were sharing some private joke. "No," he decided finally. "Not yet. First, we need to figure out how to tell Harry that his family tree just got a lot more complicated."

The lab fell silent except for the gentle hum of machinery. Tony stared at the family tree still hovering in the air, his eyes fixed on the line connecting him to Harry Potter. Something protective and fierce stirred in his chest – a feeling he was becoming increasingly familiar with where the kid was concerned. Blood relation or not, he'd already decided to fight for guardianship. This new information just made it official.

"Well," Tony said to the empty lab, "at least now I know why there’s something familiar about the kid."

Tony's revelation stayed tucked away in the days leading up to Harry's birthday. He watched the boy with new eyes now, searching for hints of shared mannerisms or expressions that might have gone unnoticed before. The way Harry tilted his head when considering a problem. The stubborn set of his jaw when determined. Small things that could be a coincidence — or blood.

******

Peter hung upside down from the ceiling, his tongue caught between his teeth as he pins a banner that read "Happy Birthday Harry" in careful, hand-painted letters. The common room smelled of fresh paint and the vanilla-scented candles Pepper insisted would make the space more welcoming.

"A little higher on the left," Rhodey suggested from his position near the couch, where he was arranging a modest stack of presents. His leg braces whirred softly as he shifted to get a better view. "We want it to be perfectly level when he comes in."

"Is perfectly level really necessary?" Peter asked, though he was already adjusting the banner with meticulous care. "I mean, shouldn't it look more... casual?"

Pepper looked up from where she was arranging wildflowers in a crystal vase, her smile knowing. "Trust me, Tony's going to notice if it's crooked. He's been obsessing over every detail of Harry's care since day one."

The decorations were understated but thoughtful – soft blues and greens instead of bright primary colors, and ambient lighting instead of harsh fluorescents. Everything had been chosen with careful consideration for someone still adjusting to light and movement after weeks of recovery.

There were streamers drifting lazily in the air conditioning's gentle current, creating subtle movements that added life to the room without being overwhelming. Rhodey shook his head.

"Do you think he'll like it?" Peter asked, letting go of the ceiling and landing on the polished floor in an impressive show of acrobatics. "I mean, I know we don't know what kind of parties he used to have, but..."

"We know, Harry," Rhodey interrupted gently. "And from what Tony has found about his background, I doubt he's had many birthday celebrations at all."

Peter’s eyes scanned the room nervously, taking in the tasteful decorations and the small gathering of people who'd come to mean so much to him in so little time. "It's not too much, right? I don't want to overwhelm him."

"No, everything is perfect," Pepper assured him, but Peter'd already moved on, eyeing the seating arrangements with a critical gaze.

"I think we need more pillows," he announced, spinning on his heel. "And blankets. Definitely more blankets."

Before anyone could respond, he was darting out of the room, leaving Rhodey and Pepper exchanging amused glances.

"That kid's got it bad," Rhodey observed, adjusting a gift box topped with an elaborate bow.

When Peter returned, his arms were piled so high with pillows that only his eyes peeked over the top, his path forward determined more by memory than sight. Behind him floated a hovering drone Tony had designed for the compound, loaded with what appeared to be every throw blanket in the entire facility.

"Peter," Pepper began gently, "I think that might be—"

"Dr. Cho said Harry's circulation is still adjusting," Peter interrupted, his voice muffled behind the pillow mountain. "And his temperature regulation might be unpredictable for a while. Plus, sitting in one position too long can cause pressure points, which can become open wounds if we’re not careful, and—"

"— And you've been researching spinal injuries," Rhodey finished for him, his expression softening with understanding.

Peter carefully deposited his collection on the floor and then began methodically distributing the pillows throughout the room. A plush navy cushion went onto the sofa, another behind what would be Harry's spot at the table. The drone set down the blankets in neat stacks, and Peter began sorting them by thickness and texture.

"I just want everything to be perfect," Peter admitted, smoothing a cashmere throw across the back of a chair. "He deserves to be happy, you know?"

"He does," Rhodey agreed, watching Peter with a knowing smile. "And he's lucky to have someone who cares so much."

Peter's cheeks flushed pink, but before he could respond, FRIDAY's voice filled the room. "Mr. Stark and Mr. Potter are approaching. ETA two minutes."

"Places, everyone," Pepper said, straightening her skirt and giving the room one final glance. "Remember, keep it calm and casual."

Peter's heart pounded as he took his position near the couch, trying to look relaxed while his entire body thrummed with anticipation. The elevator doors slid open, and Tony appeared, pushing Harry's wheelchair with careful attention to the threshold.

——

The medical wing hummed with the quiet efficiency of modern technology, each beep and whir a testament to Tony Stark's insistence on nothing but the best. Harry's arms trembled as he pushed against the hospital bed mattress, his muscles weak from weeks of disuse. Dr. Cho's steady hands supported his shoulders, her touch was professional but gentle as she guided him into a sitting position. Her voice had the perfect balance of professional detachment and genuine warmth. Almost three weeks of her care had taught Harry to trust those capable hands and measured tones.

"Take it slowly," she advised, monitoring his breathing and the way his head tipped slightly to one side. "Your body needs time to readjust to vertical orientation."

The room spun lazily around Harry, like looking through the wrong end of binoculars. His fingers gripped the edge of the hospital bed, knuckles white with effort against the pristine sheets. Tony hovered nearby, his casual stance betrayed by the tension in his shoulders and the way his eyes never left Harry's face.

Harry wasn't afraid—he'd faced worse than this transition—but the finality of moving into the wheelchair made his throat constrict with an emotion he couldn't quite name.

"The dizziness is normal," Dr. Cho continued, her voice carrying the same calm certainty that made Madam Pomfrey so reassuring. "We'll wait until it passes before attempting the transfer."

One of the nurses adjusted something on the wheelchair positioned beside the bed.

When the world steadied, Dr. Cho demonstrated a chest strap, explaining its purpose with practiced efficiency. "This will help compensate for your current lack of core strength. The tension is adjustable – you should feel supported but not restricted."

Harry gave her a small nod of understanding.

"Ready, Harry?" Dr. Cho asked.

"As I'll ever be," Harry replied, his British accent sharp against the American clinical sterility.

"Alright," Dr. Cho said, her voice carrying that perfect blend of professional authority and gentle encouragement. "We're going to take this nice and slow, Harry. Remember what we practiced with the upper body exercises?"

Harry nodded, his dark hair falling across his forehead in a way that made him look younger than his years. The lightning bolt scar stood out starkly against his pale skin, a reminder of another time he'd defied impossible odds.

Dr. Cho nodded to the two nurses flanking the bed. They moved with choreographed precision, adjusting the bed to its lowest setting while making sure the lightweight titanium wheelchair was perfectly parallel.

Tony hovered at the periphery, his fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against his thigh as he studied the medical monitors with the intensity of a man trying to solve an equation that keeps changing its variables. The screens reflected blue in his dark eyes, illuminating the shadows beneath them.

"Your vitals are stable," Tony noted, a statement that sounded casual but came after what Harry now recognized as Stark's thorough analysis. "Heart rate is up a bit, but I'd be concerned if it wasn't." He took an involuntary step forward, his hand reaching out before he caught himself.

Harry attempted a smile. "Just another adventure, right?"

The two nurses moved in perfect synchronization on either side of the bed, their actions choreographed through countless similar transfers. Dr. Cho positioned herself at Harry's head, her hands ready to support his neck and shoulders if needed.

"On my count," she instructed. "One... two... three..."

The nurses moved in tandem with Dr. Cho, their hands firm but gentle as they supported Harry's upper body. They lifted as one, and Harry's breath caught — not from pain, but from the strange weightless sensation. He could feel their touch, the pressure against his ribs, the squeeze of fingers around his arms. Then came the familiar nothing — the absence of sensation below his chest that still startled him, a phantom gap in his consciousness that his mind couldn't quite reconcile. For a moment, he was suspended between bed and chair, between what was and what would be.

Harry held his breath as they slid him across. His fingers clenched around the air, searching for something to grip as his body moved without his control. Dr. Cho noticed immediately.

"You're doing fine, Mr. Potter," she assured him, guiding his hand to the wheelchair armrest. "We've got you."

The wheelchair accepted Harry's weight with barely a whisper, its advanced suspension compensating automatically.

Dr. Cho and the nurses worked seamlessly, supporting him from both sides as they pivoted Harry into the chair. The movement left him breathless, sweat beading on his forehead.

"Well done," Dr. Cho said, efficiently securing the chest strap. Meanwhile, Tony stepped in to adjust Harry's legs and put slippers on his feet before setting them on the footrests. "Remember, this is a marathon, not a sprint. We'll increase activity gradually as your strength returns."

Harry's hands found the smooth, cool metal rims of the wheels, his fingers tracing the curved surface with tentative curiosity. The chair itself was unlike anything Harry had seen before – sleek black carbon fiber with subtle blue accents that glowed faintly, responding to his movements, like an extension of himself.

"How does it feel?" Tony asked, his voice carefully neutral as he stepped back, giving Harry space to process this new reality.

Harry took a measured breath, cataloging the sensations. "Different," he said finally. "But... good different, I think." He gave the wheels an experimental push, moving forward a few inches before stopping. A small smile tugged at his lips. "Much better than staring at the ceiling all day."

The tension in Tony's shoulders eased slightly. "The chair's custom – StarkTech from wheels to headrest. We can adjust anything that doesn't feel right."

Dr. Cho checked the positioning of Harry's legs one final time. "Remember what we discussed about pressure relief. Every twenty minutes—"

"—shift my weight or use the tilt function," Harry finished, having memorized her instructions over their many sessions together. "I remember."

"Alright kid, ready for your grand tour?" Tony asked, moving behind the chair, his tone deliberately light. "Your chariot awaits," Tony said with a theatrical bow, positioning himself behind the wheelchair.

"Wait," Harry said, his voice suddenly firm. "I want to try it myself."

Tony's hands froze on the wheelchair handles, and Dr. Cho gave Harry an appraising look. She exchanged a glance with Tony, who stepped back with visible reluctance.

"Just remember," Dr. Cho said, "your upper body strength is still developing. Don't push yourself too hard on the first day."

Harry nodded, his jaw set with determination as his hands gripped the wheels. The first push was awkward, his right side moving more forcefully than his left, causing the chair to veer slightly. He corrected quickly, face flushing with concentration.

"Not as easy as it looks," he admitted with a self-deprecating smile.

"Few things worth doing are," Tony responded, walking alongside but carefully not interfering. His hands twitched at his sides, ready to intervene at the slightest sign of trouble.

Harry made it to the door and almost into the hallway. He pushed harder, but the front wheels caught on a wrong angle that Harry was unable to correct.

"May I?" Tony asked, not touching the chair until Harry gave a reluctant nod.

With practiced ease, Tony moved the chair back slightly, correcting the angle before pushing it toward the other side. "You are just learning all of this," he said. "You'll get the hang of it."

The hallway stretched before them, much wider than typical corridors. "I've made some improvements to the place. Nothing major, just an improvement in accessibility and working on contingencies." Tony said behind Harry.

Dr. Cho shot Tony a look that was half exasperation, half amusement. "Remember what we discussed about not overwhelming him," she said before leaving in the opposite direction.

"Right, right. Baby steps." Tony stepped behind the chair, his hands hovering over the handles. "Let's start with the basics. FRIDAY, demonstration mode."

Strips of soft blue lighting appeared along the baseboards, creating an easily visible path. "Everything's voice-activated," Tony explained as they moved forward. "But there are manual controls at wheelchair height, and the entire compound is mapped for automatic navigation."

Harry's arms shook as he attempted to propel himself, but the chair moved smoothly with minimal effort. Each doorway they passed through was wide and level, with no thresholds to navigate. The hallway itself seemed to adjust its lighting as they moved, maintaining perfect visibility without glare.

"The elevator has motion sensors," Tony continued as they approached it, "and every room has multiple emergency call buttons. Not that you'll need them, but..." He trailed off, and Harry caught his reflection in the polished elevator doors – the same look of fierce protectiveness he sometimes saw in Mrs. Weasley's eyes.

The elevator opened automatically, its interior spacious enough for Harry to turn the chair in a complete circle. As they descended, Tony pointed out various features with the enthusiasm of someone who was finally getting to share a long-worked-on project.

"The common areas are all set up with clear paths," he explained as they exited onto another floor. "And we've installed smart glass in all the windows – you can adjust the tint by voice command or through the panel on your chair's armrest."

Harry tested the control, watching as the floor-to-ceiling windows dimmed slightly. The movement cost him more energy than it should, and he felt his head starting to droop.

Tony noticed immediately. "That's probably enough for now," he said, already turning the chair toward what appeared to be a living area. "There's plenty of time to explore everything else later. Besides, I think there might be something interesting waiting for us in the common room."

Harry nodded, grateful for the suggestion of rest. His body felt heavy, drained by even this brief excursion, but there was a spark of accomplishment in his chest. It wasn’t flying, not even close, but it was movement. It was progress. And right now, that was enough.

——

The common room door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a space transformed by gentle light and careful decoration. Harry's hands gripped his wheelchair armrests tighter, overwhelmed by the sight of familiar and unfamiliar faces turned toward him with warm smiles.

Peter stepped forward first, his movements deliberately slow and controlled. His smile spread across his face like a sunrise, genuine and warm. He studied Harry, who looked different today – stronger, more present. Peter watched as emerald green eyes, still tired, but with a new light within them, took in the decorated room with undisguised wonder. The dark circles beneath Harry’s eyes had faded, and a hint of color had returned to his cheeks. His hair, still stubbornly untamable, had been washed and somewhat styled.

"Surprise," everyone called out, their voices deliberately gentle rather than startling.

Harry's eyes widened, as Peter hurried to him.

"Happy Birthday, Harry," he said brightly, leaning down to give Harry a warm hug, being careful not to jostle him too much. His touch was careful, mindful of Harry's still-healing body, yet it conveyed deep, sincere affection.

Harry's throat tightened unexpectedly. He couldn’t hug Peter back just yet, so instead, he gripped the material of Peter's hoodie tightly and pressed his face against Peter's neck. His heart pounded in his chest as Peter's familiar scent surrounded him – a mix of laundry detergent, the faint chemical tang of web fluid, and something distinctly Peter. He felt the gentle pressure of Peter's arms around him, and that grounded him more than anything else.

"You did all this?" Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he took in the tastefully decorated room when they pulled apart. He was mortified to feel moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes. Blinking rapidly, Harry tried to regain his composure. "For me?"

"It was a team effort," Peter said, stepping aside so Harry could see everyone. "Mr. Stark had the idea, and then everyone pitched in."

Rhodey approached next, his leg braces whirring softly as he leaned down to Harry's level. "Happy Birthday, kid. Good to see you vertical for a change."

The casual acknowledgment of his situation without pity made Harry's smile more genuine. "Thanks, Colonel Rhodes."

"Rhodey," he corrected with a wink. "Anyone who's survived Tony's mother-henning gets first-name privileges."

Tony made an indignant noise behind Harry's chair. "I do not mother-hen. I provide appropriate care and supervision."

"Sure, boss," Happy said, stepping forward to awkwardly pat Harry's shoulder. "That's why you installed seventeen different monitoring systems in the kid's room."

"Eighteen," FRIDAY corrected from above, causing everyone to laugh.

The party flowed with a gentle rhythm that seemed perfectly calibrated to Harry's energy levels. They moved to the dining area where a modest spread of food awaited, everything arranged at an accessible height. Peter hovered near Harry's chair, attentive without being overbearing, while Tony watched them both with a thoughtful expression that flickered between satisfaction and something more complex.

Harry's had birthday celebrations before – Hagrid's rock cakes, the Weasleys' warm kitchen – but this felt different. The banner hanging perfectly level across the room, the carefully arranged flowers, the soft lighting that doesn't hurt his eyes – every detail spoke of thoughtful consideration.

Harry was so busy looking around that he didn’t notice Peter stepping away and returning with someone new in tow.

"Harry, this is my Aunt May," Peter said, gesturing to a woman with kind eyes and practical hands. She stepped forward with a nurse's careful assessment in her gaze, tempering her natural warmth with professional awareness of his condition.

"It's wonderful to finally meet you," May said, her smile genuine. "Peter talks about you constantly." She didn't try to shake his hand or pat his shoulder, seeming to understand his current limitations instinctively.

Harry nodded, managing a small smile. "Nice to meet you."

The room held its collective breath as Harry processed these introductions, these new people who were becoming part of his expanding world. His exhaustion from the earlier tour weighed heavily, but the quiet chatter, the subtle decorations, and the way everyone seemed to understand his needs without making him feel weak helped him forget about it.

Tony cleared his throat from behind Harry's chair, his hand resting lightly on Harry's head, lightly brushing his hair, and gestured to another table laden with gifts, colorful and neatly wrapped. "Don't think we forgot the main event. Birthday traditions are sacred here. We kept it small, just family."

As Harry was wheeled closer to the table by Tony, with Peter by his side, he felt a twinge of excitement mingled with guilt. The thoughtfulness displayed by everyone surprised him, their generosity warming yet overwhelming him.
Peter handed him a small, neatly wrapped package first. "This one's from me," he said with a shy grin.

Harry carefully opened it to reveal a custom-made Spider-Man hoodie in dark red — the colors subtly hinting at Harry's own house back at Hogwarts. Embroidered on the edge of the hood was a small spiderweb pattern alongside a tiny lightning bolt.

"I thought it might get cold in here at times," Peter explained bashfully.

Harry's voice was thick with emotion as he thanked him. "It's perfect, Peter, thank you." He ran his fingers over the soft fabric. “Can I wear it now?

Peter's face lit up with a delighted smile. "Of course!" He eagerly helped Harry with the hoodie, taking care not to move him too abruptly. The fabric glided over Harry's head, settling comfortably around his frame. It fit perfectly, snug and warm, the soft interior brushing gently against his skin.

As Harry adjusted the new garment, feeling the subtle weight of the fabric on his shoulders, he looked around at the faces beaming at him. Tony stood back a little, his eyes shining with something akin to pride. Peter's gaze lingered with a mixture of admiration and something deeper, more profound.

"Looks great on you," Tony commented, stepping forward to clap Harry gently on the shoulder. "And there's more to come."

The celebration continued with laughter and light conversation. Each gift that Harry opened, from Pepper, Rhodes, May, and Happy, represented its own connection to his new life here among these remarkable individuals who were becoming part of his extended family.

The last gift was from Tony Stark himself — a miniature replica of an Iron Man suit that Tony had specially modified to hover beside Harry's wheelchair when activated, serving both as a companion and a protective measure. It was painted in dark red and gold, mirroring the color scheme of Harry's new hoodie.

"This little guy," Tony began, his voice carrying a mix of pride and sentimentality rarely heard from the usually flamboyant billionaire, "is equipped with some of the latest AI and environmental monitoring tech. FRIDAY is linked up to it, too. It can alert us if you need assistance, keep you company, and yes, it's even got a few tricks up its... well, servos."

Harry reached out, his fingers tracing the sleek lines of the miniature suit. It whirred softly under his touch, sensors flickering as if acknowledging his presence.

"I... don’t know what to say," Harry murmured, overwhelmed. His eyes lifted to meet Tony's. "Thank you. It’s amazing."

"Just keeping my family safe," Tony replied with a shrug that fooled nobody about the depth of his feelings.

Harry laughed, the sound mingling with the warmth of the room. "Hedwig is not going to be very happy with you, you know…” he said, with a playful glint in his eyes.

Tony chuckled, patting the miniature Iron Man suit affectionately. "Well, Hedwig will always be your number one, but a guy can try for second best, can’t he?"

The room erupted in laughter again, the sound filling the space with joy and a shared sense of camaraderie. As the laughter subsided, Harry felt a profound sense of belonging. Despite everything he had been through — the challenges at Hogwarts, the attack that left him in this wheelchair — here he was surrounded by people who cared about him not just as a wizard or a hero, but as Harry.

Peter leaned in close, lowering his voice so only Harry heard. "You okay? Need to take a break or anything?"

Harry nodded appreciatively at Peter’s constant attentiveness. "I think… I need to shift my weight. Dr. Cho will have my head if I don’t obey her orders…"

Peter chuckled, his concern temporarily alleviated by Harry's jest. He motioned subtly to Tony, who immediately understood and began orchestrating a smooth transition. Without too much fuss, they moved towards the sofas, where a reclining area was prepared nearby with soft cushions and supports designed for Harry's comfort.

As they helped Harry move, the gentle care provided by both Peter and Tony was evident. They were meticulous, making sure every action was comfortable for Harry, who felt grateful yet slightly overwhelmed by their attentiveness.

Once settled, Harry looked around, finding himself in a quieter corner of the room, still part of the celebration but with a bit more space and privacy. The softer lights and the gentle hum of conversation provided a comforting background noise.

"Better?" Peter asked, his voice low and filled with genuine concern.

"Much better, thanks," Harry replied. His eyes scanned the room once more, taking in the faces of those gathered. There was an undeniable warmth in the atmosphere — a feeling of safety and acceptance that Harry hadn’t known he’d been missing until now.

As the party wound down, guests started drifting off to their respective duties or rooms within the compound. Harry stayed seated on the cozy sofa, taking in the quiet after the night’s festivities. Peter was the last one to leave, sitting beside Harry and embracing him warmly, neither wanting to let go. Tony lingered, efficiently tidying up the leftover wrapping paper and ribbons.

"Tony," Harry said suddenly, causing Tony to pause and look at him.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"I’ve been thinking...” Harry’s voice was low.

Tony stepped closer, his expression softening.

“I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to repay you for this, but… Thank you. Really.”

Tony gave a slight nod, the corners of his mouth turning up in a small, contented smile. "You don't owe me anything, Harry. This—" he gestured around at the now quiet room, "is what family does for each other."

Harry looked up at him, the green of his eyes stark against the dim lighting. Tony saw the conflicted thoughts reflected in Harry’s face and decided that this was a good moment to talk to him about what he discovered a few days prior.

He sat next to Harry on the sofa, sideways so they were eye-to-eye and Harry didn’t have to strain his neck to look at him. Tony leaned forward slightly, clasping his hands between his knees.

"Harry," he started, and even to his own ears, his voice sounded unusually solemn. "There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about — something important."

Harry turned to face him fully now, his expression alert despite the fatigue that lined his features. "What is it?"

“Well, let me ask you something first. What do you know about your family besides your parents, aunt, and uncle? Specifically, from your father’s side.”

Harry hesitated, his fingers absently tracing the lightning bolt embroidery on his new hoodie. The soft fabric provided a strange comfort as he delved into memories that had always been more absent than present.

"Not much," he admitted finally. "My aunt and uncle... they never talked about my parents if they could help it. And at Hogwarts, everyone knew more about my parents than I did, but it was always about them specifically — how my mum was brilliant at charms, how my dad played Quidditch." He paused, brow furrowing. "Padfoot told me a bit about my grandparents — that they took him in when he ran away from home. That they were kind. But beyond that..."

He trailed off, the weight of all he didn't know suddenly heavy on his shoulders. The Potter family history was as vague to him as the idea of what he would do after school. “Padfoot showed me his family tree tapestry once, and mentioned that mine was just as big as his, but it was lost when Potter manor was destroyed… As far as I know, I am the last Potter alive.”

Tony nodded, his expression uncharacteristically solemn. "That's what I thought…” He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving Harry's face.

"So," Tony began, "remember when I told you that we ran medical tests when you first arrived?” Harry nodded. “Well, a few days ago, we found something interesting. More than interesting, actually. Life-changing might be a better word."

Harry's stomach tightened with familiar anxiety. In his experience, 'life-changing' rarely meant something good. His fingers curled around his armrests, and somewhere in the room, a light flickered – though no one seemed to notice.

Tony pulled up a holographic display. "I think this is the reason why you ended up here.” He paused, his usual glibness falling away. "We're related, Harry. Second cousins once removed, to be exact, through your father's line."

The words hit Harry like a physical force. A warm tingle started in his fingertips, spreading up his arms. "Related?" he whispered, the word feeling foreign on his tongue. "How?"

“A few days before you showed up, an… acquaintance gave me a folder with some files regarding my father and a man named Charlus Potter.” Tony swiped through the holographic display, bringing up images of two men standing side by side in what appeared to be a laboratory from decades past. One was unmistakably a younger Howard Stark; the other, a sharp-featured man with familiar unruly dark hair and intelligent eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses.

"This is my father, Howard, and Charlus Potter – your grandfather, I believe." Tony enlarged the image, pointing to details Harry might have missed. "They worked together for years on classified projects, things that never made it into any official record."

Harry leaned forward, drinking in the sight of a Potter he'd never seen before. There was something in the man's stance, the tilt of his head, that reminded Harry of himself. "Why didn't anyone tell me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tony's laugh was short and humorless. "I don't think anyone knew. My father was..." he paused, searching for the right word, "...secretive. Especially about things that mattered to him. And from what I can piece together, your magical world and our world aren't exactly on speaking terms."

Harry studied the image, noticing the way the two men leaned toward each other, comfortable in each other's space. There was an ease between them that spoke of years of friendship.

"So all this time..." Harry's voice trailed off, his mind racing to process this revelation. "All this time I had family out there? Real family?"

Tony's expression shifted, something vulnerable flashing across his features before he masked it with a small smile. "Looks that way, kid. Though I have to say, I'm not exactly the poster child for normal family dynamics."

Harry's laugh was watery, caught somewhere between disbelief and a strange, unexpected joy. "Join the club." He stared at the holographic image, memorizing every detail of his grandfather's face. "Does this mean — what does this mean, exactly?"

Tony shifted, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "Legally? It gives me standing to petition for guardianship, if that's something you'd want." His voice was careful, measured. "No pressure either way. I know we're still getting to know each other, and this is a lot to take in."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. The concept of someone actively wanting guardianship of him — not out of obligation or duty, but out of choice — was so foreign that for a moment he didn't know how to respond.

"You'd want that?" he finally asked, his voice small. "Even with..." he gestured vaguely at his wheelchair, at the physical limitations that had become his new reality.

Tony's expression softened, the carefully constructed mask of casual indifference slipping away to reveal something raw and honest. "Harry, the chair doesn't change anything. Not for me, not for Peter, not for anyone who matters." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I wanted guardianship before I knew we were related. Finding out we share DNA just makes the paperwork easier." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture Harry had come to recognize as a sign of emotional discomfort. "Look, I'm not going to pretend I know what I'm doing here. I don't. But I do know that you deserve a home where you're safe, where you're wanted, where you can just be a kid."

The weight of Tony's words settled over Harry like a warm blanket. He looked back at the holographic image of his grandfather and Howard Stark, studying the easy camaraderie between them. Something shifted in Harry's chest; his heart pounded, each beat sending pulses of warmth through his body. The room's lights flickered, causing the holographic image to shimmer.

Harry stared at the hologram, unable to tear his eyes away from this newfound connection to his past — to his future. The room felt charged with something electric, a tangible energy that made the hairs on his arms stand up.

"I'd like that," he finally said, his voice quiet but steady. "For you to be my guardian, I mean."

Tony's face changed, surprise giving way to something deeper, something Harry couldn't quite name. For a moment, the usually verbose billionaire seemed at a loss for words.

"Well," Tony finally managed, clearing his throat. "That's... good. Great, actually." He reached out, his hand hovering uncertainly before settling on Harry's shoulder with gentle pressure. "We'll make it official. I've already got Pepper working with the legal team on the paperwork."

Harry nodded, his throat tight with emotion. The realization that he had family — real, blood family who wanted him — felt too enormous to fully comprehend. The tingling in his hands intensified, and suddenly there was light – actual light – dancing around his fingers, soft and golden.

Tony's eyes widened, but he didn't move away. Instead, he leaned forward, fascination warring with concern on his face. "Is that supposed to happen?"

Harry stared at his hands, at the magic manifesting without any conscious effort on his part. "No," he admitted, watching the light weave between his fingers like curious fireflies. "I've never... this isn't..."

The magic faded as quickly as it appeared, leaving behind a lingering warmth and the faintest scent of ozone. Tony cleared his throat, his expression shifting to something softer, more vulnerable. A thousand questions buzzed through Harry’s mind, but exhaustion pulled at him, making his thoughts fuzzy around the edges.

Tony noticed immediately. "That's enough world-shattering revelations for one birthday, I think. Let's get you back to your room. We can talk more tomorrow when you've had some rest."

Harry nodded, suddenly aware of how drained he felt. The emotional roller coaster of the day combined with his physical exertion left him utterly spent. Tony moved to help him back into his wheelchair, his hands sure and steady as he supported Harry's weight.

"Thank you," Harry murmured as Tony adjusted the chair's settings.

Tony's hand paused on Harry's shoulder. "No problem, kiddo." The words were casual, but the weight behind them was anything but.

As they made their way through the quiet compound, Harry couldn't help but think about how much had changed in such a short time. From the cupboard under the stairs to Hogwarts, from the wizarding world to this place where he had family who wanted him — where he had a place he might truly belong.

The journey back to his room passed in comfortable silence, both too emotionally wrung out for conversation. When they reached Harry’s door, Tony helped him transfer from the chair to the bed with practiced efficiency, his movements gentle but sure.

"All set?" Tony asked, adjusting the pillows supporting Harry’s legs and back.

Harry nodded fighting to keep his eyes open. The Spider-Man hoodie was still wrapped around him, its warmth a tangible reminder of Peter's friendship. "Thank you," he murmured again, the words inadequate for everything he wanted to express.

Tony's hand rested briefly on Harry's head, a gesture that felt both new and strangely familiar. "Get some rest, kid. We've got plenty of time to figure all this out."

As Tony turned to leave, Harry called out softly, "Tony?"

The man paused at the doorway, silhouetted against the soft light from the hallway, his expression unreadable in the shadows. "Yeah, kid?"

"I'm glad it was you," Harry said, his voice thick with sleep and emotion. "That I ended up here. With you."

Tony stood frozen for a moment, his silhouette utterly still. When he spoke, his voice carried a roughness Harry hadn't heard before. "Me too, Harry. More than you know." He cleared his throat. "Now get some sleep. Doctor's orders."

As the door slid shut, Harry sank deeper into the pillows, his mind swimming with images of family trees and golden light dancing between his fingers. Something had changed — was still changing. Harry could feel it in the magic that coursed through him, different now but somehow more natural, more instinctive than before.

*******

Thousands of miles away, in a castle hidden from ordinary eyes, Albus Dumbledore paced the length of his circular office. The portraits of former headmasters watched in silence, exchanging concerned glances as the current headmaster’s usually twinkling eyes were hard as steel as he muttered under his breath, occasionally pausing to examine a delicate silver instrument that emitted puffs of smoke in irregular patterns.

"It makes no sense, Fawkes," Dumbledore said, addressing the phoenix perched nearby. The magnificent bird trilled softly, a sound both comforting and concerned. "The blood wards should have kept him safe. And now..." He trailed off, running weathered fingers through his silver beard.

The silver instrument on his desk whirred and clicked, its smoke forming shapes that only Dumbledore seemed to understand. His expression grew graver as he watched the patterns shift and reform.

"Headmaster," Phineas Nigellus Black called from his portrait frame, his aristocratic features arranged in a scowl. "Perhaps it's time to consider that your plan has failed. The boy has clearly found protection elsewhere."

Dumbledore's eyes flashed briefly. The fireplace erupted in green flames, activating the floo, and Severus Snape stepped through, his black robes settling around him like gathered darkness. "You called, Headmaster?"

"Severus," Dumbledore acknowledged, his voice weary yet purposeful. "Thank you for coming so promptly."

Snape's dark eyes surveyed the room, noting the disarray of silver instruments and the unusual tension in Dumbledore's posture. "You've found him, then?" His tone revealed nothing of his thoughts, but something flickered in the depths of his dark eyes.

“Where has the famous Boy Who Lived been hiding himself?"

"Not hiding, precisely," Dumbledore admitted, resuming his pacing. "The tracking charms I placed on Harry's wand have finally yielded results. I have narrowed down the location considerably. The boy is in America."

Snape's eyebrow rose slightly. "America? How did Potter manage that feat? The international portkey network is monitored, and I doubt he possesses the magical strength for independent travel of that magnitude."

"That," Dumbledore said, pausing to examine another instrument, "is one of many questions I intend to have answered." The silver device emitted a soft pulse of blue light, and Dumbledore's expression hardened. "The magical signature is unmistakable, though altered in ways I cannot fully explain. Something fundamental has shifted."

"Altered how?" Snape asked, a flicker of genuine curiosity breaking through his usual mask of indifference.

Dumbledore hesitated, choosing his words with uncharacteristic care. "Harry's magical signature has always been unique — a blend of his own innate power and the residual effects of that Halloween night. But now..." He gestured to the delicate silver instrument, which pulsed with an erratic rhythm. "It's as though his magic has been... augmented somehow. It’s more powerful and weaker at the same time."

Snape approached the desk, dark eyes narrowing as he studied the instrument. "Could this be interference from another magical source? Perhaps whoever is harboring him?"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore acknowledged, though his tone suggested he believed otherwise. "But I fear something more profound has occurred. The blood wards at Privet Drive have collapsed completely, which should be impossible unless..."

"Unless Potter is dead," Snape finished bluntly.

"Or unless he no longer considers that place home in any capacity," Dumbledore corrected gently. "The wards were anchored in his blood connection to Petunia Dursley, but sustained by his recognition of the house as his home, however reluctant that recognition might have been."

Snape's lip curls slightly. "And now Potter has found a more appealing option, it seems. Typical." The words dripped with disdain, but something almost like concern flickered behind his dark eyes. "What exactly do you intend to do, Headmaster? The boy is clearly beyond our immediate reach."

Dumbledore turned to the window, gazing out at the starlit grounds of Hogwarts. The moon cast long shadows across the forbidden forest, and for a moment, the ancient wizard looked every one of his years.

"I've pinpointed his location to a facility in New York," he said finally. "Owned by a Muggle named Anthony Stark."

Snape's eyebrows rose fractionally. "The weapons manufacturer? The one who now parades around in that mechanical suit?" His voice held a note of incredulity. "How did Potter make such a connection?"

"That…remains unclear," Dumbledore said reluctantly. He was very well aware of the connection between Harry and Stark, but Harry must remain within his control. The boy’s sacrifice was instrumental for the Light’s success over the Dark. "But what is clear is that we must retrieve Harry as soon as possible. The prophecy—"

"—might be better served if the boy remains hidden," Snape interrupted, his tone carefully neutral. "The Dark Lord's followers grow more restless with each passing day. If Potter truly has found sanctuary beyond their reach—"

"It is not that simple, Severus," Dumbledore cut in, his voice gentle but firm. "Harry's destiny is inextricably linked with Voldemort's. The prophecy must be fulfilled, and for that to happen, Harry must be properly prepared. Without proper guidance, Harry remains vulnerable in ways he cannot possibly understand. He won’t be beyond Voldemort's reach for long." He sighed, looking suddenly weary. "And there are other considerations. The Ministry grows increasingly hostile. If they discover Harry has left Britain..."

"They would use it as further evidence of your incompetence," Snape finished, his tone flat. "And another nail in Potter's coffin of public opinion."

Dumbledore nodded, turning back to his desk where a map of New York State glowed with a pulsing blue light centered on a specific location. "We shall depart for America soon. Very soon.”

"To what end?" Snape asked, his voice betraying nothing of his thoughts. "Do you intend to simply knock on Stark's door and demand the return of their new ward? The Americans have their magical government, and they are notoriously protective of their sovereignty."

Dumbledore's eyes lost their twinkle entirely, replaced by a cold calculation that few ever witnessed. "I am still Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Severus. MACUSA will afford me certain courtesies."

"Courtesies, perhaps," Snape conceded, his voice dry as dust. "But I doubt even your considerable influence will compel them to violate their own laws regarding magical minors. Particularly when the minor in question is Harry Potter."

Dumbledore moved to Fawkes, stroking the phoenix's brilliant plumage. The bird trilled softly, a mournful sound that filled the office with melancholy. "There are diplomatic channels," he said finally. "And if those fail... well, there are other methods."

Something in his tone made Snape study him more carefully. "What exactly are you planning, Albus?”

Dumbledore's gaze remained fixed on Fawkes, his weathered fingers tracing the phoenix's feathers with practiced gentleness. "I have corresponded with certain contacts within MACUSA," he said after a thoughtful pause. "There are procedures for the retrieval of magical children who find themselves under Muggle care without proper oversight."

"Potter is hardly a typical case," Snape observed dryly. "And Stark is hardly a typical Muggle. The man is not known for his cooperation with authority figures."

"Indeed," Dumbledore acknowledged, turning back to face Snape fully. "Which is precisely why we must proceed with the utmost caution. The Americans maintain a rather... complex relationship with their enhanced individuals."

Snape's dark eyes narrowed slightly. "You speak as though you have intimate knowledge of MACUSA's policies regarding these so-called superheroes."

A ghost of Dumbledore's usual smile flickered across his face. "I make it a point to stay informed about global magical governance, Severus. Particularly when it intersects with potentially disruptive Muggle elements." He moves to his desk, retrieving a thin folder bound in midnight blue leather. "MACUSA has an entire department dedicated to monitoring these individuals. They call it the Division of Enhanced Affairs."

"And you believe they will assist in extracting Potter from Stark's protection?" Snape asked, skepticism evident in his tone.

"Not directly, perhaps," Dumbledore admitted, leafing through the folder. "But they may provide us with the necessary intelligence to approach the situation... delicately." He paused on a particular page, his expression thoughtful.

Snape's lip curled slightly. "And if Potter resists?"

"He is a child, Severus. He doesn't know what's best for him." Dumbledore's voice carried absolute certainty. "Sometimes we must be cruel to be kind."

The words hung in the air like poison, and Snape's face became, if possible, even more shuttered. "I will make the necessary preparations," he said finally, turning toward the fire.

"Excellent." Dumbledore returned to his window, his reflection overlaying the dark grounds below. "We'll bring him home, Severus. Where he belongs."

As Snape disappeared in another flash of green flame, Dumbledore's fingers closed around his Elder wand.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 7

Lying on the sofa, Harry stared at the ceiling, the muffled sound of explosions from the TV filling the empty spaces around him. It had only been a few minutes since Peter had gone for a bathroom break, but the quiet already felt like it was closing in, a far cry from the joyful chaos of the birthday party the day before. He shifted slightly, tucking an arm beneath his blanket, his thoughts a jumble of the new memories he was making and the old ones that wouldn't quite let go.

The idea of Tony as his cousin—and possibly even his guardian—was still something he was wrapping his head around. Just yesterday, Harry felt an overwhelming sense of belonging at the party. He hadn’t had to look over his shoulder or worry about what came next for the first time in years. Then, there was also the fact that Tony always reminded Harry of Sirius. Maybe that was why he had accepted everything that had happened so easily. He wondered what Sirius would have thought about all this. Knowing him, he'd probably charge right in, shaking things up with dramatic flair and maybe even daring Tony to a flying competition. The thought brought a small smile to Harry’s lips.

A sharp pop cracked through the air, and suddenly, two figures appeared in the middle of the room. Harry flinched, recognizing the flowing robes and distinctive silhouettes of Dumbledore and Snape. His heart pounded as he struggled to prop himself up, feeling exposed and unprepared for this unwelcome ambush. The TV screen flickered, the movie forgotten as Dumbledore strode forward, his gaze fixed intently on Harry.

"Good afternoon, Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice carrying a mix of forced warmth and underlying insistence. "I trust you are well. We have come to bring you back to England. You must return immediately." He said without much preamble, barely looking around, and most definitely not noticing the wheelchair parked next to the sofa.

Harry stared at him, "Headmaster…” then shook his head, anger rising in place of the initial shock.

“I can’t go back," he replied, his tone defiant. "No, I don’t want to go back right now. How did you find me?”

Dumbledore's eyes flickered, a momentary disappointment mingling with his calm determination. Before he could respond, Snape swooped in, his dark robes trailing behind him like a storm.

"Potter," Snape sneered, his lip curling with familiar disdain. "Always making things difficult. The trace on your wand may have weakened, but your magic leaves... fingerprints. Particularly when used so carelessly."

Harry's Hands tightened on the blanket. He hadn't used his wand more than a few times, as his core was still weak and he didn’t have the energy to cast anything big, but he had used magic—not intentionally—yesterday, on his birthday, the revelations about his family... He'd felt surges of something within him, moments when his emotions had caused the lights to flicker or objects to shift slightly.

"I'm staying here," Harry said firmly, trying to push himself upright. "I've found my family—my real family."

Dumbledore's expression softened in that calculated way Harry had come to recognize. "Harry, my boy, I understand you've had quite a discovery. However, your safety—"

"I am safe here" Harry's voice raised. "I don’t know about going back to Hogwarts yet, but right now, I am not going anywhere.”

"Typical Potter arrogance," Snape sneered, looming over Harry with a contemptuous curl of his lip.

"You've grown lazy and spoiled, hiding away here while the Order is searching tirelessly. Now you have the gall to say that you are not going with us! Get up!" His hand shot out, gripping Harry's wrist with a force that shocked the breath from him.

Harry gasped as Snape yanked him upward, the motion violent and dismissive as if Harry's resistance were just another mark of insolence. But Snape's grip slackened, surprise crossing his sallow features as most of Harry's body refused to respond, hanging limply where it should have fought back.

"What—" Snape began, but the words halted as he let go, and Harry crumpled to the floor, his legs folding beneath him in an undignified sprawl.

Harry bit back a cry of pain as his shoulder collided with the edge of the coffee table. Humiliation burned through him as he lay there, unable to push himself up properly, a sharp reminder of his body's betrayal, and he lay there, glaring up at Snape, furious and breathless.

Snape stepped back, a flicker of doubt crossing his face as he seemed to finally register the severity of Harry's condition. The air hung heavy with silence, broken only by the ragged sound of Harry's breathing and the distant echoes of a long-forgotten explosion from the TV.

"What trickery is this, Potter?" Snape demanded, his voice wavering between accusation and something that might have been concern.

Harry struggled to draw breath, each breath came in sharp gasps as pain shot through his body and worsened the erratic thudding of his heart. The room felt too bright, too sharp, every detail—from Dumbledore's imposing presence to Snape's disdainful sneer—etching itself into his mind with relentless clarity. Just as panic began to close in, he heard Tony's voice, a burst of determined sound that sliced through the chaos like a lifeline.

"What the hell is going on here?" Tony's voice thundered as he strode into the room, Peter right behind him. Tony's eyes swept from Harry on the floor to the two wizards, his expression darkening dangerously.

"FRIDAY, security protocol Merlin, now!" He moved swiftly, interposing himself between Harry and the two wizards. Subtle red lights pulsed along the ceiling perimeter as Peter mirrored his motion, dropping to one knee next to Harry, his brown eyes wide and full of concern.

"Harry, you okay?" Peter whispered as he carefully gathered Harry in his arms, unwilling to leave him sprawled on the floor as he was, but unsure if he could just pick him up or not.

Harry's gaze darted from Tony to Peter, terror blooming in his chest at the thought of them getting caught in this crossfire. Dumbledore and Snape exchanged a look, their surprise at the sudden intervention evident. The fear pressed down on Harry, crushing and immediate, as he struggled to find words.

"I'm okay," Harry managed, his voice thin despite his best efforts to steady it. "Just give me a second."

He could feel his body trembling, betraying the lie. Peter's arms tightened around him, holding him warm and secure, as Tony stepped forward, his stance wide and protective.

"Gentlemen," Tony said, the word like ice. "I don't recall sending invitations to a wizard pajama party in my living room. You two have exactly five seconds to explain why you're in my compound, manhandling a minor under my protection before I have you removed in pieces."

Dumbledore's expression shifted, the grandfatherly twinkle in his eyes giving way to something calculating and cold. "Mr. Stark, I presume. I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This is Professor Severus Snape. We've come to return Harry to where he belongs."

"Funny thing about that," Tony replied, casually rolling up his sleeves.

"Harry's exactly where he belongs. With his family." His eyes flicked to Snape, whose wand hand twitched almost imperceptibly.

Snape's lip curled. "Family? Potter has no—"

"Actually, he does," Tony cut him off. "Me. DNA doesn't lie, gentlemen," Tony continued, his voice deceptively light.

Harry felt Peter's arm tighten around him protectively as the tension in the room thickened. Tony stood his ground, a human barrier between the wizards and Harry, his stance casual but his eyes sharp as obsidian.

"I'm his second cousin, and I've got the genetic test results to prove it. So unless you want to discuss legal guardianship with my fleet of attorneys, I suggest you back away from my kid."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed slightly, the tactical mind behind the grandfatherly façade clearly recalculating. "Indeed. But that does not change the fact that he needs to come back with us.”

Dumbledore and Snape exchanged a knowing glance, their eyes flickering with a silent understanding that set Harry's instincts on high alert. Peter stiffened beside him, while Tony shifted his weight, preparing for whatever might come.

"Tony… they'll hurt you," Harry managed to say, his voice barely audible, sounding like a fragile thread about to snap.

Tony's eyes narrowed into slits of steel determination, his jaw set firmly. "Not on my watch," he declared, his voice a low growl of defiance.

Desperation clawed at Harry's insides, fueling a surge of wild, reckless determination. His heart pounded in his chest as adrenaline coursed through his veins. He clenched his fists tightly, feeling the raw, untamed power simmering beneath his skin. Though his wand was absent, he knew he had to protect Tony and Peter.

Harry could see the attack coming. His instincts and magic worked as one.

Just as Dumbledore and Snape fired stunning spells at Tony, Harry poured every ounce of his will into the best protective spell he knew, willing to manifest and shield Tony from impending danger. With a strangled cry that echoed with urgency and fear, he cast a wordless ‘Protego’.

A shield erupted around Tony, him, and Peter. A brilliant, pulsating sphere of light that enveloped them in a protective cocoon.

The shield flared with intense energy, fueled by Harry's panic and resolve, but the effort was monumental. As quickly as it appeared, the shield flickered and vanished, leaving Harry utterly drained.

He collapsed, his body crumpling in on Peter, breath coming in shallow, labored gasps.

The room seemed to freeze as Harry's shield faded, the air humming with residual magic that prickled across Tony's skin. For a single heartbeat, no one moved—Dumbledore and Snape with their wands still raised, Tony half-crouched in a defensive stance, and Peter clutching Harry's limp form.

"Harry!" Peter's voice cracked with panic as he cradled Harry's head. "He's not responding!"

Tony whirled around, his face ashen as he took in Harry's condition. The boy's skin had gone paper-white, his breathing shallow and irregular. Even in unconsciousness, his fingers twitched with minute tremors, his magic having extracted a brutal toll.

Tony's face transformed, a cold fury replacing the tactical calm. The Iron Man suit activated, its mechanical components snapping into place with lethal efficiency as Tony leveled a fierce glare at Dumbledore and Snape.

"What did you do to him?" he demanded, rounding on the wizards, and aiming directly at Dumbledore's chest. "FRIDAY, medical team to the common room, now!"

Snape's wand flashed, but the spell bounced harmlessly off the armor with a resonant clang. Dumbledore, taken aback, tried to regain control of the situation, his face a mask of concern and calculation.

"Please, Mr. Stark," Dumbledore lowered his wand slightly, genuine concern crossing his aged features. "We did nothing. That was Harry's magic—far too much magic for someone in his… condition?"

"A condition that you seem completely unaware of," Tony spat, not lowering his repulsors. "The kid can’t walk, can barely move, and your first move is to drag him off the couch? What kind of educators are you?"

Snape's face tightened, a flicker of something—perhaps guilt—crossing his features before vanishing behind his customary sneer. "We were unaware of Potter's... physical state."

"Right," Tony's voice was dangerous, the word hanging in the air like a blade. "Because you only care when he is useful to you…"

Peter had shifted Harry into a more comfortable position, his fingers pressed against Harry's wrist, monitoring his pulse. "His heart rate is all over the place, Mr. Stark," he reported, his voice tight with worry.

Dumbledore took a step forward, only to freeze as Tony's repulsor whined with charging energy.

"That's far enough," Tony warned. "FRIDAY, where's that medical team?"

"Coming in now, boss," came the AI's crisp response.

The medical team burst into the room, Dr. Cho leading the charge, her eyes sweeping the scene with clinical precision. Her gaze locked on Harry's crumpled form, and she moved swiftly towards him.

"Everyone back," she ordered, dropping to her knees beside Peter, who still cradled Harry protectively. "What happened?"

"Magical exhaustion," Snape stated flatly, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something almost like concern. "The boy attempted wandless magic beyond his current capabilities."

Dr. Cho's hands moved with practiced efficiency, checking Harry's pulse, his breathing, and his pupils. "His heart rate is erratic. We need to get him to medical now."

Peter looked up at Tony, his eyes wide with fear. "I can carry him."

"Do it," Tony commanded, not taking his eyes—or his weapons—off the wizards. "FRIDAY, full lockdown protocols. No one enters or leaves this compound without my authorization."

As Peter gently lifted Harry, cradling him against his chest with the careful precision only someone with enhanced strength could manage, Tony took a deliberate step toward Dumbledore and Snape.

"You two are going to leave this instant and stay away from my kid. If you want to talk, you’ll do it through the proper channels. Am I clear?”

Snape's eyes narrowed as he watched Tony, a mix of frustration and disbelief crossing his face. Their magic had barely touched the armored Avenger, and Dumbledore's realization that Harry's loyalties now lay elsewhere was palpable.

Seeing the futility of their attacks and the unexpected strength of Tony's technology, Dumbledore relented, his expression shifting to one of reluctant acknowledgment.

"We will come back, Mr. Stark. Harry needs to go back. Sooner rather than later." With a snap, Dumbledore and Snape vanished, their parting warning lingering ominously in the air.

The room fell silent, the only sound was Harry's ragged breaths as Peter carried him, holding him protectively.

————

The medical bay hummed with the quiet efficiency of advanced technology, monitors tracking Harry's vitals with soft, rhythmic beeps. Peter hadn't left Harry's side for hours, sitting in a molded chair pulled so close to the bed that his knees pressed against the frame. His fingers were intertwined with Harry's limp ones, thumb absently tracing circles on the pale skin.

"Come on, Harry," he whispered, leaning forward to brush a strand of dark hair from the unconscious boy's forehead. "You've got to wake up now."

Behind him, Tony paced, his footsteps marking an erratic path across the polished floor. Every few minutes, he'd pause to study one of the monitors, jaw tight with concern, before resuming his restless movement.

"Magical exhaustion. Or that’s what that man called it." Dr. Cho explained, reviewing data on a tablet. "From what I understand about magical physiology—which is admittedly limited—he's essentially running on empty. That shield he created took everything he had, and more."

"And his physical condition?" Tony's voice was clipped, and professional, betraying only a fraction of the worry etched into his face.

Dr. Cho's expression tightened with professional concern. "His body was already compromised. His shoulder was bruised, but it should be fine with rest. The muscles below the injury point are already showing signs of atrophy. This... magical event... has exacerbated the weakness. We're looking at possible setbacks in his recovery timeline.”

Peter's grip on Harry's hand tightened imperceptibly. "But he will be fine, right?"

Dr. Cho hesitated, her professional demeanor softening slightly. "With time, yes. But Peter, we need to be patient. Harry's condition was already precarious." She trailed off, meeting Tony's gaze over Peter's bowed head.

Tony cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. "How long before he wakes up?"

"I am sorry, I don’t have a determined timeline." Dr. Cho replied, setting down her tablet. "This magic, it doesn't follow our rules. Could be hours, could be days."

Peter's grip on Harry's hand tightened fractionally. "He'll wake up," he said with quiet certainty. "He has to."

Tony paused his pacing long enough to rest a hand on Peter's shoulder, the gesture conveying more than words could. Their shared vigil continued in silence for several moments, broken only by the steady electronic rhythm of Harry's heartbeat.

“Peter, I need to talk to Pepper and Rhodey. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Are you ok? Do you want me to call May?”

"I'm staying," Peter said without hesitation, not looking up from Harry's face. "May's busy with her double shift anyway. I just—I need to be here when he wakes up."

Tony squeezed Peter's shoulder. "Alright, kid. I won't be long. FRIDAY will alert us both if there's any change."

As Tony's footsteps faded, Peter leaned closer to Harry, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"You didn't have to do that, you know. Protect us like that." His thumb traced the blue veins visible beneath the skin of Harry's wrist. "That's kind of our job—protecting you."

The quiet beeping of the monitors was his only answer. Peter studied Harry's face—the dark lashes against too-pale cheeks, the lightning scar standing out in stark relief. Even unconscious, there was tension around Harry's mouth, as if some part of him was still fighting.

"I get it, you know. Wanting to protect people, even when you're the one who needs protecting. But next time, maybe don't nearly kill yourself doing it. Deal?" Peter’s fingers traced the ‘I must not tell lies’ scar. Neither he nor Tony had wanted to ask about it yet, but it was high on the list of questions they had.

"I don't know much about your world," Peter continued, "but I know enough about people like those two. The way they looked at you—like you were a tool, not a person." His voice hardened. "That's not happening again. Not while I'm around."

The silence stretched between them, comfortable despite the circumstances. Peter settled deeper into his chair, prepared for a long wait.

—-----

Tony found Pepper and Rhodey in the conference room, already deep in conversation. They fell silent as he entered, their expressions a mixture of concern and determination. He ran a hand through his hair, the motion more frustrated than styling, as he faced them.

"How bad?" Rhodey asked immediately.

Tony sank into a chair, suddenly feeling the weight of the day. "Bad enough," Tony replied, his voice rough with exhaustion. "Kid's completely drained. Cho is calling it 'magical exhaustion'—whatever that means in medical terms."

Pepper's fingers tapped a nervous rhythm against her tablet. "And those men? The wizards?"

"Gone. For now." Tony's jaw tightened. "But they made it clear they'll be back. The older one—Dumbledore—he's used to getting his way. I could see it in his eyes."

Rhodey leaned forward, military precision in his posture. "We need to prepare for when they return. If magic can bypass our security systems—"

"Already on it," Tony interrupted, pulling up a holographic display. "FRIDAY's analyzing the energy signatures they left behind. We'll develop countermeasures."

"Tony," Pepper's voice was gentle but firm. "This isn't just about security. This is about legal guardianship. From their side. You already have his guardianship secured, but we still don’t know how things work on their side. We need to find more information, and prepare better.”

"We need backup," Tony declared, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Snape and Dumbledore aren't going to give up. We need someone that can get us information. And we are probably going to need muscle."

Rhodey crossed his arms, nodding slowly. "So you want to call in Rogers? Are you sure you can handle having him around?"

Tony's jaw tightened, his fingers drumming against the edge of the table as he considered the question. The thought of calling Steve Rogers, of asking for help from the man who had kept the truth about his parents' deaths from him, still burned like acid. But when he thought of Harry—pale and unconscious, having used what little control he had of his magic to protect them—the decision crystallized.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft hum of the holographic display.

"This isn't about me or Rogers," Tony said finally. "This is about Harry. He needs protection that I can't provide alone—not against wizards who can appear and disappear at will. And I'm not sure I have a choice," he finally admitted, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. "Those wizards aren't playing around. If they come back in force..." He trailed off, the implications hanging heavy in the air.

Pepper reached across the table, her fingers brushing against his. "Are you sure this is about Harry's safety and not about proving something to them—or yourself?"

Tony met her gaze, his eyes hard with conviction. "You didn't see how they looked at him, Pep. Like he was property. Like his choices didn't matter." He pulled his hand away, standing abruptly. "That old man—Dumbledore—he has the same look Obie used to get. That 'I know what's best for you' bullshit that really means 'I know how to use you best.'"

Rhodey exchanged a glance with Pepper. "You think Rogers can help with that?"

"I think we need all hands on deck," Tony replied, pacing now. "Rogers, Romanoff—hell, I'd call in Thor and Bruce if I knew how to reach them. These wizards have abilities we can't predict. We need people who can counter that."

Pepper’s hand tightened. "Ok, Tony. You're doing the right thing."

"Am I?" He scrubbed a hand over his face. "The kid's been through hell, Pep. One fucked up thing after another. And now I'm bringing in more people he doesn't know, making decisions about his life without asking him."

"This is different," Rhodey insisted. "You're not making these choices to control him—you're making them to keep him safe."

Tony frowned, “That’s what they said…” Doubt still lingered in his eyes. He pulled out the flip phone Rogers had sent him, staring at it for a long moment before pulling up the contacts. There was only one number saved, a number he'd sworn he'd never use except in the direst circumstances. His thumb hovered over the call button.

"Let's bring in the cavalry," he muttered, and pressed call.

——

Tony walked back towards the hospital room accompanied by Rhodey, his breath a mix of resolve and tension. He glanced at the door leading to Harry's room, the weight of responsibility and protective instincts warring within him. With a decisive nod, he headed toward the room where Peter and Harry waited.

Inside, Peter was still sitting on the chair next to Harry's bed, his focus entirely on Harry.

"How's our favorite wizard?" Tony asked, his entrance punctuated by the slight clatter of the door behind them.

Peter looked up, exhaustion evident in the shadows beneath his eyes. "No change," he replied, his voice just above a whisper. "Dr. Cho came in again about twenty minutes ago. Said his vitals are stable but..." He trailed off, gaze drifting back to Harry's pale face.

Tony moved to stand on the opposite side of the bed, studying the monitors with practiced precision. "Kid's tougher than he looks," he said, though the worry in his voice belied his confident words.

Rhodey hung back near the doorway, his expression somber as he took in the scene. "Tony told me what happened," he said to Peter. "That shield—did you see anything like it before?"

Peter shook his head. "Nothing like that. I mean, I've seen him do little things—levitate stuff, make lights flicker when he's upset. But this was..." He gestured helplessly. "Massive. Like he poured everything into it."

"To protect us," Tony added quietly, his fingers ghosting over Harry's forehead, careful not to disturb the monitoring sensors. "Stupid, self-sacrificing kid."

The room fell into contemplative silence, broken only by the steady beeping of monitors and the soft hum of the ventilation system. Peter's eyelids began to droop despite his best efforts, his body craving rest after the stress of the day.

"Pete, you need to get some rest," Tony said, his tone gentle but firm. "Harry wouldn't want you running yourself into the ground. There's a cot set up in the corner."

"I'm fine," Peter insisted, though the dark circles under his eyes told a different story. "I want to be here when he wakes up."

Tony exchanged a glance with Rhodey, who stepped forward. "Peter, you're no good to Harry if you collapse too. At least stretch out on the cot. You'll still be here if anything changes."

Peter hesitated, his gaze lingering on Harry's still form. "FRIDAY will alert you immediately if there's any change in his condition," Tony added, his voice softening. "Even a twitch."

"Immediately," Peter insisted.

"Immediately," Tony confirmed.

After a moment's deliberation, Peter nodded. "You'll stay with him?"

"Not going anywhere," Tony assured him, moving to take Peter’s place in the chair. "Get some rest, kid."

With reluctance, Peter finally relinquished his hold on Harry's hand, carefully placing it back on the bed before moving to the cot. He didn't bother removing his shoes, just stretched out on his side facing Harry's bed, one arm tucked under his head.

"I made the call," Tony said quietly once Peter's breathing had evened out, though he suspected the boy wasn't fully asleep yet. "Rogers and Romanoff will be here tomorrow."

Rhodey raised an eyebrow. "That was fast."

"They were already in New York. Natasha said they've been keeping tabs." Tony's mouth twisted in a wry smile.

Rhodey sat down on the other side of Harry's bed where he could see both Tony and the door. "And you're okay with that? Them watching you?"

Tony's fingers drummed against his thigh, a nervous rhythm at odds with his carefully neutral expression. "Not particularly, but it's not surprising. And right now, we need the help more than I need my pride."

The silence that followed was weighted with unspoken history—the Accords, Siberia, months of bitter silence. Tony's gaze remained fixed on Harry's pale face, as if the unconscious teenager might offer some solution to the tangled mess of alliances and betrayals that awaited them.

"What do you know about these wizards?" Rhodey finally asked, his tactical mind already mapping out potential threats and contingencies.

Tony shook his head. "Not enough. They can appear out of nowhere—teleportation, I guess. They use wands to channel their magic, but Harry managed that shield without one, so clearly it's not a requirement. The old man—Dumbledore—he's powerful. You can feel it radiating off him, like standing too close to an exposed wire."

"And they want Harry."

"They want to control him," Tony corrected, his voice hardening. "You should have seen them, Rhodey. They didn't even notice the wheelchair. Didn't care that he could barely move. Just grabbed him like he was a package to be delivered."

Rhodey hummed, lost in his thoughts as Tony's fingers drummed a restless pattern against the armrest of his chair. "Natasha said something about having 'resources' that might help with our wizard problem."

"What kind of resources?" Rhodey asked, lowering his voice as Peter shifted on the cot.

"Wouldn't say over the phone." Tony's gaze fixed on Harry's still form. "But she seemed to know exactly what I was talking about when I mentioned wizards. No surprise, no questions—just said she'd explain when they got here."

A small groan from the bed drew their attention. Harry's fingers twitched against the sheets, his eyelids fluttering though they didn't open.

Peter was instantly alert, pushing himself up from the cot with enhanced speed. "Harry?"

Tony leaned forward, hope flaring in his chest as he watched Harry's face for any sign of consciousness. The boy's lips moved slightly, forming words without sound, his brow furrowing as if in concentration or pain.

"FRIDAY, get Dr. Cho," Tony ordered, his hand hovering uncertainly over Harry's shoulder.

Harry's eyes snapped open suddenly, unfocused and filled with panic. His breathing accelerated, the monitors registering his distress with urgent beeping. "Tony," he gasped, trying to push himself upright. "Peter—"

"Hey, easy there," Tony said, gently pressing Harry back against the pillows. "We're all safe. Peter's right here, and I'm fine. You're in the medical bay at the compound."

Harry's eyes darted around wildly, struggling to focus. "Dumbledore...Snape—"

"Gone," Peter assured him, moving to the edge of the bed. "They left after you put up that shield. Which was amazing, by the way, but maybe don't nearly kill yourself next time?"

Harry attempted a smile that looked more like a grimace. "Not planning to make a habit of it."

His breathing began to slow as recognition dawned in his eyes. He sagged back against the pillows, exhaustion evident in every line of his face. "How long was I out?"

"About six hours," Tony answered, his casual tone belied by the concern in his eyes. "You gave us quite a scare, kid."

Dr. Cho entered the room, moving swiftly to Harry's bedside. "Welcome back, Mr. Potter," she said professionally, checking the monitors. "How are you feeling?"

Harry hesitated, as if taking inventory of his body. "Tired," he finally admitted. "Like I've been trampled by a herd of hippogriffs." His voice was barely above a whisper, each word seeming to cost him effort.

"That's to be expected," Dr. Cho replied, shining a light in his eyes. "Your vitals are stabilizing, but you pushed yourself far beyond your body's current limitations."

Harry's gaze shifted to Rhodey, standing at the other side of his bed. A shudder ran through his frail body.

“Kid, for all of our heart's sakes, keep the scares to a minimum, ok?” Rhodes said with a weak smile.

Harry attempted a smile, but it faltered as a wave of dizziness washed over him. "Sorry about that," he managed, his voice barely above a whisper. He turned to Tony. "They were going to hurt you."

Tony's face softened with a mixture of pride and exasperation. "Kid, I'm Iron Man. I've taken hits from gods and super soldiers. A couple of wizards with sticks weren't going to be my undoing."

"You don't understand," Harry insisted, struggling to keep his eyes open. "Magic doesn't care about your armor. If they wanted to hurt you, they could have."

The room fell silent as the implications of Harry's words sank in. Dr. Cho continued her examination, her movements precise and professional despite the tension in the air.

"One of the intruders said that you are suffering from ‘Magical Exhaustion’" she said finally, making notes on her tablet. "From what little information we have on that, you need complete rest. No magic—not even small spells—for at least a week."

Harry nodded weakly. "I know. Feels like... like there's nothing left to draw on."

Peter perched on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb any of the monitoring equipment. "That shield thing you did—was that normal wizard stuff?"

A ghost of a smile touched Harry's lips. "Not without a wand. Not that big." His eyes drifted to Tony. "They'll be back, you know. They won't give up.”

Tony's expression hardened. "Let them try. We'll be ready next time."

Harry's gaze moved between Tony and Rhodey, a question forming in his tired eyes. "What do you mean, 'ready'?"

Tony exchanged a glance with Rhodey, a silent communication passing between them. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he faced Harry directly.

"I called in reinforcements," he admitted, watching Harry carefully for his reaction. "Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff will be here tomorrow."

Harry blinked slowly, processing this information through the fog of exhaustion. "The Avengers? The ones you fought with in Germany?"

"The very same," Tony confirmed, a tight smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Turns out when magical wizards start popping into my living room and attacking my family, old grudges take a backseat."

Peter shifted uncomfortably at the edge of the bed. "Are you sure that's a good idea, Mr. Stark? I mean, after everything..."

"It's complicated, kid," Tony replied, running a hand through his hair. "But Romanoff might have information about the magical world that we need, and Rogers..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Well, having Captain America around never hurts when
you're expecting trouble."

Harry's eyes drifted closed for a moment, fatigue clearly overwhelming him, but he forced them open again. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "This is all because of me. I don't want to be the reason you have to face people who hurt you."
The raw sincerity in Harry's voice struck Tony like a physical blow. For a moment, he was speechless, unprepared for the way this kid—this barely-conscious, magically-drained teenager—was worried about *his* emotional well-being.

"Kid," Tony said, his voice rough with emotion he couldn't quite suppress. "This isn't on you. None of it. Those wizards coming here? That's on them. Me calling Rogers? That's my choice." He leaned forward, making sure Harry met his eyes. "You're not a burden, Harry. You're family."

Harry's eyes glistened, overwhelmed by Tony's words. He swallowed hard, clearly losing the fight to stay awake despite his stubbornness. "But what if they try to take me away?"

"Not happening," Peter stated firmly, his usually cheerful face set with determination. "We won't let them."

"Peter's right," Rhodey added, stepping closer. "Nobody's taking you anywhere you don't want to go."

Harry's eyes were growing heavier by the second, but he struggled to maintain focus. "But if I hadn't come here—"

"Then I never would have known I had family," Tony interrupted firmly. "And that would have been the real tragedy."

A faint smile touched Harry's lips before his eyes drifted closed again, his body finally surrendering to exhaustion. Dr. Cho checked his vitals once more.

"He needs rest," she said quietly. "His body is still recovering, and that magical exertion set him back considerably."

Peter's eyes never left Harry's face. "But he is recovering, right?"

Dr. Cho's expression softened. "Yes. His vitals are stabilizing. He needs proper rest and care."

Tony stood, stretching muscles that had grown stiff from hours of tension. "Pete, you should get some actual sleep. In a real bed."

"I'm staying," Peter replied, his tone leaving no room for argument as he settled back onto the cot. "Just in case he wakes up again."

Tony recognized the stubborn set of Peter's jaw—it mirrored his own too closely to miss. "Alright, but actually sleep this time. FRIDAY will monitor him.

Tony's gaze lingered on Harry's sleeping form, noticing how the boy's fingers still clutched at the edge of the blanket even in unconsciousness. The protective gesture revealed more than words could about what Harry had endured.

"We'll take shifts," Tony decided, his voice low. "I'll wake you in four hours, Pete. And no arguments," he added as Peter opened his mouth to protest. "Harry's going to need you at full strength tomorrow when our guests arrive."

Peter reluctantly nodded, settling back onto the cot. "Fine. But wake me if anything changes. Anything at all."

"Scout's honor," Tony promised, raising three fingers in a mock salute that earned him an eye-roll from Rhodey.

As Peter finally surrendered to exhaustion, Tony sank back into the chair beside Harry's bed, his expression grave. "This is bigger than we thought, isn't it?" he murmured to Rhodey.

"Usually is," Rhodey replied, his military pragmatism a grounding presence. "But we've faced worse."

Tony's gaze remained fixed on Harry's pale face as he hummed in agreement.

—------

Later, the next day, the heavy-set security door slid open with a mechanical hum, admitting two figures who moved with purpose and precision. Steve Rogers took the lead, his stride steady and deliberate, while Natasha Romanoff followed closely, her eyes sweeping the room with sharp, calculating glances. Both carried the unmistakable air of seasoned operatives, prepared for whatever challenges might lie ahead.

Tony waited for them just inside the entrance, a mix of urgency and determination in his stance. "Thanks for coming on such short notice," he said, ushering them down the sleek corridor. The compound hummed with high-security energy, electronic locks clicking in their wake.

Steve nodded curtly, his blue eyes scanning their surroundings. "Your message sounded urgent. What's the situation?"

Tony's jaw tightened as he led them toward the conference room where Rhodey was already seated. "It's complicated. We're dealing with a threat that's...outside our usual wheelhouse."

Natasha's eyebrow arched. "Wizards, you said? I didn't think you believed in magic, Stark."

"I didn't," Tony replied grimly. "Until Loki. And Wanda. Then one wizard fell into my figurative lap and two more of them popped into my living room yesterday and tried to kidnap my cousin."

Steve and Natasha exchanged a glance, surprise evident on their faces.

"Your cousin?" Steve asked, his brow furrowed.

Tony waved a hand dismissively. "Long story. The short version is: I have a teenage wizard cousin named Harry Potter. He's been staying here, recovering from some pretty severe injuries. Yesterday, his old headmaster and a teacher showed up uninvited, and tried to force him to go back to England with them."

Natasha's eyes narrowed. "And you're sure they were actually wizards? Not enhanced individuals or some new tech we haven't encountered?"

"Trust me," Tony said, his voice tight. "What they can do goes way beyond any tech or enhancements we've seen. They appeared out of thin air, Romanoff. And when Harry tried to protect us..." He trailed off, his expression darkening.

They reached the door to the conference room. Tony paused, his hand on the handle. "Look, before we go in there, I need to know - are you both on board with this? Protecting Harry, I mean. Even if it means going up against an entire hidden magical society we know next to nothing about?"

Steve's jaw set with determination. "If there's a kid in danger, we'll do whatever it takes to keep him safe. You have my word on that, Tony."

Natasha nodded in agreement. "I think we need to hear the whole story first, then we’ll talk properly."

Tony searched their faces for a moment, then nodded, seemingly satisfied with what he saw. He pushed open the door, revealing Rhodey already seated at the large conference table.

"Alright then," Tony said as they filed in. "Let's start from the beginning."

For the next hour, Tony and Rhodey laid out everything that had happened since Harry's arrival at the compound. They mentioned his injuries, his gradual recovery, and the shocking revelation of their family connection. When they got to the confrontation with

Dumbledore and Snape, Steve's frown deepened, while Natasha's eyes took on a calculating gleam.

"Tony, do you know who Harry Potter really is? The exact reason why Dumbledore wants him so much?" Natasha asked, leaning forward with interest.

Tony stared at her confused. “What do you mean? And why does it sound like you are familiar with the old goat?” He asked defensively.

Natasha leaned back in her chair, her expression carefully neutral. "Because I am familiar with their world, Tony. More than you might expect."

The room fell silent as the implications of her words sank in. Tony's eyes narrowed, his fingers drumming an agitated rhythm against the table.

"Care to elaborate on that, Romanoff?" he asked, his tone deceptively light.

Natasha met his gaze steadily. "I was trained to infiltrate and gather intelligence on various hidden societies, including the magical world. The Red Room had... connections and the magical world isn't as hidden as they'd like to believe, especially not from organizations like SHIELD."

Steve's brow furrowed. "You never mentioned this before."

"It wasn't relevant before," Natasha replied with a slight shrug. "And it's not exactly common knowledge, even among intelligence agencies. The magical world guards its secrets carefully. They have strict laws about secrecy and non-interference with the non-magical world. For Dumbledore to come here, to risk exposure like this - it means Harry Potter is far more important than just being your long-lost cousin."

Tony leaned forward, his expression intense. "So you know about Harry? About why these wizards want him so badly?"

Natasha nodded slowly. "Harry Potter is... something of a legend in their world. They call him 'The Boy Who Lived.' He's famous for surviving a curse that should have killed him as a baby, and in the process, he somehow defeated one of the most powerful dark wizards of the last century."

"A baby defeated a dark wizard?" Rhodey asked skeptically while Tony asked at the same time, "And no one thought to mention this to the kid? Or to me?"

"The details are murky," Natasha admitted. "But the fact remains that Harry is seen as a symbol of hope and resistance against dark forces in the magical world. And from what I understand, Harry was raised outside the magical world, unaware of his fame until he started at Hogwarts, and even after, his location out of the school term is supposed to be a secret." She took a moment to let that set in.

"But there's more. The dark wizard - Voldemort - is not as dead as everyone would like to believe. There have been... incidents. Sightings.”

Tony's eyes widened in disbelief. "Hold on. You're telling me that my teenage cousin, who can barely walk right now, is some kind of prophesied magical savior? And the big bad he supposedly defeated as a baby isn't actually dead?"

Natasha nodded grimly. "That's the gist of it, yes. Which explains Dumbledore's desperation to get Harry back under his control. If Voldemort is regaining power, Dumbledore likely sees Harry as a key figure in the coming conflict."

Steve leaned forward, his tactical mind already whirring. "So we're not just dealing with a custody issue. We're potentially interfering in a magical war."

"A war Harry wants no part of," Tony said firmly. "You should see him. He's just a kid. A kid who's been through hell and deserves a chance at a normal life."

Rhodey cleared his throat. "As normal as life can be living with Tony Stark," he added with a wry smile.

Natasha's eyes narrowed slightly. "What exactly happened to Harry? You mentioned injuries, but you were vague on the details."

Tony and Rhodey exchanged a glance, both men's expressions darkening. "It's not pretty," Rhodey warned.

"We need to know," Steve insisted gently. "If we're going to help, we need the full picture."

Tony took a deep breath, his jaw clenching as he prepared to recount Harry's condition. "When Harry first arrived here, he was in bad shape. Signs of malnutrition, long-term abuse, and neglect. But the most pressing issue was damage to his spine - he was attacked by his uncle. The bastard left him paralyzed from the chest down."

Steve's eyes widened in shock while Natasha's expression hardened.

"We've been working on his recovery," Tony continued. "But it’s slow going, even though, ironically, his magic helps him heal faster than average. He was improving steadily until yesterday."

"Jesus," Steve muttered, running a hand over his face. "And Dumbledore wants to drag him back into a war in this condition?"

"From what we've pieced together, Dumbledore was the one who placed Harry with abusive relatives in the first place," Tony replied, his voice hard. "And then sent him back there year after year, despite knowing how he was treated."
Natasha's eyes narrowed. "That doesn't make sense. Harry Potter is too valuable to the magical world to be treated like that. Unless..."

"Unless what?" Rhodey prompted.

"Unless Dumbledore had a reason for keeping Harry vulnerable and isolated," Natasha finished, her expression troubled. "It's a classic manipulation tactic. Keep your asset dependent on you, grateful for any kindness."
Tony's fist clenched on the table. "That tracks with what we've seen…"

Steve shook his head, disgust evident on his face. "So what's our play here? We can't let them take Harry back to that situation."

"Damn right we can't," Tony agreed fiercely. "But we're at a disadvantage. We don't know enough about their capabilities or their laws. For all we know, they could have some magical equivalent of custody rights over Harry."
Natasha leaned forward, her expression thoughtful. "Not necessarily. The magical world, especially in Britain, is still tied to old traditions. Blood relations carry a lot of weight. If you can prove you're Harry's closest living relative—"

"Which I am," Tony interjected.

"—then you might have a stronger claim than you think," Natasha finished. "Especially if you can demonstrate that you're better equipped to protect and care for Harry."

Steve nodded slowly. "So we need to prepare for legal and... less conventional challenges."

"Exactly," Rhodey agreed. "We need to be ready for everything from magical lawyers to outright attacks."

Tony ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "The problem is, we don't know what 'everything' entails regarding magic. Harry tried to explain some of it, but he's just a kid. And now he's laid up in medical after nearly killing himself to protect us."

A heavy silence fell over the room as they all contemplated the gravity of the situation.

"I might have a solution," Natasha said after a moment, her voice careful. "Or at least, a way to level the playing field a bit."

All eyes turned to her expectantly.

"We can go to Gringotts," Natasha continued. "It's the wizarding bank. They offer blood inheritance tests that will confirm your ties and claim to Harry. More importantly, they're neutral territory. And while we're there, we can get more information about Harry's status and any magical obligations or contracts that might be in place. The goblins who run Gringotts don't answer to wizarding authorities like Dumbledore."

Tony's eyebrows shot up. "Goblins? As in, short, green, pointy-eared goblins?"

"Not exactly," Natasha replied with a hint of amusement. "But they are a separate magical race, and they take their banking very seriously. If we can establish your claim through their official channels, it'll be much harder for Dumbledore to contest it."

"And how exactly do we get into this magical bank?" Rhodey asked skeptically.

"Leave that to me," Natasha replied with a hint of a smile. "I have contacts who can get us in discreetly. We'll need to move fast, though. Dumbledore won't stay away for long. But there is one thing, Harry will need to come with us."

Tony's expression hardened at Natasha's suggestion. "Absolutely not. Harry's in no condition to go anywhere right now. He nearly killed himself protecting us yesterday."

"I understand your concern," Natasha replied calmly, "but Harry's presence is crucial. The inheritance test requires his blood as well as yours. And his magical signature will be needed to access any vaults or information about him."

Steve leaned forward, his brow furrowed in thought. "Is there no way to do this without putting Harry at risk? He sounds like he's in a very vulnerable state. Maybe we could bring a goblin here?"

Natasha shook her head. "Unfortunately, no. Gringotts is more than just a bank. It's neutral ground, protected by ancient magic. The tests and rituals we need can only be performed there.”

Tony's jaw clenched, his fingers drumming an agitated rhythm against the table. "And what if Dumbledore or his cronies show up while we're there? Harry can barely move, let alone defend himself."

"That's where we come in," Steve said, his voice steady and reassuring. "We'll create a protective detail. Between the four of us, we should be able to keep Harry safe."

“Five. Peter is sticking to Harry like Gorilla Glue right now. He won’t let Harry out of his sight.” Tony said with a slight smile.

Rhodey, who had been quiet for a while, nodded. "Tony, I hate to say it, but I think we need to consider this. If it can legally establish your guardianship and give us more information about what we're up against, it might be worth the risk. Plus, if this place is as neutral as Natasha says, Dumbledore might not risk making a scene there."

Tony ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his expression. "I don't like it," he admitted. "But you're right. We need to do this." He turned to Natasha, his gaze intense. "How soon can you arrange it?"

Natasha pulled out her phone, her fingers flying over the screen. "I can have everything set up for tomorrow morning. Early, before the bank gets busy."

"That fast?" Rhodey asked, surprise evident in his voice.

Natasha's lips quirked in a small smile. "I have my ways. Plus, time is of the essence here."

Tony nodded, his expression grim. "Alright. We do this tomorrow. But I want every precaution in place. Steve, I need you and Rhodey to work out a security plan. Assume hostiles could appear from anywhere at any time."

Steve nodded, already shifting into tactical mode. "We'll cover all angles. No one gets near Harry without going through us first."

"I'll brief you both on what to expect in the magical world," Natasha added. "There are certain things you need to be prepared for."

Tony stood, his movements restless. “Come on, you should meet the kid. If we are going to do this, he needs to be at least familiar with you.”

Tony led Steve and Natasha through the sleek corridors of the compound, the tension in his shoulders evident with every step. As they approached the medical wing, he paused, turning to face them with a stern expression.

"Look, before we go in there, I need you both to understand something," Tony said, his voice low and intense. "Harry's been through hell. He's not just physically vulnerable right now - he's emotionally raw. So no interrogations, no pushing for information he's not ready to give. Got it?"

Steve nodded solemnly. "We're here to help, Tony. Not to make things harder for him."

Natasha's expression softened slightly. "We'll follow your lead."

Satisfied, Tony pushed open the door to Harry's room. Inside, he found Peter perched on the edge of Harry's bed, animatedly describing some web-shooter design while Harry, propped up against a mountain of pillows, listened with a tired smile, his green eyes bright behind his glasses.

"Hi kiddo," Tony said, his voice gentler than Steve or Natasha had ever heard it. "How are you feeling?"

Harry managed a weak smile. "Better. Still tired, but better."

Tony moved to Harry's bedside, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder. "That's good. Listen, we've got some visitors I'd like you to meet."

Harry's eyes widened slightly as he took in Steve and Natasha standing in the doorway. Despite his exhaustion, there was a flicker of recognition in his gaze.

"Harry, this is Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff," Tony introduced, his tone carefully neutral. "They're here to help us with our... wizard problem."

Peter straightened, his posture shifting subtly to a more protective stance next to Harry's bed.

"It's nice to meet you, Harry," Steve said, his voice warm as he stepped forward. "Tony's told us a bit about what you've been through. We want you to know we're here to help however we can."

Harry nodded, his expression a mix of wariness and curiosity. "Thank you," he said softly. "I'm sorry for causing so much trouble."

Natasha moved closer, her keen eyes taking in every detail of Harry's condition. "You have nothing to apologize for," she said firmly. "None of this is your fault."

Harry's gaze lingered on Natasha, a question forming in his tired eyes. "You... you know about the magical world, don't you? I can tell."

"I do," Natasha confirmed with a slight nod. "And that's part of why we're here. We have a plan that might help secure Tony's guardianship over you and protect you from Dumbledore's interference. But it will require your participation."

Harry's brow furrowed, a mix of hope and apprehension crossing his face. "What kind of plan?"

Tony moved closer, his hand resting protectively on Harry's shoulder. "We need to go to Gringotts," he explained gently. "To do an official inheritance test and establish my claim as your guardian."

Harry's eyes widened. "Gringotts? But that's in Diagon Alley. In London. How--"

"There are multiple branches around the world. The closest branch to us is in New York City," Natasha interjected smoothly. "We can be there and back before Dumbledore even realizes what's happening."

Harry's gaze darted between Tony and Natasha, uncertainty clear in his expression. "But... is it safe? What if Dumbledore finds out?"

"That's where we come in," Steve said, his voice steady and reassuring. "We'll be there to protect you."

Peter nodded, fierce protectiveness clear in his face. "No one is getting near you."

Harry seemed to consider this for a moment as he looked at Peter then Tony, his fingers twisting in the bedsheet. "When?" he finally asked.

"Tomorrow morning," Tony replied.

Harry's eyes widened slightly at Tony's response. "Tomorrow? That's... that's soon."

Tony nodded, his expression a mix of determination and concern. "I know it's fast, kid. But we need to move quickly before Dumbledore has a chance to regroup. The sooner we can establish legal guardianship, the safer you'll be."

Harry's gaze dropped to his hands, which were twisting anxiously in the blanket. "I... I don't know if I can," he admitted softly. "I can’t even sit up on my own right now."

Tony leaned in, his voice gentle but encouraging. "We'll take care of that, Harry. Between Peter and me, we’ll make sure you're comfortable the whole time. Platypus, Steve, and Nat will be with us the whole time too."

Peter leaned in, his voice gentle but determined. “I’ll carry you all the way if we need to. No biggie.”

Harry let his head rest on the pillow as he gave Peter a tired smile.

Natasha stepped closer, her expression softening as she addressed Harry directly. "I know this is a lot to take in, especially when you're still recovering. But this could be our best chance at keeping you out of Dumbledore's reach. The goblins at Gringotts respect blood ties and magical contracts above all else. If we can establish Tony's guardianship through their channels, it will be much harder for anyone to contest it."

Harry looked at her, hope mixed with the exhaustion in his green eyes. "You think it could work?"

"I do," Natasha affirmed with a nod. "But it has to be your choice, Harry. We won't force you into anything you're not ready for.”

Harry was quiet for a long moment, his gaze moving between Tony, Peter, Steve, and Natasha. The weight of the decision was visible in the tension of his shoulders and the furrow of his brow. Finally, he took a deep breath and nodded.

"Okay," he said softly. “If you think it will help, I'll do it."

Tony squeezed Harry's shoulder gently. "That's my brave kid. We'll be with you the whole time, I promise."

Peter beamed, relief evident in his expression. He took Harry’s hand and held it tight, the simple action conveying more than any words could.

Steve stepped forward, his posture straightening as he shifted into tactical mode. "Alright, let's talk logistics. Natasha, what do we need to know about Gringotts? Security measures, potential threats?"

As Natasha began to outline the intricacies of goblin security and magical wards, Harry's eyelids began to droop, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with him. Tony noticed immediately, cutting off the discussion with a raised hand.

"We can talk details elsewhere," Tony said firmly, nodding toward Harry's increasingly heavy eyelids. "Harry needs to rest if he's going to be up for this tomorrow."

"Of course," Steve agreed, stepping back. "We'll work out the details and brief everyone in the morning."

Harry struggled to keep his eyes open, fighting against the exhaustion pulling at him. "I'm fine," he insisted weakly. "I want to hear the plan."

Tony chuckled, gently ruffling Harry's already messy hair. "Nice try, kid. But you need to sleep more than you need to hear us argue about security formations. I will fill you in on anything important later. Pete, you staying?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah. Not going anywhere."

Harry let out with a small sigh, his head sinking deeper into the pillows. "Alright. But wake me if anything happens."

"You got it," Tony assured him, though his tone suggested he had no intention of disturbing Harry's rest for anything short of an apocalypse.

As the adults prepared to leave, Peter remained perched on the edge of Harry's bed, clearly intending to stay. Tony raised an eyebrow but didn't comment, simply nodding in acknowledgment of Peter's silent vigil.

"Get some sleep, kids," Tony said, his voice gentler than Steve or Natasha were used to hearing. "Tomorrow's going to be a big day."

Harry's eyes were halfway closed as they left the room, his exhaustion winning the battle of wills. He looked at Peter and raised his eyebrow. “You’ll carry me if you need to?” He couldn’t help to tease.

Peter's cheeks flushed slightly, but he grinned back at Harry. "Hey, super strength, remember? You weigh about as much as my backpack."

Harry chuckled weakly, his eyes already drifting closed despite his best efforts to keep them open. "S'not saying much. Your backpack weighs a ton."

"That's because I carry around all those chemistry textbooks you keep asking me about," Peter replied, settling more comfortably in the chair beside Harry's bed. "Which, by the way, we're totally getting back to once this wizard drama is over."

"Mmm," Harry hummed sleepily. "Sounds nice. Normal."

Peter watched as Harry's breathing evened out, sleep finally claiming him. Even at rest, there was a tension in Harry's features, as if some part of him remained on guard. Peter leaned forward, speaking softly to his sleeping friend.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 8

The next morning arrived with methodical precision as the compound stirred to life before dawn. In Harry's medical room, Dr. Cho performed one final check of his vitals while Tony hovered nearby, his attention divided between Harry's condition and the tablet in his hands.

"Your readings are stable," Dr. Cho announced, her professional demeanor softened by a small smile. "Still showing signs of magical exhaustion, but you're recovering at a good rate."

Harry nodded, sitting up straighter against his pillows. The dark circles under his eyes had lightened slightly, though exhaustion still clung to him like a second skin. "So I'm cleared for the trip?"

Dr. Cho's expression turned serious. "Medically speaking, I'd prefer you remain in bed for at least another day. But..." she glanced at Tony, who was watching the exchange with barely concealed anxiety, "I understand the urgency of the situation. You're cleared, but with strict conditions."

"Name them," Tony said immediately.

"No magic whatsoever," Dr. Cho stated firmly, her gaze locking onto Harry's with a seriousness that left no room for negotiation. "Even passive magic could weaken you further and set back your recovery significantly. If you're gone longer than two hours, you must take regular breaks.”

She turned back to Tony, “Reposition constantly, and if necessary, pick him up slightly to relieve pressure off his back. I'm sending an emergency kit with monitoring equipment. Keep a close eye on the leg bag the entire time."

Harry's face flushed with embarrassment at the mention of such detailed precautions, but he nodded in agreement despite his obvious discomfort. "I understand," he murmured, the color in his cheeks deepening.

Peter entered the room at that moment, a small duffel bag slung over his shoulder and wearing an expression of determined cheerfulness. "Morning!" he greeted brightly, as if he hadn't spent the entire night on the uncomfortable chair. "I brought clothes. Comfortable ones, like you asked."

Tony set down his tablet, moving quickly to help Harry prepare. "Alright, kid. Let's get you ready for our little field trip," he said, trying to keep the mood light despite the tension thrumming beneath the surface.

With practiced efficiency that spoke of their growing familiarity and teamwork, Tony and Peter assisted Harry as he changed into his Spiderman hoodie and sweatpants. Tony checked the compression stockings Harry had started to wear the week before while Peter busied himself putting on a pair of thick wool socks on Harry’s feet before adding loose sneakers. The careful transfer from bed to custom-made wheelchair revealed how adept the two had become at working together for Harry's sake.

The frustration at his dependence was clear in the tight line of Harry's mouth, his cheeks tinged with red once more as they fussed over him. But he accepted their help with a reluctant resignation, knowing he had little option until he got stronger and started to learn how to take care of himself.

Dr. Cho handed Tony a compact but comprehensive emergency kit, her expression both stern and sympathetic. "Remember, any signs of strain, and you turn back immediately," she insisted, as if sheer volume could ensure compliance. "Don't push it. Harry's recovery is the priority."

Tony nodded, shouldering the kit with a grim set to his jaw. "Got it," he replied, his voice a mix of gratitude and tension. "Thanks, Helen. We'll be careful."

"Just be safe," she replied. Her eyes softened as she turned to Harry. "And good luck."

Harry managed a small smile, though it was tinged with anxiety. He looked at Peter, who was picking up a blanket and folding it in half.

Harry rolled his eyes and chuckled softly. “You’re not bundling me up like an old man, are you?”

Peter laughed, draping the blanket over Harry, from above the waist down to his feet. "Nah, just making sure you keep warm and safe. We’ve got a deal, right? You’ll tell me or Tony the moment something feels wrong, right?”

"I will," Harry promised, though a hint of nervousness belied his casual tone.

Tony was watching the interaction with a fond smile. He wondered when they’d realized what was happening between them. Seeing Harry looking a bit more comfortable with his blanket around him, Tony moved forward. "Okay, then, let's do this.” he said, the determination in his voice unwavering.

"Platypus, we're off!" He said to the comm in his ear, signaling the rest of the team.

The trip to the hangar felt longer than it was, every bump a reminder of Harry's fragile state despite the seemingly carefree air Peter and Tony tried to maintain. Harry watched the blur of motion around them, his expression a mix of apprehension and resolve. His fingers twisted nervously on the blanket in his lap, though he remained silent, trusting Tony's assurance and Peter's optimism to carry them through this uncertain venture.

As entered the hangar, Steve joined them, his stride brisk and purposeful. "Quinjet's prepped. Nat and Rhodey are already on board."

The Quinjet’s sleek form gleamed under the overhead lights. Tony wheeled Harry carefully up the ramp, his movements uncharacteristically measured as he locked the chair into a modified restraint system. "Comfortable, kiddo?" he asked, adjusting a safety bar that Peter had designed for extra security.

Despite Harry's efforts, his exhaustion was starting to weigh on him again. He sagged slightly in the wheelchair. Tony noticed immediately and paused, crouching down to meet Harry's eyes.

"Still with us?" he asked, concern threading his voice.

"Yeah," Harry replied, though his voice was weak. He took a steadying breath, trying to rally his waning strength. "I'm okay. Let's do this." His expression was a mix of determination and wariness.

Peter hovered close, adjusting and re-adjusting straps with an engineer’s precision. "Remember, you’ll let us know if you need anything, okay? Snacks? More blankets? Back issues of Scientific American?"

Harry's laughter was short but genuine. He felt buoyed by their support, even as he shivered slightly. "Yeah, yeah. I'm really okay."

Tony gave Peter a thumbs-up, and the rest of the team settled in around the cabin, each wearing a face of gritty resolve mixed with worry for Harry. Tony checked the coordinates into the navigation system, his focus glued to updating the instruments.

The Quinjet hummed to life, vibrating softly beneath them and adding to Harry's growing fatigue. Even though nobody had pressed him to do so, Harry leaned his head back on the chair’s headrest and closed his eyes, letting exhaustion pull him under again as he tried his best not to worry the others.

Through a thin fog of awareness, voices floated in and out.

"How much longer?" Peter asked, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

"Too long if you keep asking like that," Tony replied with a familiar snarkiness that failed abysmally at hiding his own tension.

Steve interjected, calm authority underpinning every word. "We're on schedule. Looks like eight minutes until landing.”

Seconds dragged. As they approached the destination, something electric crackled in the air; a magical signature that raised all their hairs on end. They closed in steadily on it.

In response to Rhodey’s silent nod from across the cabin, Tony turned to Natasha. “Are you sure we will be able to land undetected?” They were landing on the top of the Flatiron Building in Manhattan. When Natasha had told them of the location of the goblin bank, Tony had almost refused to believe that it had been so close to the Avenger’s tower location.

The plan was to land on the roof and meet a goblin to go inside. Natasha had been clear that the offices and vaults were all deep underground, with only a discreet entrance to the bank on the main floor. Natasha had managed to persuade her contact at the bank for a special entry permit, given Harry’s delicate state.

As they neared the building’s roof, they started to get ready.

Harry stirred, responding to either the vibrations or their voices as they moved around to the cabin. His eyes blinked open slowly, registering first the blur of faces and then the Quinjet’s ambient noise.

"We there?" he asked groggily.

"Yeah, we're there," Peter said, relief flooding his voice as he adjusted Harry's blanket again.

The Quinjet touched down quietly. Harry inhaled deeply through his nose, eyes brighter now despite his fatigue. He recognized this feeling of magic. He’d been around it before.

As they prepared to exit the Quinjet, Tony’s focus shifted to Natasha. "You think Dumbledore will try to stop us?"

"He won't expect us to go to Gringotts," She replied. "Not in America. He probably thinks there’s nothing valuable other than gold."

"There's more than that?" Peter asked, taking a seat next to Harry. His curiosity was an unspoken question mark.

"Yes, there's more to it than that," Harry interjected quietly. "Especially for old families."

Tony glanced at Harry, surprised by the sudden insight. "Old families?"

Harry nodded, adjusting his glasses with a slightly trembling hand. "Purebloods—wizarding families that go back generations—they often keep more than just gold in their vaults. Family artifacts, magical items, important documents." His voice grew stronger as he spoke about something familiar. "The Potters are an old family. I just... never got to learn much about it."

A shadow crossed his face, and Tony recognized the look of someone who'd been denied their heritage. He squeezed Harry's shoulder gently.

"Well, let's go find out together," he said, keeping his tone light despite the gravity of the situation.

Tony unlocked the safety restraints on Harry's wheelchair, his movements careful and precise. "Alright, team. Let's move out. Remember the plan - we stay together, we get in and out as quickly as possible, and we keep Harry safe at all costs."

As the Quinjet's ramp lowered, a gust of cool morning air swept into the cabin. Harry shivered slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around his chest. Peter noticed immediately and positioned himself to block the wind, his protective instincts kicking into high gear.

"Ready?" Tony asked Harry, his hand resting lightly on the wheelchair's handle.

Harry nodded, his expression resolute despite the pallor of his face. "Yeah."

They descended the ramp in tight formation - Tony pushing Harry's wheelchair with Peter at his side, while Steve took point and Rhodey and Natasha flanked them. The rooftop was empty save for a single figure waiting near an inconspicuous door - a goblin dressed in an impeccable charcoal suit that seemed at odds with his sharp features and pointed ears.

The goblin's eyes swept over their group, lingering for a moment on Harry before settling on Natasha. "Ms. Romanoff," he acknowledged with a curt nod. "Your party is expected. I am Nagnok, senior account manager."

"Thank you for accommodating us on such short notice, Nagnok," Natasha replied, her tone respectful but confident.

The goblin's lips thinned in what might have been a smile or a grimace. "Gringotts values its discretion, especially for clients of Mr. Potter's standing." His gaze returned to Harry, who straightened slightly under the scrutiny.

"Mr. Potter," Nagnok said, his voice carrying a formality that seemed to echo with ancient protocols. "It has been some time since a Potter has visited our New York branch. Your account manager will be pleased."

Harry blinked in surprise. "I have an account manager?"

Something that might have been amusement flickered across Nagnok’s sharp features. "Indeed. The Potter accounts have always warranted dedicated management." He gestured toward the door. "If you'll follow me, Director Marok is waiting. We have prepared a private chamber for the inheritance ritual."

Harry nodded, instinctively recognizing the need for formality. "Right. Thank you for your assistance, Master Nagnok," he replied, his voice stronger than it had been all morning.

The goblin seemed pleased by the proper greeting, his stern features relaxing slightly. "Follow me," he instructed, turning toward the door. "We have secured a direct passage to avoid... unnecessary attention."

Tony's grip tightened on the wheelchair handles as they followed Nagnok through the door and into a surprisingly spacious elevator. The interior was lined with ornate gold filigree that seemed to shift and move when viewed from the corner of one's eye.

Despite its antique appearance, the elevator descended with remarkable smoothness, the only indication of their movement being a subtle pressure change that made Harry's ears pop.

"The main banking floor is thirty levels below street level," Nagnok explained as they descended. "However, we will be proceeding directly to the inheritance chambers on level forty-two."

Peter leaned closer to Harry, taking his hand and whispering, "This is so cool. Like, scary-cool, but still cool."

Harry managed a small smile, closing his fingers around Peter’s, though his shoulders remained tense. The familiar sensation of powerful magic surrounded them, growing stronger with each passing second. It felt different from Hogwarts—older, more primal somehow—but there was a comfort in being back in a magical space after weeks in the non-magical world.

The elevator came to a smooth stop, and the doors slid open to reveal a corridor of polished black marble veined with gold. Torches that burned with emerald flames lined the walls, casting dancing shadows that seemed to whisper ancient secrets. The air hummed with magic so thick it was almost tangible, making the hairs on Harry's arms stand on end.

"This way," Nagnok directed, leading them down the corridor with measured steps.

Tony pushed Harry's wheelchair carefully, his eyes darting from side to side, taking in every detail of their surroundings with the sharp focus of someone cataloging potential threats and escape routes. Peter stayed close to Harry's side, his enhanced senses on high alert despite his obvious fascination with the magical environment.

"How are you holding up?" Tony murmured to Harry, bending slightly to speak near his ear.

"I'm okay," Harry replied, his voice low. "The magic here... it feels different. Stronger."

Tony nodded, though his expression betrayed his inability to sense what Harry described. "Just remember what Dr. Cho said. No magic from you today, kid." Harry nodded.

"The inheritance chambers are our most secure facilities," Nagnok explained as they approached a set of massive doors carved from what appeared to be a single slab of obsidian. "They are warded against all forms of magical and mundane surveillance or interference. Please keep that in mind, Mr. Stark."

The doors swung open silently at their approach, revealing a circular chamber dominated by a large round table of polished silver. As they entered the chamber, the air grew thick with ancient magic. Harry's breath caught momentarily, feeling the weight of centuries pressing down on him. The three goblins at the table rose with synchronous precision, their sharp eyes evaluating each member of the party before settling on Harry.

"Welcome, Heir Potter," spoke the goblin seated at the center, his voice gravelly yet clear. "I am Director Marok. These are Senior Managers Righhook and Silvertooth. We understand you seek an inheritance verification and guardianship ritual." His gaze shifted to Tony. "And this must be Mr. Stark who claims kinship."

Tony stepped forward, his hand never leaving Harry's wheelchair. "Tony Stark. Thank you for seeing us on such short notice."

Marok's lips curled into what might have been a smile, revealing pointed teeth. "Gringotts values efficiency, Mr. Stark. Please, be seated."

The group arranged themselves around the table, Tony positioning Harry's wheelchair carefully between himself and Peter. Steve, Natasha, and Rhodey took positions slightly behind them, forming a protective semicircle.

Marok's eyes, dark and shrewd, studied Harry intently. "The Potter family has always maintained a... unique relationship with Gringotts. It is our honor to assist the last of the line." His gaze shifted to Tony. "And to verify any legitimate claims of familial connection."

Harry glanced at Tony, a flicker of nervousness crossing his face. "So how does this work, exactly?"

Righhook, a goblin with silver streaks in his dark hair, placed an ornate silver bowl in the center of the table. The basin was etched with runes that seemed to shift and dance around its rim.

"The ritual is straightforward, Heir Potter," Marok explained, his tone businesslike. "We require seven drops of blood from both you and Mr. Stark. The blood will activate the inheritance parchment, revealing all familial connections, inheritances, and any magical bindings or contracts that may affect your status."

"Magical bindings?" Tony asked sharply, his protective instincts flaring. "What do you mean by that? And is that safe for Harry in his condition?"

Silvertooth, the youngest-looking of the three goblins, answered. "Magical bindings are exactly what they sound like, Mr. Stark. Spells or enchantments that restrict or control aspects of a wizard's magic or life. Some are benign—placed by parents to protect children from accidental magic outbursts. Others..." he trailed off meaningfully.

"Others can be used to control or manipulate," Natasha finished quietly.

Harry's fingers tightened around the arms of his wheelchair. "And this test will show if I have any of those?"

"Indeed," Marok confirmed, his dark eyes unreadable. "As for safety, the ritual requires only blood—no magical exertion on your part. It should not strain your current condition."

Tony's expression remained skeptical. "And you're sure about that? He's recovering from magical exhaustion."

"The ritual draws upon Gringotts' magic, not Mr. Potter's," Righhook assured them, producing an ornate silver dagger from a velvet-lined box. "Now, shall we proceed?"

Harry nodded, extending a slightly trembling hand. "Let's do it," he said firmly. Looking at Tony, he added. "I need to know."

With swift precision, the goblin made a small cut across Harry's palm. Harry winced slightly but remained still as seven drops of his blood fell into the silver basin. The crimson droplets seemed to shimmer as they hit the polished surface, spreading in an intricate pattern that resembled a family tree.

Tony was next, his face set in determination as he extended his hand. The goblin made a similar cut, and seven drops of Tony's blood joined Harry's in the basin. Where the blood drops met, they swirled together, neither repelling nor fully combining—like oil and water caught in a dance.

Marok placed a piece of blank parchment beside the basin. As they watched, the mingled blood began to rise from the bowl in thin, vaporous tendrils, hovering momentarily before settling onto the parchment. The blood sank into the paper, disappearing completely before lines of deep red script began to materialize.

Harry leaned forward in his wheelchair, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten as he watched his family history literally unfold before his eyes. Peter shifted closer, his shoulder brushing against Harry's as they both stared in fascination.

"The ritual reveals the truth of blood," Marok intoned, his voice carrying the weight of ancient tradition. "No magic can falsify these connections."

The room fell silent as the blood continued to spread across the parchment, forming an intricate web of names and lines. Harry watched, transfixed, as his name appeared at the bottom of the page, connected by a solid line to James and Lily Potter. Above them, branches spread outward, revealing generations of Potters he'd never known existed, including the man Tony had talked to Harry about.

Charlus Potter. His grandfather.

And there, two generations above him, connecting to his great-great-grandfather’s line, was a branch that led down, unmistakably, to Tony Stark.

"Second cousins," Righhook confirmed, tracing the connection with a long, gnarled finger. "Through your paternal great-great-grandfather, Magnus Potter. His squib daughter and your great-grand-aunt, Leonora Potter, married Edward Stark, Howard Stark’s father, making Anthony Edward Stark your closest living blood relative on the non-magical side."

Tony exhaled slowly, a strange mix of relief and wonder crossing his face. Even though he'd already confirmed their relationship through DNA testing, seeing it mapped out in magical blood somehow made it more real, more binding.

"Well, that settles that," he said, letting out a breath. “What does ‘squib’ mean?”

"A non-magical person born to magical parents," Harry explained quietly, his eyes still fixed on the parchment. "They're still part of magical families, but they can't do magic themselves."

Marok nodded. "Correct, Heir Potter. The Potter bloodline has produced several squibs throughout its history, though most magical families prefer not to discuss such matters."

Harry's fingers traced the line connecting him to Tony, a small smile playing on his lips despite his exhaustion. Having concrete proof of their family connection felt like an anchor in the chaos his life had become.

"Director Marok," Natasha spoke up, her voice measured and professional. "What about magical guardianship? Does this blood connection supersede any previous arrangements?"

The goblin's expression grew more serious. "That is where matters become... complicated." He gestured to the bottom portion of the parchment, where a series of runes had appeared beneath Harry's name. "According to the London branch records, Heir Potter's magical guardianship was assigned to Sirius Orion Black in case of the deaths of James and Lily Potter, as per the Potters' will. Since the will was sealed by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore following the deaths of the Potters, we are unable to confirm if the will was changed, read, or executed.”

Harry's breath caught in his throat. "My parents' will was sealed? By Dumbledore? Why?"

"That information is not available to us," Marok replied, his tone neutral yet somehow conveying disapproval. "The sealing of a will is a serious matter, typically reserved for cases involving national security or when execution of the will might endanger the living."

Tony's expression darkened. "And who decided Dumbledore had the authority to make that call?"

"As Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot at that time, he had the legal authority," Silvertooth explained, "though the ethics of such a decision are... debatable."

Harry's fingers tightened on the blanket. "So Sirius should have been my guardian? Not the Dursleys? I should’ve been with him all along…"

The name triggered something in Natasha's memory. "Sirius Black—isn't he the wizard who was imprisoned for betraying the Potters?"

Harry's head snapped up, his eyes flashing with sudden ferocity. "He was innocent! He was framed by Peter Pettigrew, who was the real Secret Keeper and the one who betrayed my parents. He never…”

Harry's voice broke, raw emotion overwhelming him as his hands trembled in his lap. "Sirius never even got a trial," he finished, his voice barely above a whisper.

Peter immediately placed a steadying hand on his shoulder while Tony leaned closer, his expression a mixture of concern and protective rage.

"Easy, kid," Tony murmured, his voice gentle. "Take a breath."

Harry struggled to compose himself, the strain of the day and the emotional revelation clearly taking their toll. "Sirius was my godfather," he continued after a moment, his voice quieter but no less intense. "He escaped Azkaban—the wizard prison—to protect me when he found out Peter Pettigrew was at Hogwarts. But everything went wrong, and he had to go into hiding."

Marok's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "This is... concerning information. If Heir Black was falsely imprisoned without trial, and he was the rightful magical guardian named in the will, then there are significant legal implications."

"It is true," Harry insisted, his green eyes blazing despite his exhaustion. "There were witnesses—me, Hermione, Ron, even Professor Lupin. But the Minister wouldn't listen."

Tony's jaw clenched in contained anger. "Can the will be unsealed?" Steve asked, stepping forward slightly.

“Yes, especially now that young Mr. Potter is already sixteen and can claim his Heirship,” Righhook replied, looking at a paper in front of him. “Since the main vault, including the will, Lord, and Heir rings are in the London branch, we will need a day to transfer them to our branch and make preparations.”

Marok nodded in agreement. “It is in the best interest of this establishment that we unveil the truth about this matter and work in the best interest of our patrons. We will make arrangements to bring the items to you, Mr. Potter, and proceed with the heirship claim. Once that is done, you have the right to unseal your parents will.”

Harry blinked, momentarily overwhelmed by this new information. "I can claim my Heirship? What does that mean exactly?"

Natasha raised her eyebrows surprised at the goblin’s accommodating attitude. It was not a regular occurrence with his kind.

Marok's expression shifted to one of surprise. "You were not informed of your status as Heir to House Potter? This is... most irregular. As the last of your line, you should have been prepared for your responsibilities from a young age."
Harry's shoulders tensed slightly.

Tony's hand found Harry's shoulder, squeezing gently in an attempt to relax him. "So what does this Heirship entail?" he asked, his tone careful but determined.

"The Potter Heirship comes with significant responsibilities and privileges," Righhook explained. "Upon claiming the Heir ring, Mr. Potter would gain access to the Potter family vaults, properties, and certain protections under wizarding law. At seventeen, he would become Lord Potter and take full control of the family estate."

"Properties?" Harry echoed, his voice small with surprise. "I have properties?"

The goblins exchanged glances that conveyed volumes of unspoken concern.

"The Potter estate includes several properties throughout Europe and America. " Silvertooth confirmed, his voice matter-of-fact despite the shock evident on Harry's face. "Including Potter Manor in Wales, a cottage in Godric's Hollow, a townhouse in London, and a villa in southern France."

Harry's mouth fell open slightly. "I had no idea," he whispered, his fingers tightening around the edge of his blanket while a complex mixture of emotions crossed his face—confusion, anger, grief. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"That," Marok said gravely, "is a question worth pursuing." His sharp eyes fixed on Harry with unexpected compassion. "It appears there has been significant interference in your affairs, Heir Potter."

"And what about Tony's guardianship?" Peter asked, still standing protectively next to Harry.

"The blood connection is indisputable," Marok stated, gesturing to the parchment where their names remained linked by a glowing red line. "As Mr. Potter's closest living blood relative, Mr. Stark has a legitimate claim to guardianship under both magical and mundane law."

"So it supersedes whatever arrangements Dumbledore made?" Tony asked, his voice sharp with hope.

Righhook's expression turned calculating. "With the proper documentation, yes. We can prepare the necessary paperwork to establish Mr. Stark as Mr. Potter's legal guardian in both the magical and non-magical worlds. Once filed with both MACUSA and the mundane authorities, the guardianship would be legally binding."

Harry's simply staring at the table, lost in thought. The weight of the revelations seemed to press down on him physically, and his already pale complexion grew paler.

Tony noticed immediately, his protective instincts flaring. "How long will that take?"

"We can have the documents prepared within the hour," Silvertooth replied efficiently. "For now, I believe we can stop for today. Given Mr. Potter’s physical and magical state, we think it is for the best that he is in a familiar and comfortable setting when he goes through the claim.”

Harry's eyes widened at the mention of the heirship ritual. "Could we... could we do it now? While we're here?" His voice was tinged with urgency despite his obvious exhaustion.

Marok’s eyebrows raised, his expression unexpectedly gentle for such fierce features. "The heirship ritual is magically demanding, Heir Potter. In your current state, it could cause severe harm."

Harry's shoulders sagged slightly, the brief burst of energy fading as quickly as it had come. Peter noticed immediately, shifting closer with concern etched across his features.

"Harry? You okay?" he asked softly.

Harry managed a weak nod, though the effort was visible. "Just tired," he murmured.

Marok gestured to Silvertooth, who quickly produced a small vial of shimmering blue liquid. "A restorative draught," the goblin explained, offering it to Harry. "Mild enough for your condition, but it will help stabilize your energy for a few hours."

Harry accepted the vial with slightly trembling fingers. After a moment's hesitation, Harry uncorked the vial and swallowed the contents in one gulp. The effect was subtle but immediate—some color returned to his cheeks, and his breathing became less labored.

"Thank you," he said, feeling more awake and responsive.

Marok nodded, surprisingly accommodating. "Of course. Your health must take priority." He gestured to Righhook, who produced a small wooden box inlaid with silver.

Seeing that Harry was still showing signs of fatigue, Natasha asked gently."Can we still check for magical binding? That was part of why we came. Also, I hope I am not asking too much, but could we have a healer come in and check on Harry? So far he’s had the best medical care Tony can provide, but given that the main concern at the moment is his magical exhaustion…"

Marok nodded, his expression grave. "Indeed. The inheritance parchment did reveal traces of magical bindings. We can take a break while I call for a healer, and go over the information afterward."

Harry's eyes widened with alarm. "Magical bindings?" He whispered.

Tony and Peter exchanged a troubled glance while Harry nodded his consent. "Yes, please. I'd like to know."

"Very well," Marok said, rising from his seat. "I shall return shortly with Healer Thornblade. In the meantime, you are welcome to rest and decide if you have any other questions." He gestured to the side of the room where a few comfortably looking chairs sat, previously unnoticed by the group.

As the door closed behind Marok, Tony moved closer to Harry, his face etched with concern. "How are you feeling, kid? And don't say 'fine' - I need the truth."

Harry managed a weak smile. "Better after that potion… although I think I need to shift position. My back is aching.”

Tony nodded and moved quickly to Harry's side, concern etched on his face. "Let's get you more comfortable. Put your arms around my neck."

With Peter's assistance, Harry followed Tony's instructions. Tony then gently lifted Harry, allowing Peter to rearrange the cushions for improved support of Harry's back and legs. The movement visibly relieved Harry, as the tension in his eyes eased a bit.

"Feel Better?" Tony asked as he gently set Harry back into the wheelchair, with Peter fine-tuning his posture.

"Yeah," Harry sighed, relaxing into the adjusted position. "Thanks."

“You got it, kiddo. Let me check your legs and leg bag really quick, ok?”

Harry nodded, his face coloring slightly as Tony discreetly checked the catheter bag attached to his leg and made sure his legs were properly positioned.

"All good," Tony confirmed, straightening up and giving Harry's hair a soft tousle.

“Let’s put this back on too,” Peter said, the blanket ready to go in his hands.

Harry chuckled weakly at Peter's fussing. "You're worse than Madam Pomfrey," he teased, though he accepted the blanket gratefully.

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Peter replied with a small grin.

Tony settled into a chair beside Harry's wheelchair, his eyes never leaving the door. "So, magical bindings," he said, his voice carefully neutral despite the tension evident in his shoulders. "Any idea what those might be, kid?"

Harry shook his head slowly. "No. I never heard of them before today." His brow furrowed in thought. "Though... there have been times when my magic felt... I don't know, stuck? Like there was something I should be able to do, but couldn't."
Steve and Rhodey exchanged concerned glances while Natasha's expression grew more calculating.

"We'll figure it out," Tony assured him, though his own worry was evident. "Whatever it is, whatever they did to you—we'll fix it."

Just then the door opened again, and Marok, Righhook, and Silvertooth returned, accompanied by a female goblin whose silver hair was styled in complex and ornate braids. She wore robes of deep burgundy with numerous small pouches attached to a belt at her waist.

"This is Healer Thornblade," Marok introduced. "She has been informed of your condition and has agreed to perform an examination."

Healer Thornblade approached Harry with brisk efficiency, her sharp eyes assessing him critically. "Mr. Potter," she acknowledged with a curt nod. "I understand you are suffering from magical exhaustion compounded by physical injuries to your spine?"

Harry nodded, straightening slightly under her clinical gaze. "Yes, ma'am."

Healer Thornblade's expression remained neutral as she set a small leather case on the table and opened it to reveal an array of unfamiliar instruments. "With your permission, I will perform a diagnostic assessment. It will not require any magical effort on your part, but you may feel a slight tingling sensation."

She looked to Tony, who had moved protectively closer to Harry's side. "With your permission, Mr. Stark?"

Tony hesitated only briefly before nodding. "Go ahead."

Healer Thornblade produced a wand of dark, polished wood and moved it in a complex pattern over Harry, murmuring in what sounded like Gobbledegook. A soft golden light emanated from the wand's tip, surrounding Harry in a gentle aura that pulsed with varying intensities around different parts of his body.

Harry gasped softly as the magic washed over him, a sensation like warm water flowing beneath his skin. The light around his chest and spine glowed particularly bright, while around his head, specifically his scar, it flickered with unsettling darkness that made the healer frown deeply.

"Hmm," she muttered, her expression growing more severe as the crystal changed colors—shifting from amber to a deep blue when it passed over his chest, then to an alarming black when it hovered near his spine injury.

"Significant damage to the T5 vertebra, fully severing of the spinal cord. Muggle medical intervention has stabilized the injury, but there is residual inflammation and nerve compression at the T3, T4, and T6 spinal sections."

The healer's voice remained clinical but took on a note of concern as she continued her assessment. "The magical exhaustion is severe but not life-threatening in itself. However..." she paused, her frown deepening as the crystal pulsed an unsettling light gray when she moved it over Harry's forehead, particularly his scar.

Healer Thornblade hissed something in Gobbledegook that made Marok's eyes widen. The other goblins exchanged alarmed glances.

"What is it?" Tony demanded, stepping closer to Harry. "What's wrong?"

The healer lowered her wand slowly, her expression fully professional. "Mr. Potter's condition is complex," she began carefully. “The spinal injury is severe, and unfortunately, beyond magical healing due to the time already passed since the moment of injury.”

Harry's face fell slightly, though he nodded with resigned acceptance. He'd suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed by a magical healer after Dr. Cho had told him the same thing somehow made it more final.

“We can still help with the inflammation and nerve compression. However, attempting such healing now would be dangerous due to the multiple magical bindings and... other issues."

Harry's face paled. "What do you mean by 'other issues'?"

The healer exchanged a loaded glance with Marok before answering. "There are traces of a foreign magical presence attached to your scar, Mr. Potter. Something dark and parasitic in nature."

Tony's hand tightened protectively on Harry's shoulder. "Parasitic? What exactly are we talking about here?"

"It seemed to be a soul fragment," Healer Thornblade said bluntly. "Extremely dark magic. It was there for years, gradually leeching your magical energy."

A heavy silence fell over the room. Harry's fingers clutched at his blanket, his knuckles white.

"A soul fragment?" he whispered. "You mean... part of Voldemort's soul is inside me?"

Peter's face drained of color as he moved closer to Harry, instinctively protective.

The healer nodded grimly. "Was. Yes. It appears it was contained primarily within the scar tissue, and it had a partial connection to your magical core."

"So it was removed?" Steve asked, his voice sharp with concern.

"Yes," she looked back at Harry. “Do you know when this happened?”

“No, I had no idea that was inside of me…” Harry said in a whisper.

“Hmm,” The healer turned to Tony to ask a question, but Natasha interjected before she could.

“How do you remove a soul fragment?”

“Well, in an inanimate object, we would not bother with removing the fragment, we would just destroy it. But in a living being… it is a first as far as I know. If the theory is correct, a soul fragment being hosted in a living being would only be destroyed if the host dies.”

Harry flinched visibly at her words, a shudder running through his thin frame.

"But," the healer continued, noticing Harry's reaction, "you are clearly still alive, which makes your case quite extraordinary since it appears the fragment was expelled recently, judging by the residual magical traces."

Tony's mind raced, connecting dots with lightning speed. "He died," he said suddenly, his eyes widening with realization. "When Harry was in surgery, after he appeared in my workshop, Helen said that he flatlined for almost two minutes. That there were all kinds of malfunctions and glitches in the equipment until they finally got his heart beating again.”

Healer Thornblade considered this, her sharp eyes assessing Harry with renewed interest. "I see. Yes, that would explain it. Death, even temporary, would have been enough to expel the fragment." She nodded thoughtfully. "It is fortunate that muggle medical intervention was able to revive you, Mr. Potter. Most wizards would not have survived such an ordeal."

Harry sat in stunned silence, trying to process this new information. A part of Voldemort had been inside him—living, feeding off his magic—for most of his life. And then it had been destroyed when he technically died on an operating table.

"Wait," Peter said, his brow furrowed in confusion. "If this... soul fragment is gone now, why is Harry still having problems with his magic? Shouldn't he be getting stronger?"

Healer Thornblade's expression grew stern once more. "That brings us to the matter of the magical bindings," she replied. "Mr. Potter's magical core shows evidence of multiple binding spells—layers of them, in fact. Some appear to have been placed when he was very young, others more recently. There is also evidence that some of those were already broken."

Harry's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat.

Tony's expression darkened dangerously. "What kind of bindings?"

Healer Thornblade's expression turned even grimmer as she consulted a piece of parchment that had materialized during her examination. "The most concerning was a powerful binding on your magical core, placed when you were approximately fifteen months old."

Tony leaned forward, his protective instincts flaring. "Fifteen months? That's right after—"

"After my parents died," Harry finished quietly, his face pale. "When Dumbledore left me with the Dursleys."

The healer nodded, her silver braids catching the light. "Correct. This binding restricted approximately sixty percent of your natural magical capacity. It could have been initially placed as a temporary measure, perhaps to protect you from accidental magic outbursts as an infant, but it was never removed or adjusted as you grew."

Peter's hand found Harry's shoulder, squeezing gently in silent support as Harry processed this information.

"You're saying someone deliberately crippled his magic?" Tony demanded, his voice sharp with barely contained rage.

Healer Thornblade met his gaze steadily. "It appears so. The binding signature matches that of Albus Dumbledore."

Harry's breath hitched, his fingers digging into the arms of his wheelchair. "Dumbledore did this to me? But why?"

"Control, perhaps," Natasha suggested quietly. "A child with unrestricted magical power would be harder to manipulate."

Healer Thornblade regarded him steadily. "Whether deliberate or negligent, the effect was the same. Mr. Potter had been operating at less than half his natural magical capacity for most of his life."

Harry's eyes were fixed on his hands, which trembled slightly in his lap. "So all those times when I couldn't produce a strong enough spell, or when my magic seemed to just... give out..." He trailed off, the implications sinking in.

"Your magic was fighting against artificial constraints," the healer confirmed. "It's remarkable you managed as much as you did with such severe limitations."

Steve stepped forward, his tactical mind already analyzing the situation. "You said there were multiple bindings. What else?"

"There were additional bindings as well," the healer continued, her clinical tone belying the severity of her findings. "A moderate restriction on your natural occlumency abilities—mental shields that would protect your mind from intrusion. A subtle compulsion to distrust authority figures except for specific exceptions. And most disturbingly, a loyalty binding keyed to Albus Dumbledore."

Harry flinched as if physically struck. "To never question his motives." His voice cracked slightly.

"Yes, quite possibly. But you’ll be happy to know that all three of them have been removed already. The loyalty and the natural occlumency were fully broken around the same time the soul fragment was released. The magic binding, however, was only partially broken. You may not have been able to feel the difference because of your weakened state and the spine injury that also interferes with your magic flow."

Harry's breath hitched. “My… is that why I was able to wandlesly summon a ‘Protego’ shield the other day?”

Healer Thornblade's eyes widened slightly. "You performed wandless magic of that complexity while still bound and suffering from spinal damage?" She couldn't quite hide the surprise in her voice. "That is... most remarkable, Mr. Potter. It suggests your natural magical potential is far greater than even I suspected."

Tony's hand tightened on Harry's shoulder, a complex mixture of pride and protective rage warring in his expression. "So what happens now? Can you remove the remaining binding?"

The healer's expression grew cautious. "Yes, but not immediately. In Mr. Potter's current condition, attempting to remove the final binding could cause a magical backlash that his body is just not prepared to handle. The sudden influx of power will overwhelm his system."

Harry's shoulders slumped slightly, disappointment evident in his posture.

"However," she continued, reaching into one of the pouches at her belt, "I can provide a regimen of potions that will help stabilize his magical core and prepare it for the unbinding ritual. With proper treatment, we could safely remove the binding in approximately three weeks."

Tony nodded, determination replacing his earlier anger. "Whatever he needs, just tell us."

Healer Thornblade produced several vials of different colored potions from her pouch, arranging them carefully on the table. "This blue one is a magical core stabilizer—one dose every morning. The amber solution is for nerve regeneration—it won't heal the severed spinal cord, but it will help address the inflammation around your spine—twice daily. The clear one is for general magical exhaustion and should be taken before sleep. And this," she held up a vial of swirling silver liquid, "is a specialized potion to gradually weaken the remaining binding without causing shock to your system—once every three days."

She fixed Harry with a stern look that reminded him powerfully of Madam Pomfrey. "You must follow this regimen precisely, Mr. Potter. Any deviation could set back your recovery significantly."

Harry nodded, determination replacing some of the shock in his expression. "I understand."

Tony studied the vials with the intensity of an engineer examining new technology. "I'll make sure he takes them exactly as prescribed," Tony assured her, already mentally planning a schedule and monitoring system. "Any side effects? Interactions with non-magical medications?"

The healer seemed to approve of his thoroughness. "The potions are compatible with most muggle medications, though I would recommend spacing them at least an hour apart from any pain relievers. As for side effects—increased appetite, occasional tingling sensations as the magic rebalances, and possibly vivid dreams."

Harry nodded, trying to absorb all the information despite his growing fatigue. The restorative draught was wearing off, and the emotional weight of all these revelations was taking its toll.

Peter noticed immediately. "Harry needs to rest," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "This is a lot to process."

Healer Thornblade nodded in approval before turning back to Harry. "Yes. It is pivotal that you rest and keep strenuous activity to a minimum. Now, before you go, regarding your spinal injury—while magic cannot reverse the damage after so long, once the binding is removed and your core is stabilized, we may be able to alleviate some of the secondary symptoms and improve your overall comfort and functionality. The nerve regeneration potion should help with pain management in the meantime."

Harry nodded, gratitude evident in his tired eyes. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For everything."

Healer Thornblade's stern expression softened slightly. "It is our honor to serve the Potter family. Your ancestors have long maintained a respectful relationship with the goblin nation."

Marok, who had been observing silently, stepped forward. "We will prepare the guardianship documents immediately, Mr. Stark. Once signed and sealed with blood, they will be magically binding and recognized by all wizarding authorities."

Tony nodded, his expression resolute. "Let's do it now."

While Silvertooth left to prepare the documents, Healer Thornblade handed Tony a small wooden case containing the potions. "Complete instructions are inside," she explained. "Should Mr. Potter experience any adverse reactions, contact Gringotts immediately."

Harry's eyelids were growing heavier by the minute, the enormity of everything they'd learned was too much for his already exhausted mind. Peter noticed immediately, moving closer to Harry's side.

"We will head back soon," he said softly. “You can close your eyes, you’re safe.”

Harry smiled weakly at Peter, barely resisting the pull of exhaustion. His eyelids drooped as he leaned slightly toward Peter's supporting presence.

"I think that's our cue," Tony said, watching Harry with concern. "Can we complete the paperwork quickly? The kid needs to get back to the compound."

Marok nodded, gesturing to Righhook who produced several rolls of parchment. "These are the guardianship documents. They establish you, Anthony Edward Stark, as the legal and magical guardian of Harry James Potter until he reaches his majority at seventeen."

Tony scanned the documents with the practiced eye of someone who'd spent decades reviewing contracts. "This all looks straightforward, but what's this clause about 'magical consent'?"

"A protection for both parties," Marok explained. "It specifies that the guardianship is entered into willingly by both guardian and ward, without magical coercion or compulsion."

Tony nodded, satisfied. "Good. Where do we sign?"

Righhook produced an ornate quill with a metallic sheen. "This is a blood quill," he explained. "Your signatures will be binding in both blood and magic."

Harry's eyes snapped open at the mention of a blood quill, a flash of panic crossing his face. "No," he gasped, his hand instinctively covering the back of his other hand. "I won't use that."

Tony immediately tensed, his protective instincts flaring. "What's wrong?"

Harry's breathing quickened, his eyes fixed on the quill with unmistakable fear. "Umbridge... she made us use those for detention. They carve whatever you write into your skin."

Peter's expression darkened as he moved closer to Harry, placing himself between the quill and his friend. "No way. That's not happening."

The goblins exchanged looks of genuine surprise. "This is a ritual quill," Marok clarified, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. "It takes a small amount of blood for the signature, yes, but it does not cause permanent damage or scarring. It is nothing like the punishment quills that have been banned for centuries."

Harry's breathing slowly steadied as he studied the quill more carefully. It did look different from Umbridge's—more ornate, with a golden sheen rather than the sharp, menacing black he remembered.

"You're certain it won't...?" he asked, still hesitant.

"On my honor as a goblin," Marok assured him solemnly. "It will draw only enough blood to make the magic binding. A momentary sting, nothing more."

Tony's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched tight as he processed this new piece of information about Harry's past. "Who is this Umbridge person?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

"Later," Harry murmured, not wanting to dive into that particular nightmare right now. He gave Tony a look that clearly said 'Not here, not now.' "Let's just get this done."

Tony nodded reluctantly, though the murderous glint in his eyes suggested the topic was far from closed. "I'll go first," he said firmly, taking the quill from Righhook.

As promised, when Tony signed his name, there was only a faint reddish tinge to the ink and a brief wince crossed his face before the signature gleamed gold and sank into the parchment. Tony handed the quill to Harry, who took it with still-trembling fingers.

"Easy does it, kid," Tony murmured, his hand steady on Harry's shoulder. "I've got you."

Peter stayed close, his presence a silent comfort as Harry took a deep breath and signed his name beneath Tony’s, feeling only a slight sting across the back of his hand, nothing like the searing pain of Umbridge's punishment quill, and the relief was evident in his face as he handed the quill back to Righhook.

The signature shimmered with the same golden light before melting into the parchment. The entire document glowed with a warm golden light that briefly enveloped both Tony and Harry before fading into the document itself, and then a duplicate copy materialized beside it.

"It is done," Marok announced with satisfaction. "Anthony Edward Stark is now the legal and magical guardian of Harry James Potter, recognized by Gringotts and binding upon all magical authorities."

Tony felt a subtle shift in the air, a barely perceptible weight settling on his shoulders that somehow felt right—the magical acknowledgment of his responsibility. He squeezed Harry's shoulder gently, feeling a surge of fierce protectiveness.

Taking both copies of the parchment, Righhook explained. "The original will be filed with both MACUSA and the mundane authorities, automatically granting you guardianship, Mr. Stark, and securing any documentation and process you may have already started."

He turned to Harry. “Legally, you should be completely shielded from any external meddling until you come of age." Harry gave a weary nod of understanding and gratitude.

Righhook nodded in return and went on, "So, you have a year to improve and plan for when you assume your Lordship."

Tony, who had been looking down at Harry as he heard Righhook talk, snapped his head up. “Hold on. Wizards reach maturity at seventeen?! I only get to boss him around for a year?”

Harry’s eyes widened and then closed tight. “Oh Merlin, I’m going from bad to worse…” he said lowering his head in mock defeat, although a slight smile adorned his features.

Tony's expression shifted to exaggerated offense as he placed a hand over his heart. "Worse? I'll have you know I'm the coolest guardian in the history of guardianship. Pepper says I'm only slightly less responsible than a golden retriever these days."

A tired laugh escaped Harry's lips, the sound genuine despite his exhaustion. "That's not exactly reassuring."

Marok's lips twitched in what might have been amusement. "Indeed, Mr. Stark. In the wizarding world, seventeen marks the age of majority. At that time, Mr. Potter will claim his Lordship and assume control of his family's assets and responsibilities. The claiming of the Lordship is a serious magical undertaking."

Harry's smile faded slightly as the weight of this new responsibility settled on his shoulders. Tony, noticing the shift, quickly intervened.

"Let's cross that bridge when we get to it," he said firmly. "Right now, our priority is getting Harry healthy and keeping him safe."

Marok nodded in agreement. "We will prepare for your return in three weeks, when Mr. Potter's condition has stabilized sufficiently for the heirship ritual."

Harry nodded, his eyelids growing heavier by the second. Peter shifted closer, his shoulder providing silent support.

"I think we need to get him back to the compound," Tony said, his casual tone changing back to concern. "Kid's about to pass out on us."

Steve stepped forward, his tactical mind already planning their exit. "Natasha and I will go ahead and secure the path back to the Quinjet. Rhodey, you take rear guard."

Tony nodded in agreement, moving behind Harry's wheelchair. "Alright, kid. Mission accomplished. Let's get you home."

Harry managed a weary nod, too exhausted to speak as Peter adjusted the blanket around him once more. The goblins stood as one, offering formal bows that seemed to carry genuine respect.

"We will contact you regarding the transfer of the Potter heirlooms and will," Marok stated. "Until then, these potions should begin the healing process. Remember, Mr. Potter—strict adherence to the schedule is essential."

"Thank you," Harry murmured, summoning his last reserves of energy to show proper respect. "For everything."

Marok inclined his head in a gesture of respect. "The Potter family has always dealt honorably with Gringotts. We look forward to continuing that tradition with the next generation." His sharp eyes moved to Harry. "Rest and heal, Heir Potter. When you return, we will have much to discuss."

As they exited the chamber and made their way back through the gleaming corridor, Harry's head began to droop, exhaustion finally claiming him despite his best efforts to stay alert. By the time they reached the elevator, he was barely conscious.

"I've got you," Peter whispered, while Tony stopped the wheelchair gently.

“Can we move the wheelchair if it’s tilted back? I think it’ll be better for Harry.” He whispered to Tony as the elevator door opened.

Tony nodded, carefully adjusting the wheelchair's settings. "Good call, Pete. Let's recline it a bit so he can rest more comfortably."

Together, they eased the wheelchair into a semi-reclined position. Harry murmured something unintelligible as he settled into the new position, his eyes fluttering closed. Peter gently adjusted the blanket again, tucking it securely around Harry's body.

The elevator ascended smoothly, the magical hum surrounding them gradually fading as they approached the surface world. Steve and Natasha led the way, their postures alert as they scanned for any potential threats. Rhodey followed behind, his military training evident in every measured step.

"All clear," Steve confirmed as the elevator doors opened to reveal the rooftop once more. The Quinjet waited exactly where they'd left it, its sleek form gleaming in the mid-morning sun.

Tony pushed Harry's wheelchair carefully across the rooftop, his movements measured and precise to avoid jostling the sleeping teen. Peter walked alongside, his eyes constantly darting between Harry and their surroundings, ready to react at the slightest sign of danger.

"He's completely out," Peter said, picking up another blanket as Tony secured the wheelchair.

"So he is," Tony said softly, checking Harry's vital signs on the small monitoring device Dr. Cho had provided. "Can't blame him. It's been one hell of a morning."

Tony watched quietly as Peter draped the extra blanket around Harry’s upper body, securing it and making sure it was keeping Harry warm.

The Quinjet hummed to life around them, systems engaging as Natasha took the pilot's seat. Steve secured the rear hatch while Rhodey conducted one final perimeter check before settling into the co-pilot's chair.

Peter remained beside Harry, quietly going over the information dump of the day. The events of the morning had left them all shaken, but Peter's protective instincts seemed to have heightened to a new level.

"Did you hear what that healer said?" Peter whispered to Tony, his voice barely audible over the Quinjet's engines. "About his magical potential? She seemed surprised."

Tony nodded, his expression thoughtful as he checked Harry's blankets one more time. "Yeah, I caught that. Sounds like our wonder kid might be even more special than we realized."

"And that Gandalf wannabe suppressed that. For years." Peter continued, a rare edge of anger creeping into his voice.

Tony's expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he glanced at Harry's sleeping form. "Yeah. Dumbledore has a lot to answer for." His voice was quiet but carried an unmistakable edge of controlled fury. "The magical bindings, the soul fragment, keeping Harry in the dark about his inheritance..."

The Quinjet lifted off smoothly, Natasha's expert piloting ensuring minimal turbulence as they ascended above the New York skyline. Harry remained deeply asleep, his features finally relaxed in a way they rarely were when he was conscious.

"We need to talk about what we learned," Steve said quietly, moving to sit across from Tony. "About the soul fragment, the bindings, all of it."

Tony nodded grimly. "Later. When we're back at the compound and Harry's settled." His gaze remained fixed on Harry's sleeping face. "I don't want to wake him up and add to the stress."

Natasha glanced back from the pilot's seat. "I'll contact my sources, and see what else I can find out about the bindings effects even after they’ve been broken. There's more to this than we're seeing."

"What about Dumbledore?" Rhodey asked, his voice low but intense. "He's not going to just back off because of some paperwork, magical or otherwise."

"Let him try," Tony said, his voice low and dangerous, eyes fixed on Harry's sleeping form. "The guardianship is binding now. If he shows his face at the compound again, he'll be dealing with more than just me and Peter."

Steve nodded, his expression resolute. "We'll be ready. All of us."

The Quinjet cut through the clouds, the sleek aircraft carrying its precious cargo back toward the compound. Harry remained deeply asleep, oblivious to the protective gazes watching over him.

Peter adjusted Harry's blanket once more, his movements careful and gentle.

They passed the rest of the flight in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

The landing and disembarking was quiet and swift. Rhodey excused himself, needing to change out of his braces and rest, after being on his feet for so long. Natasha and Steve accompanied Tony, Harry and Peter to the medical wing.

Dr. Cho greeted them at the medical wing entrance, her sharp eyes immediately assessed Harry's condition. "How did it go?" she asked, her voice low as she fell into step beside Tony, who was carefully pushing Harry's wheelchair.

"Medically speaking? A mixed bag," Tony replied, keeping his voice down to avoid disturbing Harry's slumber. "We've got some specialized potions for him and a treatment plan, but there's a lot to unpack."

Dr. Cho nodded, leading them to Harry's room where the bed had been freshly made up. "Let's get him settled first, then you can brief me on the details."

Peter carefully picked the still-sleeping Harry up from the wheelchair and transferred him to the bed. Dr. Cho immediately began checking his vitals while Tont carefully arranged the pillows to support Harry's back and legs in the position they'd learned worked best for him.

"His readings are steady," Dr. Cho confirmed, her voice soft with relief. "The trip doesn't seem to have set him back, at least not physically."

Tony nodded, placing the wooden case of potions on the bedside table. "The goblin healer said he needs to follow this regimen exactly. There's a schedule inside."

Dr. Cho opened the case, examining the vials with professional curiosity. "I'll need detailed information about these potions - ingredients, mechanisms of action, potential side effects."

"I've got notes," Tony said, pulling out his phone where he'd recorded everything. "We should talk outside, though. Let him sleep."

Peter hesitated, clearly reluctant to leave Harry's side.

"Go ahead, Peter," Steve said gently. "I'll stay with him for a bit."

Peter nodded gratefully, following Tony and Dr. Cho into the hallway where Natasha was already waiting. As the door closed behind them, Steve settled into the chair beside Harry's bed, his expression thoughtful as he watched the sleeping teen.

The quiet beeping of medical monitors provided a steady rhythm in the otherwise silent room. Steve leaned forward, studying Harry's face - the lightning bolt scar that now carried so much more significance than he'd realized, the dark circles under his eyes that spoke of chronic exhaustion, the slight tension that remained in his features even in sleep.

"You'll be ok, son," Steve murmured softly. "We’ll make sure of that."

Harry shifted slightly in his sleep, his brow furrowing momentarily before smoothing out again. Steve adjusted the blanket, his movements careful and precise despite his strength.

Outside in the hallway, Tony was briefing Dr. Cho and Natasha on everything they'd learned, his voice low but intense as he detailed the magical bindings, the soul fragment, and the treatment plan. Peter stood nearby, occasionally adding details Tony missed, his eyes frequently darting back to Harry's door.

"So the paralysis is permanent," Dr. Cho confirmed, her expression sympathetic but professional. "But these potions might help with the secondary symptoms."

Tony nodded, running a hand through his hair. "That's what the goblin healer said. The nerve regeneration potion won't fix the severed spinal cord, but it should help with inflammation and pain management."

Dr. Cho studied the amber vial thoughtfully. "I'd like to analyze these, see if there are components we could potentially synthesize or incorporate into our treatment protocols."

"Already planning on it," Tony agreed. "But their healer was pretty insistent about following…”

——

At the same time, right outside the gates of the compound, a well-dressed and authoritative figure showed up. He introduced himself as an agent from MACUSA and requested a meeting to talk about the recorded magic use within the compound and a particular headmaster's interest in the Avengers.

Chapter Text

In the Headmaster's office, time moved in erratic spirals. Shadows expanded and contracted with each flicker of firelight, while the enchanted ceiling alternated between a clear blue sky and a bruised night full of stars. Dumbledore sat quietly, hands folded, face lined with contemplation.

When the door swung open, Snape's entrance was heralded by a dramatic billow of black robes.

"I trust you have a reason for summoning me again?" His voice cut through the thick, expectant air.

Dumbledore looked up, blue eyes magnified by his spectacles, and smiled with a knowing tilt of the head. "I need you to investigate what has happened to young Mr. Potter at his aunt's house."

Snape moved like a shadow to the edge of the desk, his presence sharp and imposing. "And I’d like to know why you never mentioned that Potter had relatives from his father’s side. You made me swear to protect him, but you don’t give me all the information."

His words were smooth, cutting, but the curl of his lip betrayed a deeper sting.

Dumbledore raised a hand, as if to calm turbulent waters. "Stark was never a factor in James’s life. I never imagined he would be a factor in Harry’s life." He paused, letting the words settle.

"Severus, what we witnessed… besides Harry’s magical exhaustion…"

Snape stiffened, though his face remained a practiced mask.

"He is paralyzed. That much was obvious after the way I manhandled him” A look of deep regret crossed his features for a second, “and the way Stark and the other boy protected him. What, precisely, do you expect me to do about it?" The question hung, brittle and cold.

"It changes everything," Dumbledore insisted, his voice taking on an edge of urgency. "The war, the prophecy, his role in all of it. We must act."

An uneasy silence filled the room, only broken by the soft rustle of pages turning themselves on a distant shelf.

"You're a fool if you believe I will return to that circus," Snape said, each word a deliberate strike. "You expect me to leave my position, expose myself for a child who—" He stopped short, the sentence unfinished, a bitter taste left behind.

"Harry's vulnerability puts us all at risk," Dumbledore interrupted gently. "Particularly with Voldemort's growing boldness." The name hit like a crack of thunder, stark and electric.

"He needs protection and guidance. And you, Severus, have always been uniquely suited to the task."

Snape turned away, his robes a whirlpool of dark silk. The room held its breath, waiting. "You're playing a dangerous game," he said at last, words barely more than a whisper. His shoulders were rigid, a fortress besieged.

"We are all players, whether we wish it or not," Dumbledore replied, a note of sorrow threading his tone.

"Which is why I've taken further measures." He gestured, and a flurry of parchment sprang to life, hovering like anxious sparrows. "I have reached out to MACUSA. They must understand the necessity."

"MACUSA?" Snape's skepticism cut through the air, a razor's edge. "Those bureaucrats won't lift a finger unless it serves their interests."

"We shall see," Dumbledore said, a flicker of mischief in his eye. "They may surprise us yet." But even as he spoke, doubt wound its way through his thoughts, a serpent coiled in the recesses of his mind.

The fire crackled with renewed vigor as Dumbledore's focus turned outward. He had sent his message the day before, a missive crafted with careful precision, straight into the MACUSA headquarters, across the ocean. Then he waited for a response and when he finally got one, it was not what he expected.

Dumbledore read the letter out loud, its official tone grating against his urgency. Words like "intermediary" and "impartial" leaped from the page, each one a refusal. MACUSA's refusal to take sides and fully cooperate bothered him greatly, and left him pondering on the true weight and influence these so-called heroes really had. In the end, MACUSA compromised by facilitating a meeting with Stark and some other Avengers in the compound they had visited a few days ago.

Dumbledore’s hands, usually so steady, shook ever so slightly as he set the parchment aflame with a whisper of his wand. The ashes drifted upwards, joining the endless dance of light and shadow. He turned to Snape, who stood like an unmoved statue, observing with a mix of curiosity and disdain.

"So," Snape drawled, watching the last of the ashes dissolve into nothingness, "MACUSA chooses neutrality. How predictably American."

"And Stark has more resources than we anticipated," Dumbledore said quietly, watching the last embers of the MACUSA letter fade to nothing. "And more influence."

Snape's mouth thinned to a grim line. "The great Albus Dumbledore must now negotiate with Muggles."

"Not just any Muggles," Dumbledore corrected, rising from his seat with a subtle wince that betrayed his age. "These are individuals with powers that rival our own, operating without the constraints of secrecy that bind our world."

The portrait of Armando Dippet cleared his throat pointedly. "In my day, we would never have allowed such interference with a magical child's education."

Dumbledore glanced toward the painting. "These are unprecedented times, Armando."

Snape moved to the window, staring out at the sprawling grounds of Hogwarts. "And what of the boy's condition? Even if we managed to bring him back, Hogwarts is hardly equipped for someone in a wheelchair."

"A problem with many potential solutions, but first we need to know what happened exactly. We can not go into this meeting blindly, like before." Dumbledore said, attempting a wry smile, "Your presence and skills are more vital than ever."

Snape's eyes narrowed, dark pools filled with swirling complexities. He seemed to weigh his next words, the balance of duty and resentment tipping dangerously in either direction. "Very well," he said, at last, the resignation like gravel in his throat. "But don't expect me to enjoy it."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Dumbledore replied, genuine amusement breaking through the veneer of tension. “remember, we have a few days before the meeting. The air between them shifted, a tenuous understanding threading the divide.

Snape turned, a storm gathering at his heels. He paused at the door, casting a look back that lingered on the edge of something unsaid. Then he was gone, swallowed by the shadows that crept along the winding corridors of the castle.

Left alone, Dumbledore felt the weight of each tick of the ancient clock, the burden of every secret kept too long. The enchanted ceiling above flickered uncertainly between day and night, a world caught between two states, much like Harry himself.

"Young Mr. Potter," he mused aloud, the words spiraling into the dim corners of the room, "you do have a remarkable way of unsettling even the steadiest of plans."

———----------

The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Avengers compound conference room, casting long geometric shadows across the polished table. The conference room was a shock to President Quahog's sensibilities, a vault of angles
and light so harsh it threatens to reveal every secret he's ever known. It was barer than he was comfortable with, the long metallic table conspicuous in its emptiness except for a paper-strewn corner.

President Samuel G. Quahog stood framed against the light, his ceremonial wampum belt catching the sunbeams and scattering tiny prisms across the walls. The belt's intricate patterns of purple and white shells seemed almost alive, humming with a subtle energy that Tony's sensors detected but couldn't quite classify.

"Mr. Stark," Quahog extended his hand, his grip firm and assured. "A pleasure to finally meet you under... well, not ideal circumstances, but certainly interesting ones."

Tony clasped the offered hand, noting the calluses that spoke of practical magic work despite the man's political position. "Mr. President. Thanks for making the trip. I assumed your transportation was more interesting than the average diplomatic motorcade?"

A hint of amusement crossed Quahog's face. "Let's just say the airspace permissions were... selectively applied." He gestured to a small leather pouch at his hip. "Portkey travel has its advantages, though the sensation never quite becomes pleasant."

Steve Rogers stepped forward next, his posture military-straight but his expression open. "President Quahog. Captain Steve Rogers."

"Captain," Quahog nodded with genuine respect.

"Your encounters with Grindelwald's forces during the war are still studied at Ilvermorny. Not many non-magical individuals have faced dark wizards and lived to tell the tale," Quahog finished, studying Steve with newfound interest.

"Though I understand the serum makes you... something of a special case."

"The history books left that part out," Steve replied with a wry smile.

Natasha Romanoff observed from the edge of the room, her posture casual but her eyes missing nothing. She'd positioned herself to watch both the MACUSA president and the doorway simultaneously—old habits.

"Ms. Romanoff," Quahog acknowledged her with a nod. "Your reputation precedes you as well."

"Hopefully not all of it," she replied smoothly.

Tony gestured toward the conference table. "Shall we? FRIDAY, privacy protocols alpha-seven."

"Privacy protocols engaged, Boss," the AI's lilting Irish voice confirmed as the windows subtly darkened. "Magical energy dampening field active. No communications in or out without authorization."

Quahog raised an eyebrow. "Impressive. Your AI can detect and counteract magical signatures?"

"She's learning," Tony said, pulling out a chair. "Harry's been... educational for all of us."

Once seated, Quahog placed a leather portfolio on the table, his expression turned serious.

"Let me be clear from the outset, Mr. Stark. MACUSA recognizes your legal guardianship of Harry Potter. Blood relation trumps magical guardianship under both our laws and non-magical.” he said, opening the portfolio and removing a stack of files, nudging it in Tony’s direction.

Tony picked up the files, flipping through them with practiced efficiency. "So Dumbledore's 'magical guardianship' holds no water?"

"It never did," Quahog replied, his voice firm but measured. "While the British Ministry might have accepted such arrangements, MACUSA has always maintained stricter interpretations regarding the wardship of magical children. Blood relation has precedence, particularly when the guardian is capable of providing adequate protection."

Steve leaned forward. "And you consider Tony capable?"

Quahog's eyes flicked to the ceiling where, moments before, FRIDAY had spoken. "A fortified compound with advanced security systems, inhabited by individuals who have repeatedly saved the world? I'd say Mr. Potter has fallen into remarkably capable hands."

Natasha pushed off from the wall, approaching the table. "You're being surprisingly accommodating, Mr. President."

"Ms. Romanoff, I am first and foremost a pragmatist." Quahog spread his hands. "MACUSA is already in uproar over this situation. Half of those aware of the situation want to Obliviate everyone involved and return Mr. Potter to Britain. The other half recognize that attempting memory charms on the Avengers would be... ill-advised."

"Damn straight," Tony muttered, still scanning the documents.

"Albus Dumbledore has been a respected figure in the magical community for decades," Quahog continued, "but his recent actions have raised serious concerns.”

Natasha moved closer to the table. "Which actions are we talking about and what kind of concerns?"

"Over the past few decades, there have been whispers of odd occurrences both inside and outside Hogwarts, but the most troubling have emerged since Mr. Potter began his magical studies," Quahog said with a steady tone, though Tony detected a hint of disapproval.

"These rumors involve Trolls, Basilisks, and a particular ex-Azkaban inmate. Some of these tales have been validated, and Dumbledore's choices often play a significant role. At the very least, those choices are questionable.”

Tony's jaw tightened. "We are aware of some of those incidents as well. Harry has been telling us bits and pieces of what has been going on in that magic school since he started to attend, but some of the details are still vague." His fingers drummed against the table, a nervous habit he'd never quite managed to break.

Steve crossed his arms. "What can you tell us of the situation with Sirius Black? Harry has been tight-lipped about him, other than to vehemently defend him, saying that he was innocent and framed.”

Natasha nodded, her posture a bit more rigid than before. “Which is interesting, given Dumbledore’s political position in and out of Britain.”

Quahog's expression darkened. "The case of Sirius Black is... complicated. MACUSA has reviewed the British Ministry's records after we were alerted by Gringotts, and frankly, they're disturbing. No trial transcript exists. No magical oath testimony. Not even a proper interrogation record." He removed another file from his portfolio, this one sealed with a shimmering blue band.

"What we do have are witness statements that conflict with the official narrative, and evidence of memory tampering in at least three of those witnesses."

Tony's head snapped up. "Memory tampering? You're saying someone altered witnesses' memories to frame Black?"

"I'm saying the evidence is inconsistent with the conviction," Quahog replied carefully. "And in the absence of a trial, that raises serious questions."

Steve's jaw tightened. "In my day, we called that a miscarriage of justice."

"In any day, Captain," Quahog agreed. "MACUSA has formally requested a review of Black's case from the International Confederation of Wizards. Dumbledore, as Supreme Mugwump, should have initiated this years ago."

Tony pushed back from the table, agitation evident in every movement. "So Harry's godfather – the man who should have raised him if his parents couldn't – was thrown in wizard prison without a trial, while Dumbledore, who had the power to intervene, did nothing. And instead, Harry was left with those..." He paused, visibly struggling to control his anger. "Those people."

Quahog nodded grimly. "The evidence suggests that was the case, yes. And while I cannot officially condemn a foreign magical government's actions without diplomatic consequences, I can say that MACUSA finds these circumstances deeply troubling."

"Troubling," Tony repeated with a bitter laugh. "That's diplomatic speak for 'criminally negligent,' I assume?"

"At a minimum," Quahog conceded. He reached back into his portfolio and withdrew a slim folder with a silver seal. "Which brings me to why I'm here personally rather than sending a representative. Mr. Stark, I've compiled a list of potential magical tutors for Mr. Potter – witches and wizards who could continue his education while he remains under your protection."

Tony took the folder, flipping it open to scan its contents. Steve moved to look over his shoulder, his posture relaxing slightly.

"These individuals represent various magical traditions across America," Quahog explained. "Some are Ilvermorny-trained, others come from Indigenous magical traditions, and a few are specialists who've studied abroad. All have been vetted for both competence and discretion."

Quahog leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly. "And none have ties to Albus Dumbledore."

Tony's eyes narrowed as he studied the list. "FRIDAY, run background checks on everyone here."

"Already on it, Boss," the AI responded smoothly.

"That won't be necessary—" Quahog began, but Tony cut him off with a raised hand.

"With all due respect, Mr. President, I'm not taking any chances with Harry's safety. Not after what we've learned."

Quahog considered this, then nodded. "Fair enough. I would do the same in your position."

Tony flipped through the profiles, noting the diverse backgrounds and specialties. "This Professor Chen – elemental transfiguration?"

"One of the finest minds in practical applications of matter transformation," Quahog confirmed. "She blends Eastern and Western techniques. She'd bring a perspective Mr. Potter wouldn't find at Hogwarts."

"And this one," Natasha pointed to a photograph of a severe-looking woman with intricate tattoos visible along her neck. "Marissa Thunderhawk?"

"A master of defensive magic from the Shoshone tradition," Quahog replied. "Given Mr. Potter's... unique history with dark wizards, I thought her expertise particularly relevant."

Steve studied the list with a tactician's eye. "You've assembled quite the team here, Mr. President."

"Harry's situation is unprecedented," Quahog said simply. "His education should reflect that."

Tony closed the folder, his expression thoughtful. "And what does MACUSA expect in return for this generous assistance?"

Quahog's lips quirked in what might have been amusement. "Direct, aren't you? Two things, Mr. Stark. First, we request that Mr. Potter's magical education continue in some form. A wizard of his potential without proper training would be... concerning."

"And second?" Natasha prompted.

"Information sharing," Quahog said, his eyes steady.

"Limited and controlled, but reciprocal. We're entering uncharted territory—magic and Muggle technologies intersecting at unprecedented levels. Your organization has faced threats from beyond our world; we've confronted dangers beyond yours. There's value in cooperation."

Tony drummed his fingers on the table. "And this information sharing—what exactly would that entail?"

"Nothing that compromises either party's security," Quahog assured him. "Think of it as a consulting arrangement. When situations arise that might benefit from magical expertise, MACUSA would provide guidance. Conversely, when magical threats intersect with your domain..."

"You'd want us on speed dial," Natasha finished, her expression neutral.

"Precisely." Quahog nodded. "Though I'm not sure how a patronus would interact with your AI system."

"We'll work something out," Tony said, his mind already racing through possibilities. "FRIDAY's adaptable."

"Thank you, Boss," the AI responded, sounding almost pleased.

Steve, who had been quietly considering, finally spoke. "There's something you're not mentioning, Mr. President. What about Voldemort?"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Quahog's expression remained composed, but his fingers briefly tensed on the table's surface.

"The situation with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is... complex," he said carefully. "While MACUSA is not in denial about his return, unlike the British Ministry was until a few weeks back, we are severely lacking information about his movements or motivations.”

Tony's eyes narrowed. "You believe Harry?"

"We believe the evidence," Quahog replied. "We've detected dark magic signatures consistent with his previous reign of terror. And unlike Minister Fudge, we're not blinded by political convenience."

Natasha leaned forward. "And if it’s something that puts Harry in danger?"

"We won’t ask for anything that would put Mr. Potter at risk," Quahog assured them. "But any intelligence regarding Voldemort's movements, supporters, or plans would be valuable. In return, MACUSA will provide its own intelligence and resources discreetly.”

Quahog exhales and lets his politician's calm replace any hint of tension. “You must understand the delicacy of the situation. If MACUSA officially intervenes, it could worsen the rift in your community.”

“Unofficially, then?” Tony asks.

Quahog nods, allowing himself to acknowledge Tony's ability to read between the lines. “We’re extending every courtesy to keep any kind of international intervention on a need-to-know basis.”

Steve, who had been silently reviewing the documents, looked up. "You mentioned a meeting with Dumbledore later today?"

"Yes," Quahog confirmed, checking an ornate pocket watch that seemed to have more hands than should be possible. "In approximately four hours. I helped arrange it at Dumbledore's request and Mr. Stark’s approval. Dumbledore will be bringing Severus Snape, as I understand it."

"Snape," Tony practically spat the name. "Harry's mentioned him. Not fondly."

"Severus Snape is... complicated," Quahog said carefully. "His loyalties have been questioned in the past, but Dumbledore vouches for him."

"And we're supposed to trust Dumbledore's judgment?" Tony's skepticism hung in the air. "The same man who left my... left Harry with those people? Who let his godfather rot in prison?"

Quahog sighed, removing his glasses and polishing them with a silk handkerchief. "I understand your reservations, Mr. Stark. But Severus Snape possesses information we may need. He operates in circles MACUSA cannot penetrate."

Natasha's voice cut through the tension. "He's a double agent."

Quahog's eyes snapped to her, a flicker of surprise quickly masked. "I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to," she replied, her expression unreadable. "I recognize the pattern."

Steve leaned back in his chair, assessing. "If Snape is bringing intelligence, we should hear it. But that doesn't mean we trust him—or Dumbledore."

Tony nodded, his mind already racing ahead. "FRIDAY, prep the secondary conference room. Full surveillance, energy monitoring, the works."

"On it, Boss. And may I suggest the magical-energy dampening fields? The ones developed after Saruman’s previous visit?"

"Good call," Tony chuckled. "Let's see what happens when wizards can't just wave their problems away."

Quahog raised an eyebrow.

Tony caught Quahog's expression and shrugged, unapologetic. "Contingency planning. Nothing personal."

"Understandable," Quahog replied, sliding his pocket watch back into his waistcoat. "I would expect nothing less from the man who built the Iron Man suit in a cave." He gathered his papers with practiced efficiency. "I'll return at the appointed time. In the meantime, I suggest you review those tutor profiles. The sooner we establish Mr. Potter's educational regime, the better."

As Quahog rose to leave, Tony asked, "One more thing—these tutors. How soon could they start?"

"Most could begin within the week," Quahog said. "Though I'd recommend starting with one or two rather than overwhelming Mr. Potter with a full academic schedule immediately. And preferably after his magical core has stabilized completely ."

The conversation stills. Quahog senses the weight of it on each of them, and feels his own responsibility as a press of gravity. He rises, preparing to leave them with the files and their thoughts.

“Mr. Stark, Captain Rogers, Ms. Romanoff,” he says in a formal goodbye. “I’ll see you in four hours.”

Tony nods and waves him goodbye as Natasha sets the files in a neat stack.

Steve escorted Quahog to the door while Tony remained seated, absently tapping a pen against the tutor profiles. Natasha moved to his side.

"You're quiet," she observed.

"Just thinking about Harry," Tony admitted, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "Kid's had his life upended more times than anyone should have to deal with."

"He's resilient," Natasha said. "More than most adults I know."

"He shouldn't have to be," Tony replied, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice as he stood up. “I need some air. See you in a bit.”

—---------

Peter knew the meeting would probably stretch for hours, that they would feel even longer. He had set up that morning for Harry, away from all of it, and the lounge was theirs alone. Sunlight slanted through wide glass panes, warming the space with a glow that made time almost irrelevant.

“Okay, this one’s called ‘Engorgio’” Harry says. “Prepare to be dazzled.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, waiting for the punchline.

"Engorgio," Harry said, pointing his hand at a small bean sitting on the table between them, his fingers outstretched towards it as if going to grab it. The bean trembled for a moment before swelling rapidly to the size of a tennis ball.

"Whoa!" Peter leaned forward, eyes wide with genuine fascination. "That's actually pretty cool. So you can make anything bigger?"

Harry nodded, adjusting his shoulders slightly. "Within reason. Living things were trickier—there was a whole separate branch of transfiguration for that. But objects were straightforward enough."

Peter reached out tentatively. "Can I touch it?"

"Go ahead. It's just a regular bean, only bigger."

Peter picked up the enlarged bean, turning it over in his hands with the careful curiosity of a scientist. “Can you make it bigger?"

Harry grinned, pleased by Peter's reaction. "I could, but then we might need a bigger room. Magic has limitations—conservation of mass and all that. The bigger I make something, the more unstable it becomes."

"So it's not creating new matter, just... stretching what's already there?" Peter said, studying the bean a little more before setting it back on the table.

"Exactly. Hermione would be impressed with your grasp of magical theory." Harry adjusted his position in his wheelchair, wincing slightly. The phantom pains on his back were worse today, memories of nerves that no longer functioned properly.

Peter noticed but didn't comment, respecting Harry's dignity. Instead, he went for a distraction. "So what else can you do? Besides making things bigger and setting Tony’s lab equipment on fire?"

"That was one time," Harry protested with a laugh, making the miniature Iron Man robot that Tony had given him on his birthday beep a few times from his other side. "And Tony's eyebrows grew back eventually."

"FRIDAY still has the footage," Peter chuckled. "Pretty sure she plays it whenever Tony's being particularly smug in the lab."

Harry grinned, relaxing into the easy banter. "He deserved it. You don't dare a wizard to 'show me what you've got' without consequences."

"Fair enough." Peter leaned back on the couch, stretching his legs. "So what other magic tricks do you have up your sleeve? Can you make things disappear? Pull rabbits out of hats?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "That's Muggle magic—illusions and sleight of hand. Real magic is..." He paused, considering how to explain. "It's more about intent and energy. Like this—Reducio."

The enlarged bean shrank back to its original size. Peter whistled.

“There are others, like the Levitation and Lumos charms that I showed you before, when I was your’s and Tony’s Guinea pig,” Harry said with a fake offended expression that almost made Peter fall from the sofa as he laughed.

Peter wiped at his eyes, still laughing. "Guinea pig with magical powers. I think that makes you a magical guinea pig."

"Careful," Harry warned with a smirk, "or I'll transfigure you into an actual guinea pig. Though I'd probably only manage to give you whiskers."

"Could you really do that?" Peter asked, suddenly intrigued rather than alarmed. "Turn people into animals?"

Harry's face grew more serious. "That's advanced transfiguration. Professor McGonagall could change herself into a cat. Some wizards and witches spend years mastering the art of becoming Animagi—transforming into an animal. My father could become a stag."

Peter straightened up in his seat. "Your dad could turn into a stag? That's... that's amazing."

"Yeah," Harry replied quietly, shifting uncomfortably. "I never saw it myself. Just heard tales from Sirius and Remus." A hint of sadness appeared on his face at the mention of his godfather.

Noticing the change in Harry's mood, Peter stood up. "Let's try something different."

Peter moved in front of Harry and carefully helped him adjust his position, starting with his upper body and then his thinning legs.

Harry tried to assist when he could, murmuring a gentle "thanks" when he couldn't.

"No need to thank me, remember?" Peter said, adjusting Harry's legs to relieve the pressure on his back.

"I know, I know," Harry replied, grateful for Peter's matter-of-fact assistance. "Force of habit."

Once comfortable again, Harry held Peter’s gaze for a moment. “Now, at least it feels like I’m getting better.”

“Sure looks like it,” Peter said. He was careful and hopeful. “The goblin potions were exactly what you needed.”

“Having you around has helped too,” Harry said. It slipped out honestly and fast, the way Peter often talked. Harry wondered if he had picked that up from him and if it sounded as corny as it sounded to him.

"Really?"

“Really.”

Peter fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve. “Even with all the fussing?”

“You don’t fuss as much now. It’s different. Good different. More you,” Harry said, shifting his chair, closer to Peter. “You aren’t afraid of me breaking anymore.”

“I was never afraid of you breaking,” Peter leaned forward, his voice dropping. “I was afraid of everything else breaking.”

“Like fragile china?” Harry teased, saying it with the softest possible edge.

"Not like china," Peter's voice grew serious yet still soft. "Like something irreplaceable."

A beat of silence passed between them, weighted with unspoken things. Harry felt a blush rise up his neck, unrelated to any magic or potions.

"Well," Harry eventually said, dropping his gaze, "I'm still here. Still mostly intact." He attempted to joke as he rubbed his numb and shriveling thighs.

Peter's expression remained steady, but he leaned in, compelling Harry to meet his gaze. "You know that's not what's important to me."

Harry searched Peter's eyes, and the intensity he saw made him momentarily lose his breath.

The air between them seemed to compress, and the lounge's ambient sounds—the hum of the air conditioning, the distant voices in the compound—faded to background noise. Harry felt the now-familiar flutter in his chest that happened whenever Peter looked at him like that, with unspoken feelings that cut through every defensive wall he'd ever built.

"I know," Harry said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "That's what makes you... you."

A smile tugged at the corner of Peter's mouth. "Is that a compliment, Mr. Wizard?"

"Don't let it go to your head, Web-head," Harry retorted with a grin, though his eyes remained soft.

Peter leaned back slightly, but his gaze never wavered. Then, in a swift movement, he leaned in again, all the way down until he was able to wrap his arms around Harry, taking him completely by surprise.

Harry froze momentarily, then melted into the embrace, his arms coming up to return it, his hands finding Peter's back. The hug was both comforting and electric, sending a current through him that had nothing to do with magic.

"What was that for?" Harry asked softly when Peter finally pulled back, though not completely away, his voice slightly unsteady.

Peter's eyes were bright, his cheeks slightly flushed. "Just because."

He paused, then added more softly, "Because I wanted to."

He leaned in to hug Harry again, a little tighter, yet softer, clearly not wanting to let go, especially when he felt Harry bury his face on his neck.

The moment expanded between them, stretching like spun glass—delicate yet impossible to break. Harry felt Peter's steady heartbeat against his own racing pulse, the warmth of his breath against his neck. Something undefinable shifted in the air, a tension that had been building for weeks, maybe since they first saw each other.

"Peter," Harry whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

Peter pulled back just enough to look at Harry's face, their noses almost touching. "Yeah?"

The words Harry wanted to say caught in his throat, too new and fragile to release into the world. Instead, he reached up, his hand trembling slightly as he touched Peter's cheek.

Peter's eyes widened, then softened. He leaned imperceptibly closer, and Harry could feel the question in his hesitation—a boundary neither had crossed before.

Harry answered by closing the distance.

The kiss was gentle, tentative—the barest brush of lips—but it sent a cascade of warmth through Harry that rivaled any magic he'd ever felt. Peter's hand came up to cradle the back of Harry's head, steadying them both as the kiss deepened slightly, gaining confidence.

When they finally broke apart, Peter's smile was dazzling, his eyes alight with wonder. "Wow," he breathed. "That was..."

"Magic?" Harry suggested with a shy grin.

Peter laughed softly. "Better than magic."

Harry felt his cheeks flush, but he didn't look away. "I've wanted to do that for a while," he admitted, his voice soft but steady. "I just wasn't sure if you—"

"I did," Peter interrupted, his words tumbling out. "I do. For ages now. I just didn't want to rush you or make things weird or—"

Harry silenced him with another brief kiss, pulling back with a grin. "You're rambling."

"I do that when I'm nervous. Or excited. Or both," Peter said, his hand still resting on the back of Harry's neck. "Definitely both right now."

Harry laughed, a sound that seemed to lighten the entire room. "Me too. Though I think I'm hiding it better."

"Your magic's making the bean float," Peter pointed out, nodding toward the table where the forgotten bean was indeed hovering several inches above the surface.

"Oh!" Harry blinked in surprise, and the bean dropped with a soft plunk. "That hasn't happened since... well, since before Hogwarts, actually. Accidental magic usually stops once you learn to control it."

Peter's eyes widened. "So I made you lose control of your magic?"

"Don't look so pleased with yourself," Harry muttered, though his smile betrayed him. He reached for Peter's hand and intertwined their fingers. The simple touch felt more intimate than the kiss somehow, a deliberate connection.

"Too late," Peter replied, his grin infectious.

They stayed in comfortable silence for a moment, both processing the shift in their relationship. Peter traced small circles on the back of Harry's hand with his thumb, marveling at how natural it felt.

"So," Peter eventually said, his voice light though his eyes remained serious, "does this mean I get to call you my boyfriend now? Or is there some fancy wizard term I should be using instead?"

Harry snorted. "What, like 'magical significant other'? 'Enchanted companion'?"

"Ooh, I like 'enchanted companion,'" Peter teased. "Very Renaissance Faire."

"Prat," Harry said fondly, tugging Peter's hand to pull him closer again.

Peter came willingly, settling beside Harry's wheelchair and leaning his head against Harry's shoulder. "I'll take that as a yes to the boyfriend question."

"You're insufferable," Harry said, but he pressed a kiss to the top of Peter's head.

"You like it," Peter murmured, tilting his face up for another proper kiss.

This one lasted longer, both of them growing more confident with each passing second. Harry's hand found its way to Peter's cheek, thumb tracing the line of his jaw as Peter sighed contentedly against his lips.

When they finally broke apart, Peter's eyes were slightly glazed, his smile dreamy. "Wow. Just... wow."

Harry couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. "Very articulate."

"Hey, you fried my brain circuits. Cut me some slack." Peter grinned, leaning his forehead against Harry's. "So, what happens now?"

Harry's expression sobered slightly. "I don't know, exactly. I've never actually done this before."

"Been someone's boyfriend?"

"Had something good that wasn't immediately followed by disaster," Harry clarified with a wry smile. "My track record isn't great."

Peter shifted, straightening to meet Harry's eyes properly. "Well, I'm pretty good at defying statistics. And fighting disasters."

"True," Harry acknowledged. "You did survive that airport fight."

"And alien invasions," Peter added. "And your magical explosions."

Harry laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. "Fair point."

A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only when Harry absently started tracing patterns on Peter's arm with his fingertip. Tiny sparks of golden light followed his touch, leaving momentary trails that faded like shooting stars.

"That tickles," Peter murmured, watching the lights with fascination. "But in a good way."

"Sorry," Harry said, not sounding sorry at all. "Still getting used to wandless magic. It also responds to emotions.”

"It's beautiful," Peter whispered, watching the golden trails fade. "Does it always happen when you're happy?"

Harry's expression softened. "Not always. But more often lately." He gazed at Peter with such open affection that Peter felt his heart skip.

"Especially around you." Harry finished, the confession easier now that the barrier between them had broken.

"Magic is tied to emotion. Strong feelings make it more powerful, sometimes unpredictable."

Peter's eyes widened. "So I literally make your magic spark?"

Harry groaned in slight exasperation, but his smile was fond.

Peter grinned, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Harry's lips, delighting in the way he could just do that now.

"I make Harry Potter's magic spark. That's definitely going on my resume."

Harry laughed, shaking his head. "Under what job qualification, exactly?"

"'Supernatural chemistry,'" Peter replied without missing a beat.

They fell into comfortable silence again, Peter's head resting against Harry's shoulder, their fingers intertwined. It felt simultaneously new and familiar, as though they'd crossed into territory they'd always known existed but had been hesitant to explore.

"Now, we figure out how to tell Tony without him having a heart attack," Harry said after a while, his voice quiet.

"Oh god," Peter groaned, burying his face in Harry's shoulder. "He's going to be unbearable."

"Protective, you mean."

"That too." Peter lifted his head. "But he'll be smug about it. He's been dropping hints for weeks."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "He has?"

"Oh yeah. 'How's Harry doing today, Peter?' 'You should take lunch up to Harry, Peter.' 'Why don't you show Harry that new web formula, Peter?'" He mimicked Tony's voice with surprising accuracy. "Subtle as a brick to the face."

Harry chuckled, then sobered slightly. "You don't think he'll mind, do you? I mean, with everything else going on..."

"Are you kidding?" Peter sat up straighter. "Tony cares about both of us being happy. Though he'll probably give us both the shovel talk."

"The what?"

"You know—'hurt him and they'll never find your body' kind of thing." Peter waved a hand dismissively. "Standard stuff."

Harry looked momentarily alarmed before catching Peter's teasing expression. "Right. Well, I'd be more worried about what Natasha might do, honestly."

Peter paled slightly. "Oh. I hadn't thought about that."

Their shared laughter dissolved the momentary tension, and Harry found himself marveling at how easy this felt—this transition from friendship to something more. Like slipping into a room he'd always known existed but had never dared to enter.

—--------------------

The Hogwarts headmaster felt out of place in a modern room, with its sharp corners and sterile surfaces. The sleek lines and metallic finishes were a far cry from the stone corridors and candlelit chambers he was used to, and he seemed to absorb the novelty of each detail with every sweep of his shrewd gaze. Even the lighting felt harsh and invasive compared to the gentle flicker of torches. He seemed to suck the light from it, absorbing every novelty with each sweep of his gaze.

The potions professor trailed him, his dark robes casting darker shadows against the stark environment. Snape's expression was a mask of disdain, though his eyes flicked over the unfamiliar terrain with calculating interest. Together, they looked like specters from a world lost to time, intruding on a future they did not belong to.

“Saruman,” Tony greeted from across the room, his voice clipped and almost a challenge. He sat at the far end of the long table, arms crossed in a posture that broadcasted distrust. The distance between them was as much emotional as it was physical, a chasm of conflicting ideologies and unresolved tensions. His expression was pointedly unimpressed as he regarded the two wizards.

“Mr. Stark,” Dumbledore replied. He moved with careful grace, acutely aware of his surroundings. “Thank you for—”

"Agreeing to this meeting?" Tony interrupted, his words sharp and unyielding. He gave a small, derisive snort, making no effort to hide his disdain. "At least this time you bother asking." He leaned back, his posture deceptively relaxed but his eyes fixed on Dumbledore with the acuity of a hunter. The room seemed to pulse with a tension that felt almost tangible.

Steve and Natasha exchanged a brief, loaded glance. They remained seated, strategically positioned to cover all angles should anything go awry. Their silence was deliberate, a kind of weapon in itself, adding an intangible pressure to the room's already charged atmosphere. They scrutinized the newcomers with an unsettling mix of skepticism and appraisal, both wary and analytical of any potential threat. Their hands rested casually but alertly, ready for action should the need arise.

Severus Snape returned their stares with a blank expression, his face revealing nothing, yet somehow saying everything. The myriad of emotions and intentions that flickered across his eyes were as fleeting as they were complex. He registered the room’s starkness and machinery, calculating and assimilating the array of alien contraptions around him with methodical precision. A thousand thoughts formed and dissolved in his mind, each as ephemeral and intricate as the next.

Dumbledore's gaze drifted over the unfamiliar environment, registering the clinical austerity of the setting. His eyes lingered on the sleek lines and polished surfaces, taking in the sterile innovation that surrounded them. He moved with the air of someone navigating an exotic landscape, each step carefully measured. The bright fluorescents cast harsh shadows, lending the room an even more detached feeling.

A flicker of some unreadable emotion passed through him as he observed the Muggle technology, an inscrutable blend of intrigue and caution.

"An unusual setting," Dumbledore remarked, letting the unfinished statement hang like a question.

“Safe for Harry,” Steve observed, his voice sharp yet composed. He was deliberate in his choice of words, piercing through the pretense with a measured intensity that dared contradiction. “If that was why you were here.”

“Pretty sure it wasn’t last time,” Tony added. His sarcasm sliced through the air like a well-honed blade, echoing Steve's skepticism and adding another layer to the taut atmosphere. The tension in the room seemed to coil even tighter, a palpable force that pressed against them all.

Dumbledore offered a grandfatherly smile, as if kindness could warm the metal and glass surrounding him. “We were all on the same side, you know.” The claim hung in the air like smoke, insubstantial yet strangely pervasive.

“That so?” Natasha's voice cut through the silence, quiet but impossible to ignore. Her skepticism was surgical, laying bare the doubts that lay beneath Dumbledore’s smooth assurances. Her eyes narrowed slightly, each glance a silent interrogation.

“Could’ve fooled us,” Tony muttered under his breath, though the words were clearly meant to carry. His posture was as incisive as his tone, an unspoken accusation wrapped in layers of animosity.

Dumbledore remained unfazed, his calm demeanor almost defying the hostility that radiated from the others. He observed them with an air of patient wisdom, as though time itself would reveal all truths.

“Perhaps you would allow me to explain,” Dumbledore began, his voice gentle and unhurried, attempting to bridge the chasm of mistrust that separated him from the Avengers. Desperation lingered beneath his calm, an undercurrent that betrayed the urgency of his mission.

A sudden noise stole his opportunity. There was a knock and then the door opened wide, and Harry wheeled in, Peter right next to him. Their arrival pulled the focus, snapping every gaze their way.

“Sorry, we are late. ” Harry said, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Headmaster. Professor,”

“Harry,” Dumbledore began, relief, concern, and something harder to name touching his tone. I wasn't aware you would be joining us.“

"Clearly," Harry replied, his tone cool but steady. "But I think I've earned the right to be part of conversations about my future, don't you?"

Harry's shoulders tensed as he wheeled himself further into the room, his eyes never leaving Dumbledore's face. Peter stayed close beside him, his casual stance belied by the alertness in his eyes.

"We were just getting started," Tony said, his posture shifting subtly as Harry approached, maneuvering his wheelchair to position himself between Tony and an empty chair that Peter claimed quickly.

Peter sat protectively close to Harry, his posture casual but his eyes alert. Tony noticed the way their shoulders touched, the not-so-subtle protective stance Peter had adopted, and filed away the observation for later examination.

Dumbledore also noticed Peter’s intentions, his eyes flickered between Harry and Peter, noting their proximity with interest. "I'm pleased to see you looking well, Harry."

"Are you?" Harry's voice was cool, and controlled in a way that surprised even Tony. "Because last I checked, you were trying to drag me back to Britain against my will."

Snape stood motionless, though his expression tightened, his dark eyes narrowing as they swept over Harry's wheelchair. He noted the changes in Harry—the new strength, the new defiance. His eyes flicked to Peter, whose hand rested lightly on Harry’s armrest. Something complex passed across his features before the mask of indifference returned.

"Perhaps we should all sit," President Quahog suggested, his diplomatic tone a stark contrast to the tension crackling through the room. He'd been observing silently from a corner, assessing the dynamics with practiced neutrality.

"Good idea," Steve agreed, gesturing to the empty chairs. "Professor Snape, please."

Snape moved with fluid grace, his robes billowing slightly as he took a seat across from Natasha. His gaze met hers briefly—two predators recognizing each other—before he inclined his head in a gesture that wasn't quite respect but acknowledged her capacity for danger.

Dumbledore settled into his chair with the air of a man accustomed to being at the head of the table, though here he was notably placed at the side, a calculated positioning by Tony. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, despite our... misunderstandings."

"Misunderstandings," Harry repeated in a low voice, the word sharp with disbelief. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

"Harry," Dumbledore began, his voice gentle but firm, "I understand your anger—"

"Do you? Really?" Harry interrupted, his magic crackling visibly around his fingertips. Peter's hand moved subtly to cover Harry's, a grounding touch. "After what happened in the Ministry, to Sirius. After you told me about the prophecy. All half-truths. You keep doing that over and over again, only telling what you think is relevant, what serves your purposes… what serves ‘The Greater Good.’"

The room fell silent, the weight of Harry's words pressing down on them all. Dumbledore's expression remained calm, but something shifted in his eyes—a flicker of regret, perhaps, or resignation.

"I did what I believed was necessary to protect you," Dumbledore said quietly.

"By lying to me? By keeping me in the dark about my own family?" Harry's voice rose slightly, his control slipping. "By leaving me with people who hated magic, who hated me, when I had a living relative who would have wanted me? When the one person who my parents knew was the closest to a second father was framed and sent to prison like the lowest of criminals! When in fact he was not only innocent but the Heir of a Noble and Most Ancient house!"

Harry took a deep breath, steadying himself as Peter's hand squeezed his gently. Tony glanced at Peter before turning back to Dumbledore.

"You left me with the Dursleys. You forced me to go back there every summer after first year." Harry continued, his voice quieter but no less intense. "You knew how they treated me. You had to know. And now… I found out that Tony—that I had family all along who would have welcomed me. That there is a will that my parents left…" His gaze turned cold, almost murderous, “That you bound my magic!”

Harry’s final exclamation was so sudden and cold, that even Natasha felt a shiver run down her spine.

Severus’s eyes widened and he glanced at Dumbledore, still silent.

Dumbledore's face paled, the usual twinkle in his eyes extinguished. For a moment, he looked every bit his advanced age, the weight of countless decisions pressing down on his shoulders.

"Harry," he said softly, "you must understand—"

"No," Harry cut him off, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "I don't have to understand anything. You need to explain. To all of us." He gestured around the table. "Why would you bind the magic of a child? My parents' magic?"

Tony leaned forward, his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "And while you're at it, explain why you thought it was acceptable to leave my cousin with abusive relatives when I was right here."

Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly, gathering himself. When he opened them again, something had changed—a resignation, perhaps, or the acknowledgment that his careful plans had unraveled beyond repair.

"The binding was meant to be temporary," he began, each word measured. "After your parents' deaths, your magic was... unstable. The trauma, the remnants of the killing curse—they all affected your magical core in ways I had never witnessed before."

Snape's head snapped toward Dumbledore, his expression no longer carefully neutral but openly questioning. "You really bound his magic?" The question was barely above a whisper, yet it sliced through the tension like a blade.

"So you decided to lock it away?" Peter asked at the same time, his voice tight with barely controlled anger. "Without his parents' permission? Without anyone's consent?"

Dumbledore's gaze shifted to Peter, assessing this unexpected advocate. "The binding was never meant to be permanent. It was designed to dissolve gradually as Harry grew older and his magical core stabilized."

"But it didn't," Harry said flatly. "The goblins found it still in place."

Tony interjected, his fingers drumming a dangerous rhythm on the table. "According to the Gringotts healers, the binding not only locked his magic, but also other skills…”

Harry's eyes closed for a moment. "Or maybe it was designed to keep me weak. Dependent. Easier to manipulate."

"No, Harry," Dumbledore shook his head, his expression pained. "I would never—"

"Or did it had to do with the fragment of that nose-less bastard that resided cozily on my scar?" Harry's voice was quiet but sharp enough to slice through Dumbledore's denial.

The room went deathly still. Snape's face lost what little color it had, his dark eyes widening fractionally before narrowing to assess Harry with new intensity.

Dumbledore's composure cracked visibly. "How did you—"

"The goblins found that too," Harry said, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "Traces it, anyway. Maybe you’ll be happy to know that it was destroyed when I died. After Vernon attacked me at ‘home’ and paralyzed me.”

Harry took a few seconds to study the surprise and horror in Dumbledore’s face. “Or maybe not… After all, it was not in your plans, right?”

After Harry spoke, a thick, stifling silence filled the air, reminiscent of the tense calm just before a storm erupted. Dumbledore's face had gone ashen, his normally twinkling eyes now dark with what might have been genuine horror.

"You... died?" he whispered, the words barely audible.

"Temporarily," Tony interjected, his voice hard as steel. "Fortunately for all of us, modern medicine can do things your magic apparently can't—or won't."

Snape's eyes hadn't left Harry's face, his expression unreadable yet somehow changed. The careful mask of disdain had slipped, revealing something more complex beneath—calculation, reassessment, and perhaps the faintest hint of something that in another man might have been called remorse.

"The Horcrux," Dumbledore murmured, almost to himself. "It's truly gone?"

"If by 'Horcrux' you mean the fragment of Voldemort's soul that was living in my head," Harry replied coldly, "then yes. The goblins confirmed it. Apparently, dying was good for something after all."

Peter's hand tightened around Harry's, their fingers interlacing, a silent show of support that didn't go unnoticed by anyone in the room. Snape's gaze flickered to their joined hands, then back to Harry's face, his expression inscrutable.

"I never intended..." Dumbledore began, then faltered, looking suddenly much older. "Harry—”

Tony interrupted him. "You really knew? You knew he had a piece of that... that thing inside him and you did nothing?"

"I was searching for a solution," Dumbledore replied, his voice strained. "The magic involved was ancient, complex—I found options, but most of them would have killed you, Harry."

"So instead you left a piece of Voldemort's soul attached to me for fifteen years?" Harry's voice rose, magic crackling visibly around his fingers. "Was I just supposed to... what? Die at the most convenient moment?"

The silence that followed was damning. Dumbledore's eyes dropped to the table, and in that moment, he looked every one of his many years.

"Oh my god," Peter whispered, his face draining of color. "That was the plan, wasn't it?"

Harry went completely still, his eyes fixed on Dumbledore's face. The air in the room seemed to compress, making it difficult to breathe.

"Albus," Snape's voice cut through the silence, barely above a whisper but sharp as a blade. "Tell me that's not true."

Dumbledore raised his head slowly, his blue eyes no longer twinkling but filled with a terrible weariness. "There was a prophecy—"

"The prophecy that you only shared with me after Sirius died?" Harry's voice was dangerously quiet. "The one that you kept hidden along with everything else?"

Dumbledore's shoulders sagged. "I wanted to spare you—"

"Spare me?" Harry's laugh was bitter. "You left me ignorant. Vulnerable. You sent me back year after year to people who hated me, who starved me, who—" His voice broke, and Peter's hand tightened around his.

"I believed the blood wards were essential," Dumbledore said. "Your mother's sacrifice created protection that could only be maintained through her blood—through Petunia."

"You and I know that whatever kind of ward or protection I had left from my mom’s sacrifice was gone year ago," Harry said flatly. "When Voldemort used my blood to resurrect himself. And besides, it's not like this blood wards you put so much faith in protected me from Vernon after he broke my arm and locked me in the cupboard for three days without food when I was eight. Or from Harry hunting from Dudley. Or the smacks with the wood spoons from Petunia. Or the overall verbal abuse…"

Snape's gaze moved towards Harry, his eyes widening fractionally before he turned to Dumbledore, something dangerous flashing in his eyes. "You told me he was safe. Protected. Cherished, even."

"I believed he was," Dumbledore replied, his voice hollow.

"You never checked?" Tony's voice cut through the tension, incredulous and razor-sharp. "Not once in ten years?"

"I had monitoring charms—"

"That clearly didn't work," Natasha interjected coolly. "Or you chose to ignore what they told you."

Dumbledore's silence was damning.

"I think I am done," Harry said, his voice low but steadier now, though Peter could feel the tremor in his hand. “Obviously I can’t return to Hogwarts,” He and even if I could… I don’t want to. Not yet.”

Dumbledore's hands tensed, folded together atop the sleek conference table. The aged wizard looked as if the weight of his secrets had been physically crushing him now that they were exposed to the harsh light of truth.

"Harry," he said, his voice gentle but strained, "I understand your anger—your distrust. But the situation with Voldemort grows more desperate by the day."

Harry replied, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside him. "Maybe if I'd known everything, we'd be in a better position now."

Snape, who had remained largely silent throughout the confrontation, finally spoke. His voice was low, and controlled, but with an undercurrent of tension that none present had heard before.

"The Dark Lord is gathering his forces," he said, dark eyes fixed on Harry. "He has been... enraged since your disappearance. The raid on the Ministry was only the beginning."

All eyes turned toward him, surprise evident even on Dumbledore’s face.

“Voldemort knew where I was?” Harry asked, his question an arrow aimed straight at the target.

“He suspected it. But you were beyond his reach for now,” Snape replied, his eyes flicking to Dumbledore—a calculated betrayal of their previous silence—before returning to Harry.

Harry met Snape's gaze unflinchingly. "And what am I supposed to do in my current state, Professor? Let you parade me, expose me, put me in the center of the conflict when I can’t even sit up on my own?”

Snape stared, surprised flickering in his eyes. Harry let out a sigh.

“I don’t want to abandon my friends. I know, that whether I like it or not, I am involved in this to the very end, one way or the other. But I need time. Time to get better. Stronger. Time that I would had if I had been talked to properly from the beginning.” Harry finished, the reproachful tone directed to Dumbledore.

Snape’s eyebrows went up, the first full sign that his face was capable of other expressions than frowning. And in his eyes, he finally saw Harry James Potter in a different light. He wasn't just his father's son, he was Lily's child too. At that moment, with Harry's green eyes flashing with determination and intelligence, Snape could see the ghost of Lily Evans staring back at him—not the frightened child he'd seen for years, but a young man with his mother's fierce spirit.

"You need proper training," Snape said finally, his voice lacking its usual bite. "Your current... condition... doesn't negate the necessity of magical education. Without focused instruction, your magic will remain unstable. And your ability to defend yourself—"

"Will be non-existent," Harry interrupted, his words deliberate and tinged with defiance. "Is that what you're getting at, Professor?"

Snape inclined his head slightly, an acknowledgment more than a victory. "Precisely."

"We're handling that," Tony said decisively, leaving no room for argument. "President Quahog has provided a list of qualified tutors."

Dumbledore's head turned sharply toward Quahog, who met his gaze with diplomatic neutrality, unfazed by the tension in the room.

"MACUSA recognizes Mr. Stark's guardianship," Quahog stated simply, each word delivered with the weight of official decree. "And we acknowledge Mr. Potter's unique situation requires unique solutions. We have several suitable candidates lined up who can accommodate these... extraordinary circumstances."

Harry absorbed the words with a silent nod, his resolve visibly strengthening in real time. It was clear that he had anticipated the resistance and was prepared to battle for his autonomy.

"I see," Dumbledore said softly, the implications clear and hanging heavy in the air. His influence was waning, control slipping through his fingers like sand as allies and confidantes turned into independent agents of their own.

Steve watched the exchange with rapt attention; years of strategy and battle training had not prepared him for this kind of warfare. Natasha observed from the edges, seeing alliances form and break with each sentence.

"One of the tutors will be starting next week," Tony continued, unfazed by Dumbledore’s expression and the rest of the Avengers inner thoughts.

"That is, if Harry wants him." He added, turning to Harry.

Harry's eyes were bright with determination. "I do," he replied, his tone final and leaving no room for further discussion. Tony pulled up the holographic presentation of the profiles President Quahog had provided earlier, drawing Dumbledore’s attention, but not Snape’s.

Harry’s back had started to ache, a clear sign that he needed to adjust his position in his wheelchair. He winced slightly as he rolled his shoulders and tried to find a better position without being too obvious. Peter immediately reached out to help, his movements practiced and gentle as he slipped his hand in between the high backrest and the middle of Harry’s back, using his fingers to relax the muscles a bit. The tenderness between them was unmistakable, and Snape's eyes narrowed fractionally as he observed their interaction.

"There's more you need to know," Snape said suddenly, his gaze fixed on Harry. “More pressing concerns that cannot wait, regardless of your... recovery timeline."

Dumbledore shot Snape a warning glance, but the Potions Master ignored it, his dark eyes never leaving Harry's face.

"Severus," Dumbledore began, his voice low with caution.

"No, Albus," Snape cut in, his voice like a blade. "You've had your chance to manage this situation. Your methods have failed."

The room fell silent, the tension crackling like static electricity. Harry's eyes widened slightly at Snape's unexpected defiance, while Peter shifted almost imperceptibly closer to Harry's side.

"What concerns?" Tony asked, his voice deceptively casual, though his eyes had sharpened to flints.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said—not quite an order, not quite a plea.

Snape regarded Harry with a mixture of bitterness and resolve. “The Dark Lord was moving against both magical and non-magical alike,” he warned. “But we couldn’t be certain of his full intentions.”

“Then we prepare,” Steve declared, rising to stand closer to Harry, Peter and Tony. The unspoken solidarity was complete.

Peter and Harry exchanged a glance, fortified by Snape’s revelation, though not entirely surprised. They had bet about it during one of their midnight talks, about how long would it take for Moldywarts to openly go against non-magicals outside of Britain.

Snape's dark eyes shifted, taking in the tableau before him – the defensive circle forming around Harry, the silent communication between the teens, and Stark's protective stance. It was not what he had expected when he'd agreed to accompany Dumbledore to this meeting.

"The Dark Lord has been... experimenting," Snape said carefully, each word measured. "He seeks to understand the connection between himself and Potter. Since your... disappearance, he has become obsessed with finding you."

"And now that the connection is gone?" Harry asked, his voice steadier than he felt.

"He doesn't know yet," Snape replied. "He continues to attempt to access your mind, but finds only emptiness where once there was a path. It has driven him to new levels of rage."

"And new allies," Dumbledore added quietly, "He has reached out to darker forces than before."

Tony's eyes narrowed. "What kind of 'darker forces' are we talking about here?"

"Creatures that even most wizards fear to name," Dumbledore replied. "Beings that exist in the shadows between worlds."

"Great," Tony muttered. "Just what we needed. Magical Lovecraftian horrors."

"You mock what you don't understand, Stark," Snape said coldly. "These are threats beyond your technology's capacity to combat. Even beyond ours."

"Try me," Tony challenged, his eyes glinting with determination. "I've faced aliens, gods, and robots. I think I can handle some magical creatures."

Snape's lip curled. "Your arrogance is reminiscent of James Potter."

"And your condescension is getting old," Tony shot back. "Instead of vague warnings, how about some actual information we can use?"

Harry intervened before the tension could escalate further. "What exactly is Voldemort planning, Professor? If you know, now's the time to share it."

Snape held Harry's gaze for a long moment before answering. "The Dark Lord believes there are artifacts—weapons of a sort—that could amplify his power beyond anything previously witnessed. He calls them the Deathly Hallows."

Dumbledore stiffened visibly, his weathered hands tightening on the edge of the table.

"The Deathly Hallows?" Harry frowned. "I've never heard of them."

"Few have," Dumbledore said quietly. "They are thought to be a mere legend by most."

"But not by you," Natasha observed, her keen eyes noting Dumbledore's reaction.

"No," Dumbledore admitted. "Not by me."

"Three objects," Snape continued, "said to have been created by Death itself. The Elder Wand, the most powerful wand ever made. The Resurrection Stone, capable of recalling the dead from beyond the veil. And the Cloak of Invisibility, which grants true concealment from all, even Death."

Harry's breath caught. "A cloak of invisibility?" he whispered, his mind racing to the familiar silvery fabric tucked away in his trunk.

Peter glanced at him, sensing the shift in his demeanor.

"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed, his voice heavy with significance. "Legend holds that the possessor of all three Hallows becomes the Master of Death."

"My cloak," Harry said slowly. "The one my father left me. The one you gave me for Christmas my first year at Hogwarts..."

Dumbledore nodded once, a slight incline of his head that seemed to carry the weight of decades. "It has been passed down through your family for generations. It is indeed one of the Hallows."

Tony's eyes widened, his gaze darting between Harry and Dumbledore. "Wait, you're saying Harry already has one of these super-powerful magical artifacts? And you just... gave it to an eleven-year-old?"

"It was his birthright," Dumbledore said simply. "It belonged to him."

The room fell silent as the implications sank in. Peter's hand tightened around Harry's, his expression a mixture of awe and concern.

"So Voldemort is hunting these... Hallows?" Tony asked, his mind already calculating, strategizing.

"He seeks the wand most desperately," Snape replied, his voice low. "The legends claim its bearer cannot be defeated in battle."

"And the current location of this wand?" Natasha inquired, her tone casual but her eyes sharp.

Dumbledore and Snape exchanged a loaded glance. "Unknown," Dumbledore said after a pause that stretched a beat too long.

"Liar liar, skirt on fire," Peter said quietly, staring daggers at Dumbledore the accusation hanging in the air like smoke. "You know where it is."

Unprepared for the sudden levity, Tony smothered a laugh with the back of his hand, and Natasha let out an uncharacteristically genuine chuckle. President Quahog, ever composed, betrayed his amusement with a slight upturn of his lips. Steve's shoulders shook with laughter he didn't bother to suppress, while Snape's mouth twitched, betraying a fleeting hint of mirth.

Peter's irreverent quip had broken the tension in the room slightly, but all eyes were still on Dumbledore, who sighed. He slowly reached into his robes and withdrew a wand—longer than most, with strange carvings along its length that seemed to catch the light in unnatural ways.

"The Elder Wand," he said quietly, holding it flat across his palms. "Also known as the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny. It has passed from hand to hand, often through murder, for centuries."

The room fell silent. Even Tony, with his practiced skepticism, felt a chill at the sight of the unassuming piece of wood that seemed to radiate power.

"You've had it all this time," Harry said, his voice hollow. "Another secret."

"A necessary one," Dumbledore replied. "The fewer who knew of its whereabouts, the safer everyone was."

"And now Voldemort wants it," Steve stated, his tactical mind already assessing the implications.

"He has become obsessed," Snape confirmed, his dark eyes never leaving the wand. "He believes it will allow him to overcome any resistance—magical or otherwise."

Peter leaned forward slightly. "So let me get this straight—Harry already has one of these Hallows, you have another, and there's a third one out there somewhere that this Voldemort guy is trying to find?"

"The Resurrection Stone," Dumbledore nodded. "Its location has been lost to time."

Harry studied Dumbledore's face, searching for any sign of deception. "And if he gets all three? What then?"

"Then he believes he would become invincible," Dumbledore said gravely. "Master of Death itself."

"Is that actually possible?" Tony asked, skepticism evident in his voice. "Or is this just magical superstition?"

"The Hallows themselves are real and powerful," Dumbledore replied. "As for mastering Death... that remains to be seen. But the Elder Wand alone in Voldemort's hands would be catastrophic."

Harry's mind raced, piecing together fragments of information. "So my cloak isn't just any invisibility cloak? It's special even among magical items?"

"Most invisibility cloaks fade or tear with time," Snape explained, his usual disdain momentarily forgotten. "Yours has remained perfect for at least decades. I should know, your father and Black became the bane of my existence with its help."

Peter squeezed Harry's hand, a silent reassurance amid these new revelations and the subtle reminders of Sirius and his dad.

"Why tell us this now?" Natasha asked, her gaze piercing. "After all your secrecy, why share this information?"

Snape and Dumbledore exchanged another glance before Snape answered. "Because the Dark Lord's search has intensified. He has sent his followers to locations across Europe, seeking clues. It is only a matter of time before he discovers that Dumbledore possesses the wand and he figures Potter’s location. The Dark Lord is mad, not stupid. Especially considering he has first-hand information about the cloak."

"What do you mean? How?” Asked Peter, his posture on full alert.

Snape looked at him and then at Harry. “Pettigrew.”

The name hung in the air like poison, and Harry's hands tightened around the armrests of his wheelchair and Peter’s fingers. Peter felt the rage radiating from Harry and tightened his hold on his hand, trying to ground him.

"Wormtail," Harry said, the nickname bitter on his tongue. "Of course. He would have known about the cloak from my parents."

"Indeed," Snape confirmed, his dark eyes unreadable. "Pettigrew has been... forthcoming with information since his return to the Dark Lord's side. But strangely enough, he has managed to keep the details about your father's cloak and its unusual properties to himself. But it’s only a matter of time as the Dark Lord becomes more fixated with the hallows."

Tony leaned forward, elbows on the table. "So this guy—"

"Peter Pettigrew," Harry clarified, his voice hard. "He betrayed my parents to Voldemort. He's the reason they're dead. And he framed Sirius for it."

"He's also an unregistered Animagus," Snape added. "He can transform into a rat at will."

"Charming," Natasha murmured. "And fitting."

"So we need to find this Resurrection Stone before Voldemort does," Steve concluded, his tactical mind already mapping out possibilities.

"And keep the other two Hallows secure," Tony added, glancing between Harry and Dumbledore. His gaze lingered on the Elder Wand with undisguised wariness.

Harry's expression had grown distant, his thoughts racing. "You said the Resurrection Stone could recall the dead," he said quietly, addressing Dumbledore. "What exactly does that mean?"

A shadow passed over Dumbledore's face. "It does not truly return them to life," he explained gently. "Rather, it summons a shade—an echo of who they once were. Neither truly living nor ghost, caught between worlds. It is... not a kindness to call them back."

Harry's expression faltered slightly before hardening again. Peter noticed the shift and moved his thumb in small, comforting circles over Harry's hand.

"The stone is the most mysterious of the Hallows," Dumbledore continued. "Its powers least understood." He carefully returned the Elder Wand to his robes.

"The situation is indeed grave. Which is why, Harry, despite our... differences, we must find a way to work together."

Harry's laugh was sharp and bitter. "Work together? After everything you've hidden from me? After you left me with the Dursleys? After you bound my magic?"

"I made mistakes," Dumbledore admitted, his voice soft but steady. "Grievous ones, for which I can only ask forgiveness. But the threat Voldemort poses extends beyond our personal grievances."

"That's rich," Harry muttered, but his anger seemed to deflate slightly, replaced by exhaustion. "You always do this. Appeal to the greater good when your plans fall apart."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Peter's thumb traced small circles on the back of Harry's hand, a silent reminder of his presence.

"Maybe—" Steve started to say when the door opened again. Wanda Maximoff entered with Vision close behind, her expression a blend of surprise and curiosity.

Wanda paused at the threshold, her gaze scanning the room before settling on Harry. Something flickered in her gaze—recognition of a kindred spirit perhaps—and the faintest crimson glow danced around her fingertips before dissipating.

Vision hovered slightly behind her, his synthetic features arranged in a look of polite interest. "Apologies. Wanda has been reacting to strange energy disturbances lately," he explained. "Her energy signatures appeared to resonate with something in this room."

“Hello,” she greeted Harry softly, but not moving any closer. “I felt something… unusual. Energy. Magic.”

Tony tensed, his gaze moving between Harry and Wanda, not knowing how to react. The emotional part of him was telling him to keep Wanda away from Harry and Peter, to demand what she was doing here. Why? How? After everything that had happened, he felt that he was entitled to be wary of her. On the other hand, the logical part of him was telling him that this was exactly what they needed, a magical heavy hitter, even if she wasn’t a witch per se, like Harry, Saruman, or Mr Smiles, but Tony knew she would be able to help. Hopefully.

While Tony was internally freaking out, Dumbledore had gone very still, his blue eyes fixed on Wanda with an intensity that made Harry uncomfortable. Snape, too, was staring at her, his expression a mixture of wariness and fascination.

"You," Dumbledore said softly. "You're not a witch, and yet..."

Wanda tilted her head, red energy flickering briefly between her fingers without tearing her gaze from Harry. "No, I'm not what you would call a witch. My powers come from... elsewhere."

"The Mind Stone," Vision clarified, gesturing to the yellow gem embedded in his forehead. "Miss Maximoff's abilities were enhanced through its energy."

Wanda finally looked away from Harry, her gaze finding Dumbledore’s.

Before anyone knew what was happening, Dumbledore was flung back by an invisible force, knocking him upside down over the chair and landing with an unceremonious thud in a mess of robes.

Dumbledore's sudden tumble left the room in stunned silence. His half-moon spectacles hung askew on his face as he struggled to right himself, dignity temporarily abandoned. Steve and Natasha leaped to their feet, while Snape had half-risen from his seat, wand partially drawn before Tony's sharp "Ah-ah!" and the subtle whine of repulsor technology powering up somewhere in the room made him reconsider. Peter moved protectively in front of Harry, his stance low and ready.

Wanda stood with her hand still extended, wisps of scarlet energy dancing between her fingers. Her eyes, normally warm and expressive, had hardened into something ancient and knowing. Vision hovered slightly forward, positioning himself between Wanda and the others.

"Stand down!" Tony barked, his voice cutting through the tension. "Everyone, just... stand down."

Wanda's eyes remained fixed on Dumbledore.

"You were in my head," she said softly, her Sokovian accent thickening with anger. "Without permission."

Harry's eyes widened as understanding dawned. "Legilimency," he breathed. "He was trying to read your mind."

Dumbledore had regained his composure with remarkable speed for a man his age, though a faint flush colored his cheeks—whether from exertion or embarrassment was unclear. "A misunderstanding," he offered, straightening his robes. "I merely sought to understand—"

"My thoughts are my own," Wanda cut him off, lowering her hand but not the intensity of her gaze. "After HYDRA, after Ultron... no one enters my mind without permission."

Vision moved silently to her side, a steady presence that seemed to ground her. The crimson energy around her fingers dimmed but didn't disappear entirely.

Harry watched the standoff, a strange sense of satisfaction warming him as Dumbledore struggled to regain his dignity. For once, someone had caught the old man off guard, had defended themselves against his intrusions. The way Wanda stood—unapologetic, fierce in her boundaries—stirred something in Harry. He found himself admiring her immediately.

"You tried to read her mind?" Steve's voice held barely contained anger. "Without asking?"

Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles, his composure returning though his eyes remained wary on Wanda. "I meant no offense. In my world, it is sometimes necessary to—"

"To violate someone's mental privacy?" Tony interrupted, his voice sharp. "That's a big NO-NO around here, Saruman."

Snape remained half-standing, his dark eyes calculating as they moved between Wanda and Dumbledore. Harry caught a flicker of something—respect, perhaps—in the potion master's expression as he regarded Wanda.

"She repelled you," Harry said, realization dawning. "Completely."

Dumbledore inclined his head slightly. "Indeed. Most... impressive."

"And unwelcome," Wanda replied coolly. She turned to Harry, her expression softening. "I am Wanda, by the way. Nice to meet you.” She turned to Peter. “It’s good to see you again.”

Both teens just stared at her dumbfounded, which in turn made Wanda’s smile wider in amusement.

Tony, Steve, and Natasha shared a confused/intrigued look while President Quahog stood up and walked closer to the table.

“I think this is the best time to end this meeting for today.” He looked at Tony, Dumbledore, Harry, and Wanda.

“I am sure we will be able to schedule another appointment soon. For now,” his gaze returned to Dumbledore, “ it is best that we leave.”

Dumbledore gathered himself with practiced dignity, though the faint flush of embarrassment still colored his cheeks. He stood, smoothing his robes with hands that Harry noticed were slightly unsteady, his eyes never leaving Wanda. The air between them seemed to vibrate with unseen tension, a silent battle of wills that left even Snape watching with wary fascination, even if Wanda wasn't even looking at Dumbledore.

"Perhaps you are right, President Quahog," Dumbledore finally conceded, smoothing his robes with practiced dignity and finally looking somewhere else. "We have given Mr. Potter and his... family... much to consider."

Harry bristled at Dumbledore's pointed pause, but Peter's hand on his shoulder kept him grounded. The slight pressure of Peter's fingers was both protective and calming, a silent reminder that he wasn't facing this alone anymore.

"I'll see our guests out," Natasha offered, her voice pleasant but her eyes sharp as she moved toward the door. The message was clear – their welcome had expired.

Dumbledore bowed his head slightly, acknowledging what could not be denied. “We should all speak more freely. Next time,” he said before following Natasha and President Quahog, motioning for Snape to follow.

Snape hesitated, his gaze lingering on Harry. For a moment, something flickered in those dark eyes – not the usual contempt or disdain, but something more complex. Without a word, he reached into his robes and placed a small, sealed vial on the table. The liquid inside shimmered with an opalescent glow, neither liquid nor gas.

"For your... education," Snape said quietly. "Information about the Dark Lord's methods that may prove useful."

Harry stared at the vial, recognizing it as a memory for a Pensieve. Before he could ask Snape about it, the professor had walked away.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 10

The black dog staggered through the misty plains, barely more than a shadow on the fractured landscape of the unknown dimension. Its body was skeletal, fur matted, and slick with an unearthly dew that clung like despair. Each step seemed to cost more than the last, legs trembling under the weight of exhaustion and time. It moved with the haunted determination of the lost, something spectral and ancient in its eyes that gleamed like pale ghosts.

The creature slowed, a creeping lethargy invading its limbs as if the very air were pulling it under. Just as it seemed ready to succumb, collapsing like a star burning out, a round portal materialized against the misty backdrop, allowing two figures through.

The Ancient One was the first to act, almost effortlessly sliding through the thick air with a mix of grace and urgency. Wong was right behind her, staying grounded yet moving just as quickly. The unfortunate animal's eyes blinked erratically, like a malfunctioning light. The Ancient One bent over the dog, her hands performing mysterious gestures, and a peculiar understanding flickered in her eyes—a silent acknowledgment of its actual nature. It appeared to be a dog, but at the same time, it was not.

As they lifted its emaciated body, it exhaled in surrender, too weak to struggle or care.

The corridors of Kamar-Taj echoed with a strange mix of hope and tension as The Ancient One and Wong carried the large dog to safety. The creature shivered under a damp cloth, its breaths shallow but persistent. Light filtered through carved wooden lattices, dancing over its worn form in intricate patterns. Incense curled in the air, sweet and soothing, mingling with the scent of fur and medicine.

The dog twitched, caught in a restless sleep, with moments of clarity followed by fits of confusion. It lay there for days, occasionally lifting its head as if awakening to something profound, only to be pulled back into darkness. Gradually, the creature began to reclaim its strength, breathing steadier and eyes less haunted thanks to the dedicated care of the monks and The Ancient One. When it finally shifted, magic cracked the air like a quiet thunderclap, and a man took the place of the dog.

Sirius Black lay where the animal had been, the shadows of his ordeal still etched on his face. He stayed motionless for a moment, as if unsure the transformation was even real. His hair was long, a wild testament to his time lost in another realm. Stories of despair wound themselves through his gaunt features, speaking of his exhaustion even as he tried to absorb his surroundings.

Sirius’s eyes widened with bewilderment, at the lacework of light and shadow danced around him; the fragrance of sandalwood and jasmine enveloped his senses. He was engulfed by the warmth of his new environment, unlike the cold expanse that had held him for so long. A rush of memories and emotions tugged at him, pulling him between past and present, reality and dream. His arm reached out, searching, yearning for the presence of Harry, even as confusion clouded his mind.

Wong approached, a figure of quiet certainty, while The Ancient One lingered behind, her presence as soothing as it was commanding. They watched him with gentle, knowing eyes, understanding the turmoil that swirled within him. The severity of his ordeal was evident, yet there was a resilience to him, a flicker of the old Sirius emerging amidst the chaos. There was an unspoken promise in their demeanor, a pledge that healing was possible and that he was no longer alone in his fight.

"You're among friends," The Ancient One assured him, voice soft but resonant.

Sirius blinked, the human world settling into focus around him. "Harry," he rasped, trying to push himself upright, a burst of stubborn energy animated his frail form before his strength faded. Wong caught his shoulders, steady but firm.

"Easy," Wong instructed. "You've been through quite an ordeal. We can explain, but first, you need to rest."

His mind was a flurry of images, some incoherent and others as vivid as fresh wounds. He relented, exhaustion pinning him to the bed, though his eyes burned with the need for answers.

"We found you in a lost dimension," The Ancient One explained. "You were close to death."

"I can't stay here," Sirius insisted, though his voice trembled with weakness. "I have to—Harry, I have to find him. I need to go back to him."

"And you will," The Ancient One promised. "But not until you are ready—physically and mentally."

“Where am I? What is this place?” Sirius asked in a soft and tired voice.

"Kamar-Taj," Wong answered, his voice steady as he placed a steaming cup of tea beside Sirius's bed. "A sanctuary for those who desire to master the mystic arts."

Sirius's fingers twitched toward the cup but lacked the strength to grasp it. The Ancient One gently lifted his head, helping him take a small sip. The liquid warmed him from within, carrying hints of herbs he couldn't name but that seemed to clear the fog from his mind.

"The mystic arts," Sirius repeated, the words feeling right on his tongue. "The veil. I remember falling... endless falling." His voice cracked. "How long?"

The Ancient One and Wong exchanged a glance that made Sirius's heart sink.

The Ancient One moved closer, her robes whispering against the floor. "Time flows differently between dimensions. For you, while you were in there, it may have felt like an eternity. In our world..." She paused, considering her words carefully. "It is currently July 15th, 2016. Do you remember when you went past this…veil you mentioned?”

A strangled sound escaped Sirius's throat. "June… June 18th, 2016…”

The Ancient One and Wong exchanged another glance, this one tinged with relief.

"Only a month," Sirius murmured, disbelief coloring his words. "It felt like... years. Decades." His eyes closed briefly, absorbing this revelation. When they opened again, there was a newfound clarity in them. "Harry—he must think I'm dead."

The Ancient One's gaze softened. "Time is not a river flowing in one direction. In places between dimensions, it can become a turbulent ocean. What felt like years to you was merely weeks here."

Sirius's hand clenched weakly in the blanket. "I need to go to him. Now." He tried again to rise, but his body betrayed him, muscles trembling with the effort.

"Your determination is commendable, but you need to recuperate first, before you go back to your loved ones." The Ancient One assured him, placing a cool hand on his forehead. "Now, can you tell me your name? I am Yao, or as many know me as, The Ancient One. This young man next to me is Master Wong.”

Wong gave The Ancient One a side glance and rolled his eyes, clearly displeased about the ‘young man’.

Sirius managed a weak smile at Wong's reaction. "Sirius Black," he murmured, his voice gaining a trace of its former strength. "Lord Sirius Orion Black, of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. I'm also Harry Potter's godfather."

The name seemed to hang in the air between them, carrying weight beyond just sounds. The Ancient One nodded thoughtfully, as if confirming something she already suspected.

Wong raised an eyebrow. "A lord?" he asked, his tone revealing mild interest beneath his composed demeanor.

"Not that it matters anymore," Sirius said with a bitter chuckle that dissolved into a hacking cough. The Ancient One offered him water, which he gulped gratefully. "Ancient magical lineage. All pomp and prejudice, no substance."

The Ancient One's eyes gleamed with understanding. "Yet you speak of it with both disdain and familiarity. The threads of our past are not so easily severed, Lord Black. And Harry Potter," she repeated softly. "-The Boy Who Lived- The young wizard who has found himself in rather... unusual company recently."

Sirius's eyes widened, his body tensing despite his weakness. "What do you mean? Is he alright? Has something happened to him?" The panic in his voice was palpable, causing him to break into a fit of coughing.

Wong quickly poured more tea, supporting Sirius's back as he drank. "Your godson is safe," he assured him. "But much has changed in your absence."

"The world has become more complex since you fell through the veil," The Ancient One explained, her fingers tracing patterns in the air that left faint golden trails. "The barriers between different types of magic have grown thinner."

Sirius settled back against the pillows, marginally reassured but still tense. "Please, tell me everything. Where is Harry now?"

The Ancient One nodded, her expression serene yet somehow revealing nothing. "Your godson has found shelter with unexpected allies. He resides with a group of people who call themselves the Avengers."

Sirius's brow furrowed. "Avengers? I don't understand."

"They are protectors," Wong explained, his voice matter-of-fact. "Not wizards, but individuals with extraordinary abilities. Some might call them heroes."

"Muggles?" Sirius asked incredulously, struggling to make sense of this information. He let out a weak bark of laughter that quickly dissolved into another coughing fit.

"Not entirely," The Ancient One replied. "The line between magical and non-magical has blurred considerably. The world is changing, Sirius Black. And your godson plays an important part in that change."

Sirius's eyes darkened with concern. “Of course. Because wizards and witches weren't complicated enough." He took another sip of tea, gathering his strength. “Is he in danger?”

"He faces challenges," she acknowledged. "But he is not alone. He has found... family."

The word hung in the air, and Sirius felt a pang of something between jealousy and relief.

"And is with them because...?"

"That," The Ancient One said, rising gracefully, "is a story best told when you are stronger. For now, know that he is safe, cared for, and..." she paused, choosing her words carefully, "adjusting to significant changes in his life."

Sirius wanted to pry for more information about his kid, but the little strength he had waned fast. He relaxed, their words were steady anchors in the chaos of his thoughts.

Sirius closed his eyes, the weight of survival pressing heavily on his consciousness.

———

For Sirius, time in Kamar-Taj blurred with the surreal elasticity of a fever dream. The days melded into one another, and though each brought him marginally closer to reclaiming his old self, the journey was as taxing emotionally as it was physically. Initially, his energy ebbed more often than it flowed, leaving him both frustrated and impatient. Lean and wiry as ever, his body was reluctant to recover the strength and dexterity it had once known. Training regimens that felt like second nature in the past now left him drained, and he frequently found himself needing to pause, sitting quietly as he let the spinning world steady itself around him. It was just like when he escaped from Azkaban.

Every moment of weakness gnawed at him, fueled by haunting memories of the baby he had promised to protect so long ago, the young man he now felt slipping further away with each passing day. His mind raced with unfinished business, a torrent of worry for Harry, a child who had already lost too much and whom he imagined believing him dead—again.

The halls where he wandered echoed with an eerie serenity, the sweet and soothing smell of incense a constant reminder of how quickly time was slipping away with each sunrise, each breath.

Sirius slept only in fits and starts, plagued by restless dreams where reality and imagination spiraled into chaotic tangles. When awake, he pushed himself, dragging his weary body through the temple’s hidden spaces, as if movement alone would prove he hadn’t surrendered to despair. Two weeks passed this way, with his mind untethered, his sense of urgency unrelenting.

Yet despite his anxious impatience, undeniable progress marked his recovery—a gradual shedding of the hold of exhaustion. He stayed on his feet longer each day, and moments where he caught his breath were interspersed with lengths of strength. Still, lingering doubts and unspoken fears made every gain feel fleeting.

The monks watched him carefully, offering gentle support but knowing better than to crowd him. It was only when The Ancient One, with her tranquil and commanding presence, joined him in these moments that he allowed himself to voice the conflicts within him.

"Your body is healing faster than your heart," The Ancient One remarked one morning, finding him in meditation that was more brooding than contemplative.

He opened his eyes, a flicker of defiance softened by desperation. "I don't have the luxury of time."

As he walked past, Wong paused to provide some reassurance. "You've grown since you first got here. There's a future ahead for you."

Sirius pushed himself, despite the setbacks and weariness. He wanted to be ready for Harry, needed to be, and so he channeled every ounce of his resolve into the task of mending. Steadily, he began to regain his confidence, his movements less hesitant, his spirit more tenacious.

"You might be ready sooner than you think," The Ancient One noted, watching him progress through a sparring exercise with an intensity that bordered on recklessness.

Breathless but invigorated, Sirius allowed himself a rare moment of hope. "Then I can leave?"

"Not yet," The Ancient One said with a gentle firmness that brooked no argument. "Your physical strength has returned, but there's still the matter of your magic."

Sirius's hand instinctively reached for a wand that wasn't there, the phantom weight of it a painful reminder of all he'd lost. "My wand was left behind when I fell."

"The wand is merely a conduit," Wong said, approaching with a small wooden box. "The magic comes from within. Especially yours, your kind."

The Ancient One nodded. "Before you face the world—before you face your boy—you must reconnect with that part of yourself."

Sirius's jaw tightened. He had been so focused on regaining physical strength that he'd pushed aside thoughts of his magic, perhaps afraid to discover it damaged beyond repair. "And if I can't?"

"All things are possible," The Ancient One replied, her enigmatic smile neither confirming nor denying his fears. "But first, we must try."

Wong opened the box, revealing a simple wooden wand inside. It wasn't Sirius's, but it hummed with potential. "This was crafted here, from the wood of a tree that grows at the convergence of dimensional energies," Wong explained. "It may serve as a temporary bridge until you can acquire one better suited to you."

Sirius took the wand hesitantly, feeling its unfamiliar weight. It was lighter than his old one, with intricate carvings that resembled constellations—a subtle nod to his namesake, perhaps. The moment his fingers closed around it, there was a spark, not of recognition, but of possibility.

"It feels... different," he admitted, giving it an experimental flick. Nothing happened.

"Your magic has been dormant," The Ancient One said, circling him with measured steps. "Like muscles unused for too long, it needs to be awakened gradually."

For the next three days, Sirius devoted himself to relearning what had once been as natural as breathing. The process started humbling and often frustrating, slowly becoming easier and easier until he could cast all the powerful spells that he knew as easy as breathing. He was quite surprised but also elated. It was almost like those twelve years in Azkaban and the other three hiding had barely happened.

By the end of the third week, he was more than ready to go.

That evening, as the golden light of sunset poured through the latticed windows of Kamar-Taj, Sirius stood before a full-length mirror, barely recognizing the man who stared back at him. The monks had provided him with fresh robes—simple but dignified garments of deep blue that hung comfortably on his still-lean frame. His hair had been trimmed, though he'd insisted on keeping it long enough to tie back.

"You look more like yourself," Wong commented, entering the chamber with a bundle tucked under his arm. New clothes, similar to the ones he used to wear, lots of leather and dark colors.

Sirius gave a short laugh. "I'm not sure I remember what that was like anymore." Taking the bundle, he gave Wong a grateful nod.

"Memory is a curious thing," The Ancient One said, gliding into the room behind Wong. "It shapes us, yet we shape it in return." She studied him with those penetrating eyes that seemed to see beyond flesh and bone. "You are much stronger now. Both in body and spirit."

"Strong enough to leave?" Sirius asked, though he already knew the answer. The past few days had proven that his magic had returned, flowing with ease and power. It made him feel anew, younger.

The Ancient One smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Yes, Lord Black. Strong enough to leave.” The Ancient One confirmed, a hint of pride warming her usually serene expression. "And more importantly, you are ready to face what awaits you."

Sirius felt his heart leap in his chest, a surge of emotion so powerful it momentarily stole his breath. "When?" he managed, fingers tightening around the wand that had become an extension of himself.

"Tomorrow," she assured him, gesturing for him to follow. "We've made arrangements. Wong and I will accompany you to the Avengers Compound."

Sirius nodded, unable to find words adequate for the gratitude he felt. Then he frowned.

“Avengers Compound?” Curiosity flared in his eyes, mixing with trepidation. "He isn’t in Britain, is he?"

Wong shook his head, the hint of a smirk breaking his usual composure. "America."

The word hung in the air, too large to process all at once. Sirius paused, incredulous. "How—how can that be?"

"Sometimes, those we protect end up surprising us," The Ancient One said cryptically, gesturing to the vast world beyond Kamar-Taj's walls.

Sirius felt a wave of emotion, raw and unexpected. Hope and doubt warred within him, each demanding to be heard. America seemed as distant as the lost dimension from which he had been rescued.

"I've never been there," he admitted, anxiety creeping into his voice. "I wouldn't know how to find that place."

"We will get there directly, don’t worry" Wong reassured, his tone practical yet comforting.

Sirius found himself daring to believe in their words, hope and anticipation flourishing in his chest, not just for himself, but for the godson he longed to hold safe once more.

—--

The wheels of Harry's chair squeaked softly on the polished floors of the Avengers Compound, marking his steady pace as he maneuvered towards the med-bay room. Sweat mixed with a fierce determination, clinging to his skin like a second layer as he wiped stray strands of wet hair from his forehead. His breath came in controlled bursts, a deliberate rhythm masking the deep fatigue that simmered underneath.

FRIDAY had monitored the entire session, keeping Tony updated on his progress and perhaps relaying more than Harry would have liked about his current state. They had pushed hard this time, even by Harry's relentless standards, and his muscles screamed in protest at the treatment. He paused to adjust his glasses, hands trembling slightly, disguising the shaking as a simple movement.

Harry’s thoughts were a jumble of exhaustion and resolve; he wanted to be ready for whatever lay ahead, and he was willing to push himself to his limits to get there. Settling into the room's comforting familiarity, he took a moment to catch his breath, excitement and weariness locked in a constant battle within him.

As he glanced up, Harry noticed Peter standing from the reclining chair next to the bed, shifting with what seemed like impatience but was more likely an eagerness to help. Harry managed a small smile. Peter always knew how to make him feel better, especially after therapy sessions that left him like this.

Peter launched himself onto Harry, his expression a perfect blend of worry and admiration. His presence was reassuring, a reminder that Harry wasn’t doing this alone.

"How're you feeling?" Peter's voice was a mix of concern and awe—the two emotions weaving together in a way that was uniquely his—as he hugged Harry tight yet carefully.

"Fantastic," Harry replied with a dry edge. "Just like falling off a broomstick and landing on your head."

Peter laughed, the sound infectious and warm. "Pretty sure you made a hobby out of it." He teased Harry then took hold of his face and kissed him.

Peter's kiss was gentle, a contrast to the intensity of Harry's physical therapy session. When they parted, Harry felt some of his exhaustion ebb away, replaced by a warmth that spread through his chest.

Harry’s lips curled into a tired smile. "Comes with the territory."

As they broke apart, Peter's fingers lingered on Harry's cheek, thumb brushing over gently. "You are pushing too hard. "

"And you worry too much." Harry sighed, leaning his head back against his chair. "I can't afford to take it slow, Pete. Not with everything that's happening." He reached for a water bottle on the nearby table, grateful when Peter grabbed it first and handed it to him. "Thanks."

Peter knelt in front of the wheelchair, bringing himself to eye level with Harry. "I get it," he said softly, his brown eyes reflecting understanding beyond his years. "But burning yourself out isn't going to help anyone. Especially not you."

Harry took a long drink from the water bottle, using those seconds to compose himself. "I need to be ready," he finally said, his voice low but intense. "Whatever's coming—whatever Voldemort has planned—I need to be able to fight, or at least defend myself. I need to get stronger for that.” he finished, fisting his hands as the tremor intensified.

Peter's eyes softened as he noticed the tremor in Harry's hands. Without comment, he gently took Harry's fisted hands in his own, working his thumbs into the tense muscles until they relaxed.

"You will be ready," Peter said with quiet conviction. "But not if you collapse first."

Harry exhaled slowly, letting Peter's touch anchor him against the tide of frustration. "I know. I just hate this—feeling so vulnerable."

"Rhodey is going to have your head for overdoing it, you know?" came Tony's voice from the doorway, causing Peter to jump slightly and loosen his hold on Harry’s hands. He squeezed lightly one more time before he reluctantly let go and straightened up.

Harry caught Peter's hand before he could fully pull away, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Let him try," he challenged with a wan smile, his eyes meeting Tony's. "I'm still making progress."

Tony's expression softened as he entered the room, the door sliding shut behind him. He was dressed casually in jeans and a Black Sabbath t-shirt, but his eyes held the sharp concern of a man who'd spent too many hours worrying.

"Progress isn't just about pushing limits, kid," Tony said, pulling up a chair beside Harry. "It's about sustainable improvement. You can't sprint a marathon."

"Watch me," Harry muttered, though there was less heat in his voice now. The exhaustion was catching up to him, making his eyelids heavy despite his determination.

Tony ran a hand through his hair—a gesture Harry had come to recognize as a sign of his concern. "Kiddo, nobody wants to see you half-dead again, so you need to take it easy. You are the reason I’m getting all these gray hairs.”

Harry tried to suppress a smile at Tony's dramatics. "Your hair was already turning gray when I met you."

"You're not helping your case here," Tony replied, but there was no real annoyance in his voice. He reached out and ruffled Harry's damp hair, a gesture that had become familiar between them. "FRIDAY told me you pushed your session ten minutes over the scheduled time and kept ignoring the little guy when he alerted you that the time was up."

"Traitors," Harry muttered, glancing up at the ceiling and down to the miniature Iron Man suit that had become his companion.

There were a couple of reproachful beeps next to him as FRIDAY's lilting voice responded. "I am programmed to monitor the well-being of all compound residents, Harry, and Mini-U reported that your vital signs indicated excessive strain."

Peter squeezed Harry's shoulder. "See? Even the AIs think you're overdoing it."

Harry sighed, leaning into Peter's touch despite himself. "Fine. I'll take it easier tomorrow."

Tony nodded, and then his became expression slightly confused.

“Mini-U? That’s the best name you guys could come up with?”

Peter snorted and covered his face, laughing silently while Harry gave Tony a shit-eating grin.

“Well, it was a close competition between Mini-U, Iron-Baby and Iron-Midget. I thought you’d be impressed.” Harry said, with all the seriousness he could muster.

Tony's eyes narrowed, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward. "You're getting a little too comfortable with the sass, kid." He pointed an accusing finger at Peter. "I blame you for this."

"Me?" Peter's voice cracked with mock indignation. "I'm just an innocent bystander in all this."

"Yeah, right," Tony scoffed, "And I'm just a humble mechanic from Manhattan."

The three of them shared a laugh, the tension of the moment dissipating into something warmer. Harry's shoulders relaxed slightly, the weight of his frustration temporarily lifted by their easy banter. Even Mini-U seemed to join in, emitting a series of cheerful beeps that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

"Alright, alright," Tony said, standing up and clapping his hands together.

"As much as I enjoy being ganged up on by a couple of teenagers and a miniature version of my own tech, we should probably get you cleaned up and fed." He glanced at his watch. "You need to rest. Besides, there’s something I want to talk about.”

Harry's brow furrowed at Tony's words, recognizing the subtle shift in his tone. "What is it?" he asked, suddenly alert despite his exhaustion.

Tony smiled before standing. "Nothing serious or world-ending. Let's get you cleaned up first. Then we'll talk."

Peter and Harry exchanged glances, a wordless communication passing between them. Whatever Tony wanted to discuss, it was significant enough.

"Fine," Harry conceded, though curiosity now burned through his fatigue. "But I want to try to shower on my own."

"Are you sure?" Tony asked. He recognized the need for independence in Harry's voice but worried nonetheless. "You pushed pretty hard today."

Harry hesitated, then nodded, his jaw set with determination. "I need to at least try."

Tony and Peter exchanged a glance, both recognizing the stubborn set of Harry's jaw. This wasn't a battle worth fighting.

"Alright, let me help you with the clothes and the transfer, then I’ll let you shower in peace." Tony conceded, "But FRIDAY monitors vitals the whole time, and Mini-U stays within reach. The first sign of trouble, we're coming back in—dignity be damned."

Harry chuckled, resignation washing over his face. "Deal."

Peter knelt beside the wheelchair again, his expression earnest. "I'll be right here. Just say the word if you need help, okay?"

"I know," Harry said softly, his hand finding Peter's. Their fingers intertwined briefly, a silent exchange of support and understanding.

Tony watched the interaction with a mixture of pride and something that felt suspiciously like envy—not of their relationship, but of the effortless way they communicated their care for each other. It had taken him years to learn what these boys seemed to understand instinctively.

"Alright, Romeo," Tony said, giving Peter a gentle nudge. "Let us move on with the program."

Peter reluctantly backed away, giving Harry space as Tony helped him prepare for the shower. The bathroom in the med-bay was specially designed for accessibility, with handrails, a shower chair, and an emergency call system. It gave Harry the independence he craved while providing the safety net he needed.

"I'll be right outside," Tony assured him after he transferred Harry to the shower chair and secured the belt that helped him stay upright, adjusting the shower temperature and ensuring everything was within Harry's reach. "Twenty minutes max, or I'm coming in to check."

Harry nodded, grateful but determined. "I'll be fine."

When the door closed behind Tony, Harry let out a long breath, allowing himself a moment of vulnerability now that he was alone. His upper back muscles ached with a deep, persistent throb, and the tremor in his hands had returned, and yet, there was satisfaction in pushing his limits, in feeling his strength returning and building up.

Harry closed his eyes, allowing his thoughts to wander as the warm water cascaded over him, soothing his tired muscles and washing away the sweat of his exertion. The water's rhythm was hypnotic, almost like the patter of rain against the Gryffindor dormitory windows. He opened his eyes again and looked down at his constantly thinning legs, bent slightly to the right side, completely numb and unresponsive as he rubbed the atrophying thigh muscles.

The water blurred his vision, mingling with tears he hadn't realized were falling. Harry wiped his face roughly, frustrated by this unexpected loss of control of his emotions. The therapy was working—he was stronger than he'd been two weeks ago—but the progress felt glacially slow compared to the urgency building inside him.

He ran his hands over his legs, feeling the diminished muscle tone beneath his fingers. The sensation was strange—he could feel his hands on his legs, but his legs couldn't feel his hands. Like touching someone else's body, someone who wasn't entirely present.

"Come on," he muttered, pressing harder, willing sensation to return. Nothing. Just as it had been yesterday, and the day before that.

Mini-U hovered nearby, emitting occasional soft beeps that Harry interpreted as a concern. The little robot had become surprisingly attuned to his moods.

"I'm fine," Harry whispered to the miniature Iron Man, though his voice lacked conviction. "Just thinking."

The robot beeped again, clearly unconvinced.

"You alright in there, Harry?" Peter's concerned voice called through the door.

Harry cleared his throat quickly. "Fine," he called back, injecting more strength into his voice than he felt. "Just... enjoying the hot water."

"Okay," Peter replied, though he sounded unconvinced. "Five more minutes, then Tony's going to start pacing, and nobody wants that."

A small smile tugged at Harry's lips despite everything. "Tell him I'm not drowning."

Harry could almost hear Peter's answering grin as he replied, "Already did. Twice."

Harry sighed and tried to concentrate, shifting his hands toward the soap. He focused on each task with the steadfastness of a soldier following orders, using every technique his physical therapists had drilled into him. Each movement was slow but precise, and though his hands trembled and his muscles ached, he was getting better at this small part of the self-care routine, at reclaiming tiny pieces of his autonomy.

The accomplishment felt bittersweet. He could manage more on his own, but each hard-won victory was overshadowed by the vastness of what he still couldn't do. Memories of running effortlessly across the Hogwarts grounds, of flying on his broom in dizzying spirals, played like taunts in his mind. Now even the act of washing himself was a laborious victory. Still, these were moments of independence, fleeting but real, and he clung to them as tightly as he could.

By the time he finished, his arms were aching more than before, feeling like heavy chunks of metal clamped to his equally protesting shoulders. Pain radiated through him with each careful movement, urging him to call for help, to take the easy route. But he resisted, stubbornness and determination mingling to keep him going. It was all he had.

He reached for the towel hanging on the nearby rail. With painstaking effort, he dried himself as best he could, awkwardly navigating the soft cloth over skin that alternated between numb and overly sensitive. He avoided looking at his legs again, afraid of how fragile they appeared, afraid of the desolation he felt every time he looked at them.

When he finally finished, weariness weighed him down like a physical force, pressing him into the shower chair. He rested against it for a moment longer than he wanted to, collecting himself, trying to steady his breathing and his spirit before he admitted he was done. His entire body felt like it was made of lead, the earlier satisfaction already eclipsed by frustration and doubt.

"Okay," he called out finally, his voice rough with effort and emotion. "I'm done."

The door opened immediately, revealing Tony while Peter waited anxiously in the room. Tony helped Harry into fresh clothes and replaced the catheter and leg bag. He frowned at the heavy silence. Harry was not much of a talker, but he always had little ‘thanks’ and quips coming out of his mouth. Right now, he was too quiet, seemingly too lost in his thoughts to be present.

"Ready?" Tony asked, noting Harry's distant expression as he finished securing the leg bag.

Harry nodded, his eyes focusing again. "Yeah... sorry. Just tired."

Tony helped transfer Harry back to his wheelchair, noticing how the boy's arms trembled with the effort despite trying to hide it. He exchanged a concerned glance with Peter, who had opened the door and held it for them.

Once settled in his chair, Harry let out a slow breath. The simple act of showering and changing had drained what little energy he had left after the grueling therapy session.

"Food," Tony declared, clapping his hands together. "FRIDAY, what's the dinner situation?"

"Mr. Hogan has ordered pizza, Boss. It should arrive in approximately fifteen minutes."

"Perfect," Tony said, moving to the side and allowing Peter to get behind Harry's chair. "Let's head to the common area."

Tony walked a few paces in front of them, seemingly not noticing the way Peter leaned into Harry and kissed his temple, whispering questions into his ear, and Harry’s soft smile and replies.

The common area was warmly lit, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the compound grounds. The evening sun cast long shadows across the manicured lawns, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Despite the grandeur of the space, it had a lived-in quality that made it feel like home—a testament to the Avengers who had made this their sanctuary between world-saving missions.

Peter carefully maneuvered Harry's wheelchair to the large sectional sofa, where special accommodations had been made to allow Harry to transfer easily. The cushions were firm but comfortable, arranged to provide optimal support for his back.

"Need a hand?" Peter asked, hovering nearby as Harry positioned himself for the transfer.

Harry shook his head, determination etched into the lines of his face. "I've got it."

With practiced movements that betrayed both strength and fragility, Harry shifted from the wheelchair to the sofa. His arms trembled with the effort, but he managed without assistance, settling himself with a small grunt of satisfaction.

"God, I'm starving," Peter announced, his enhanced metabolism making itself known. He positioned Harry's chair near the couch before flopping down beside him on the sofa.

Tony chuckled, moving around the sofa. "When are you not, Spider-kid?"

"Fair point," Peter conceded with a grin. He turned to Harry, his expression softening. "Want some water while we wait?"

Harry nodded, grateful. His throat felt parched after the exertion of the day. As Peter bounded off to fetch drinks, Harry studied Tony, who had taken a seat in a comfortable-looking recliner chair, tablet in hand.

"So," Harry said, breaking the silence, "everything ready for tomorrow?” Referring to the small backyard party Tony was planning for the next day, Peter’s birthday.

Harry had been ecstatic about it and had asked Tony to help him get a present for Peter.

Tony glanced up from his tablet, a smile playing on his lips. "All set. The cake is secured in a special refrigerator with enough biometric locks to make SHIELD jealous. Rhodey's flying in tonight, May and Pepper are clearing their schedules, and Happy's threatening to quit over balloon arrangements as we speak."

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "I still can't believe we're doing this. Peter's going to flip out."

"That's the plan, kid." Tony set his tablet aside, leaning forward with a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. "Speaking of which, your super-secret present is ready. It's in my workshop, triple-wrapped and hidden behind a false panel that even our resident spider won't stumble across."

Harry felt a warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with his earlier exertion. "He's going to love it."

"A custom-built camera that would make professional photographers weep with envy? Yeah, I'd say so." Tony's expression softened. "Though I think you could give him a rock you found in the driveway and he'd treasure it like it was made of diamonds."

A flush crept up Harry's neck, but he couldn't suppress his smile. "He deserves something special."

"Speaking of special," Tony said, his tone shifting slightly, the glint in his eyes intensifying. "that's actually what I wanted to talk to you about."

Harry tensed, instantly alert. "What is it?"

Before Tony could answer, Peter returned with three big bottles of water and an apple juice balanced expertly in his hands—a casual display of the enhanced coordination that came with his abilities.

"What did I miss?" Peter asked, distributing the drinks—two for Harry, telling him that he needed something other than water—before settling next to Harry, their shoulders parallel as Peter looked from Harry to Tony.

"Oh, nothing much," Tony said as he leaned back, "I was just about to ask Harry if we are gonna talk about what's going on between you two?"

The question hung in the air, thick and unavoidable. Harry and Peter exchanged a glance, and Harry's face flushed, though it was hard to say if it was from embarrassment or residual effort from therapy.

"Uh—" Peter began, awkwardly scratching his neck. "We—uh—"

"Nicely said," Harry mumbled, a lopsided grin appearing on his face.

Tony crocked his head, arms crossed. "So...nothing, huh? All that furtive eye contact and zero snogging? I'm disappointed."

Peter's eyes widened, and Harry's hands gripped the water bottle tighter. They exchanged another glance, this one filled with disbelief.

"You... know?" Harry asked cautiously.

Tony rolled his eyes dramatically. "Please. I've been watching you two dance around each other for weeks. The lingering touches, the private jokes, the way you both light up when the other enters a room." He waved a hand dismissively. "I'm not just a genius with technology, you know."

"Okay, okay!" Harry relented, laughing despite himself. "There might be something."

"Might be?" Peter echoed, shooting Harry a sideways glance that was more affectionate than exasperated. His face had turned an impressive shade of crimson.

Tony grinned, wide and triumphant. "Took you long enough. How long have I been saying you two were going to end up together?"

"Weeks," Peter replied, rolling his eyes but smiling all the same.

"And you," Tony pointed at Harry with a mock scolding tone. "Never thought the most famous wizard on the planet could be so thick."

Harry relaxed, his earlier tension fading under the weight of acceptance and Tony's teasing. "I have my moments."

"We were going to tell you," Peter said quickly. "We just... weren't sure how."

"Or when," Harry added, his voice steadier now. He reached for Peter's hand, threading their fingers together in a gesture of solidarity. "It's still... new."

Tony's expression softened as he watched their joined hands. "I know," he said, his voice gentler than before. "And for what it's worth, I think it's great."

Harry took a deep breath, something fragile and relieved settling in his chest. "Thanks for being okay with it."

"Okay with it?" Tony looked incredulous. "I'm going full dad mode, Parker. Better get ready for the Stark family experience."

They laughed, a sound that lingered in the air even after the food arrived. The conversation flowed easily as they ate, with Tony telling embarrassing stories about his romantic escapades that had them laughing like there was no tomorrow. It was comfortable and warm, the kind of family moment that Harry had barely experienced.

As the evening wore on, Harry felt his eyelids growing heavy, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to him. He tried to stifle a yawn, but Tony caught it immediately.

"Alright, time for bed," Tony announced, setting aside his plate. "It's going to be a big day tomorrow."

Harry wanted to protest, but another yawn undermined his argument before he could make it. Peter squeezed his hand, a silent acknowledgment of his fatigue.

"I'll help you get ready," Peter offered, already moving to bring the wheelchair closer.

Tony stood, stretching his arms above his head. "I'll clean up here. Don't stay up too late, you two," he added with a wink that made Peter blush again. "I mean it, you need rest, Harry."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, the mock salute turning into another poorly concealed yawn.

As Peter helped Harry transfer back to his wheelchair, Harry caught a glimpse of Tony watching them with an expression he couldn't quite decipher—something between pride, concern, and a deeper emotion that made Harry's chest tighten with unexpected warmth.

"Good night, Tony," Harry called as Peter began to wheel him toward his room.

"Night, kids," Tony replied, his voice softened by affection. "And for the record, I expect exemplary behavior.”

Peter groaned, but the sound held no real embarrassment. "Way to put a wrench on my plans."

Tony looked at him in mock offense as Peter turned Harry’s wheelchair around and sped out of the common area before Tony could reply.

Harry laughed, the sound trailing behind them as they made their way down the corridor back to his room.

Once in the med-bay room that had become so uniquely Harry's, Peter picked up a still giggling Harry from the wheelchair, holding him close as Harry instinctively wrapped his arms around his neck for support.

"Did you see his face?" Harry chuckled, his breath warm against Peter's neck.

"I thought he was going to ground me until I'm thirty," Peter replied as he carefully laid Harry on the bed, his movements gentle but sure.

Harry settled against the pillows, his laughter fading into a soft smile. "Thanks for helping me." He said as Peter repositioned his hips and legs.

"No problem," Peter replied simply, the words carrying more weight than their syllables suggested. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hand finding Harry's and intertwining their fingers. "I can’t believe I was worried about Tony finding out."

"Me too," Harry admitted, squeezing Peter's hand. "But I guess we shouldn't have been."

Peter nodded, his thumb tracing small circles on Harry's palm. "He's pretty amazing like that."

A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by Hedwig’s soft hoot and the low beep of Mini-U settling in its charging station.

Harry studied Pater’s face for a minute before tugging his hand and pulling him closer.

“You should lay down next to me, where I can reach you.”

Peter hesitated for just a moment, his eyes darting to the door. "FRIDAY will definitely tell Tony," he said, even as he was already shifting to carefully positioning himself beside Harry on the bed.

"Let her," Harry replied with a mischievous smile, his eyes bright despite his exhaustion. "We're just talking."

Peter snorted as he settled next to Harry, on his side, careful not to jostle him, their faces mere inches apart. "Right. Talking."

"Is this okay?" Peter whispered, his voice soft in the dimly lit room.

Harry nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Perfect," he murmured, reaching up to caress Peter's cheek with his knuckles. "I'm sorry I didn’t say much earlier. After the shower."

"You don't need to apologize," Peter said, catching Harry's hand and pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his hand. "I get it. Some days are harder than others."

Harry's eyes, brilliantly green even in the low light, searched Peter's face. "It's just... sometimes I feel like I'm not doing enough. Like I need to get better faster, to be ready for whatever's coming."

Peter shifted closer, his arm draping over Harry's chest. "I know. But you're not alone in this, Harry. You've got Tony and Rhodey… The team, and... me." His voice softened on the last word, a hint of vulnerability creeping in.

Harry's eyes softened as he looked at Peter, pulling his hand to his chest, his fingers interlaced with Peter’s. "You're the best part," he whispered. "I don't know what I would have done if I hadn’t met you."

Peter leaned into Harry, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. "You would have managed. You're stronger than you know."

"Maybe," Harry conceded with a small smile. "But I wouldn't have wanted to."

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, everything else faded away—the pain, the exhaustion, the looming threats. There was just this: two young men finding comfort in each other amidst chaos.

Peter leaned forward, pressing his lips gently against Harry's. The kiss was soft, unhurried, a tender affirmation rather than a desperate need. When they pulled apart, Harry's eyes remained closed for a moment longer, savoring the feeling.

"I have to go on patrol" Peter murmured, though he made no move to leave.

Harry's fingers tightened around Peter’s. "I know. Just… stay," he whispered. "until I fall asleep?"

Peter nodded, settling more comfortably beside Harry and holding him closer, their foreheads touching as Peter's soft kisses lulled Harry into a peaceful slumber. Harry's breathing eventually evened out, his features relaxing as sleep claimed him. Peter stayed a while longer, watching Harry's chest rise and fall, memorizing the way his dark lashes rested against his cheeks.

Only when Harry's breathing had deepened and his face relaxed into sleep did Peter carefully extract himself from the bed.

"FRIDAY," he whispered, "keep an eye on him, okay?"

"Always do, Peter," the AI responded, her voice equally soft.

Peter gazed at Harry's sleeping form for a moment longer, with a gentle touch to Harry's cheek, Peter slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

———

In the darkened room, Harry's peaceful slumber unraveled like a tapestry caught on a thorn. His fingers twitched against the sheets, gripping them tightly as if they might anchor him to reality. Sweat beaded on his forehead, trickling down his temples as his head thrashed from side to side. The nightmare had him in its claws again, pulling him deeper into the abyss of memory and fear.

In his dream, the graveyard materialized around him, tombstones jutting from the earth like broken teeth. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp soil and something metallic—blood. He was tied to a tombstone. His blood dripped from the wound on his arm where Wormtail's dagger had carved into his flesh. The cauldron bubbled before him, its contents churning and hissing as a skeletal figure rose from within.

"Harry Potter..." Voldemort's voice slithered through the night, cold and inhuman. "Harry Potter... Have you finally decided to give up?"

Harry tried to move, but his legs wouldn't obey. He looked down in horror to find them hanging limply, useless. Panic clawed at his throat as Voldemort advanced, red eyes gleaming with malice.

"You cannot escape me," Voldemort taunted, his lipless mouth twisting into a cruel smile. "Your friends cannot save you now."

The scene shifted abruptly. Harry was in the Department of Mysteries, he was running—his legs working perfectly—through the maze-like corridors. The walls seemed to breathe around him, expanding and contracting with malevolent life. Sirius was somewhere ahead, calling his name, his voice growing fainter with each echo. Harry pushed himself harder, desperation fueling each stride.

"Sirius!" he called, his voice swallowed by the vastness of the dream. "I'm coming!"

The scene shifted abruptly, as dreams often do. He was in the chamber with the veil now, that whispering curtain of death. Sirius stood before it, his back to Harry, his form wavering like a reflection in disturbed water.

"Sirius!" Harry screamed, lunging forward.

But his legs failed him again, collapsing beneath his weight. He watched in helpless horror as Sirius turned, a look of sad resignation on his gaunt face. The veil billowed behind him, whispering seductively of rest and reunion.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Sirius said, his voice unnaturally distant. "I couldn't stay."

Harry clawed at the stone floor, dragging his useless legs behind him. "Don't go! Please! Not again!"

Sirius took a step backward, the veil reaching for him like ghostly fingers. "You'll be alright, Harry. You're stronger than you know."

"No!" Harry's voice broke as Sirius's form began to fade into the misty fabric. "I need you!"

Just as Sirius was about to disappear completely, the scene warped again. Now it was Peter stepping toward the veil, his movements mechanical, his eyes vacant.

"Peter! Stop!" Harry cried, but his voice didn’t reach Peter. He was alone, paralyzed, and forced to watch as another person he loved prepared to leave him.

“Harry, wake up.” A soft voice commanded.

Harry jolted in bed, a strangled cry tearing from his throat. His heart hammered against his ribs, and his hands fisted the blankets covering him. He turned his head to the side, finding the blurry sight of Wanda. She was talking to him, but he couldn’t understand what she was saying, his mind still fogged with panic.

"Harry," Wanda's voice cut through the lingering fog of nightmare, her accent more pronounced with concern. "You're safe. It was just a dream."

Harry blinked rapidly, reality slowly filtering back. The med-bay room came into focus around him—the soft glow of monitoring equipment, Mini-U's standby light blinking steadily, and Wanda sitting on the edge of his bed, her eyes filled with concern. His breathing came in ragged gasps as he struggled to orient himself.

"Wanda?" he managed, voice hoarse. His hand fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand.

She gently placed them in his palm, her fingers brushing his with a comforting warmth. "I was awake and heard you calling out." A faint red glow faded from her fingertips. "Your mind was... very loud."

Harry slipped his glasses on, Wanda's concerned face coming into focus. She sat perched on the edge of his bed, still in her training clothes, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. The digital clock on the wall read 2:17 AM.

"Sorry," he mumbled, embarrassment heating his cheeks as he settled against the pillows. "Did I wake the whole compound?"

Wanda shook her head, reaching out to dry the tears from Harry’s face. His eyes widened. Harry hadn’t realized he had been crying.

"You didn't," she assured him. Her eyes studied his face with gentle scrutiny. "This isn't the first time, is it?"

Harry looked away, focusing on the window where moonlight filtered through the half-drawn blinds. "No," he admitted. "But it's not as bad as it used to be."

Wanda's silence invited more but didn't demand it. Harry appreciated that—she understood the value of quiet, of giving someone space to find their words.

"I dreamed about Sirius," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "About losing him. And then... losing Peter too."

Wanda nodded, her expression softening with understanding. "The mind often takes our deepest fears and weaves them into nightmares."

"It felt so real," Harry murmured, the remnants of terror still clinging to him like cobwebs. "Sirius was there, and then he was gone, and I couldn't—I couldn't move fast enough to save him."

"Your godfather," Wanda said, not a question but a gentle acknowledgment. "The one who fell through the veil."

Harry nodded, swallowing hard. "I keep dreaming about it. Sometimes it's exactly how it happened, and sometimes..." he trailed off, unable to articulate the myriad ways his mind had replayed and twisted that terrible moment.

Wanda's hand found his, her touch gentle but grounding. "The mind processes grief in many ways, Harry. Even when we think we have accepted a loss, our subconscious may still be working through it."

Harry's fingers curled around hers, drawing comfort from the contact. "It's been almost two months. Shouldn't it be getting easier?"

"Time doesn't heal all wounds," Wanda said softly, her accent thickening with emotion. "It just teaches us to live with them. I still dream of Pietro, of reaching him before..." She shook her head, dispelling the memory. "These dreams, they are part of who we are now."

Harry studied her face, the moonlight casting soft shadows across her features. In that moment, she looked both impossibly young and achingly old—someone who understood loss in a way few could.

Harry was about to ask about Pietro when Tony burst into the room, breathless, as if he had run as fast as he could from a great distance to get to Harry.

Tony's eyes darted around the room, taking in the scene with sharp intensity. His hair was disheveled, and he wore a faded MIT t-shirt with sweatpants—clearly pulled on in haste.

"FRIDAY said you were in distress," he explained, his voice gruff with concern as he moved toward the bed. He frowned slightly when he saw Wanda was already there. "But I see you were not alone."

"Just a nightmare," Harry said, attempting to sound casual despite the lingering tremor in his voice. "Sorry to cause a fuss."

Tony shook his head, perching on the other side of the bed and running his hand over Harry’s forehead. "No apologies needed, kiddo. That's what the fuss-making adults are here for." His attempt at levity was undermined by the worry etched in the lines around his eyes.

Wanda rose gracefully, squeezing Harry's hand once more before releasing it. "I should go. Try to get some rest, Harry."

"Thanks, Wanda," Harry said softly.

She smiled, a gentle curve of her lips that reached her eyes. "Anytime, Harry."

"Thanks for being here, Wanda." Tony said honestly.

Wanda nodded, her expression softening. "I was already awake. His mind was... projecting quite strongly." She finished before giving Harry one last smile and leaving the room.

Tony's eyebrows rose as he looked back at Harry. "That bad, huh?"

Harry shrugged, suddenly feeling very young and vulnerable. "It was just a dream."

"About Sirius?" Tony asked quietly, settling better next to Harry.

Harry nodded, unable to meet Tony's eyes. "And Peter."

Tony's hand came to rest on Harry's shoulder, the weight reassuring. "Want to talk about it?"

Harry hesitated, then slowly shook his head. "Not really. Same old stuff."

Tony studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Then he nodded, accepting Harry's choice without pushing. "Alright. But remember what we talked about—bottling things up isn't healthy, even for wizarding wonder boys."

This drew a small smile from Harry. "I know. I’m just..."

"I get it," Tony said, his voice softening. "More than you know."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the quiet broken only by the soft hum of Mini-U's charging station and Hedwig's occasional rustling in her perch.

"Maybe it’s time to move you to your bedroom. This is way too far for poor old me.” Tony said, still studying Harry, but more relaxed, even a little playful.

“My bedroom? I have a bedroom?”

Tony's eyes widened in mock offense, one hand pressed dramatically to his chest. "Kid, you've had a bedroom since day one. Did you think I'd keep you in the med-bay forever? What kind of billionaire guardian would I be?"

Harry blinked, genuinely surprised. "I just assumed... with all the medical equipment and monitoring..."

"Which can be moved," Tony countered, waving his hand dismissively. "FRIDAY's everywhere, and Mini-U follows you like a lovesick puppy. The med-bay was always meant to be temporary."

A small smile tugged at Harry's lips. "You've never mentioned a bedroom before."

"That's because it wasn't ready," Tony replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. His tone was casual, but his eyes held something deeper. "I wanted it to be perfect. You know how I am with projects."

A small smile tugged at Harry's lips. "Obsessive and impossible to satisfy?"

"I prefer 'detail-oriented and pursuing excellence,' but sure, we can go with your phrasing." Tony's hand moved to ruffle Harry's hair affectionately.

"It's ready now, though. Been ready for about a week. I was just waiting for Helen to give the all-clear for you to move around more," Tony finished, his fingers absently straightening Harry's already disheveled hair. "She signed off yesterday. I was going to surprise you over the weekend, but..." he shrugged, "cat's out of the bag now."

Harry's eyes widened slightly. "You built me a bedroom?"

"Technically, I redesigned an existing room. But yes, I built you an entire suite," Tony corrected with a hint of pride. "Bedroom, accessible bathroom, study area—the works. It's right between mine and Pepper's wing and Peter's room when he stays over."

A warmth spread through Harry's chest that had nothing to do with the blankets covering him. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know," Tony said simply. His eyes met Harry's, something unspoken passing between them. "I wanted to."

Harry swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat. "Can I see it?"

Tony glanced at the clock. "It's almost three in the morning, kid."

"Please?" Harry pressed, suddenly eager. "I don't think I can sleep anyway."

Tony studied him for a moment, then sighed in resignation.

“I don’t want you out of bed, you’ll be too tired later and Helen will hunt me down…” Tony stood up from the bed and moved to sit on the chair on the other side “But Friday can project the blueprints of your suit and the pre-setup view, can’t you girl?”

"Of course, Boss," FRIDAY replied, her Irish lilt filling the room. "Displaying the Potter Suite blueprints and pre-setup images now."

A holographic display materialized above Harry's bed, bathing the room in a soft blue glow. Harry's eyes widened as he took in the detailed 3D rendering of what could only be described as a luxurious apartment rather than a mere bedroom.

"Tony, this is..." Harry's voice trailed off as he absorbed the details. The space was massive with high ceilings and large windows similar to the features of the common room. The large bedroom had an adjoining bathroom, a study area filled with bookshelves, and what looked like a small sitting room.

Tony watched Harry's face carefully, gauging his reaction. "The bathroom has all the accessibility features you need, but I tried to make them look, you know, not medical-looking." He gestured, and the hologram zoomed in on various features. "Smart home integration with FRIDAY, of course. An adjustable bed with built-in controls and supports can be positioned however you need.”

The hologram rotated, showing the room from different angles. The color scheme was warm and inviting—deep blues, soft golds, and rich woods that reminded Harry of the Gryffindor common room, yet with a modern twist that was distinctly Tony.

"There's a desk that adjusts height automatically," Tony continued, his voice taking on the animated quality it always had when he explained his creations. "And all the shelves are within reach from wheelchair height. The closet has a similar setup."

Harry reached out, his fingers passing through the blue light of the hologram. The room was beautiful, thoughtfully designed, and undeniably his. Some touches could only have come from someone who knew him and cared for him—a perch by the window that could only be for Hedwig, a small shelf that appeared to be sized perfectly for his Firebolt.

"Thank you, Tony," Harry said, his voice soft with wonder. "Really."

Tony shrugged, but his casual demeanor couldn't quite mask the pleased look on his face. "It's nothing, kid. Just wanted you to have your own space."

Harry's eyes lingered on the hologram, taking in every detail. "It's perfect."

"Wait until you see the ceiling," Tony said, almost mischievously. "FRIDAY, show him the night mode."

The hologram shifted, and the ceiling of the virtual room transformed into a stunning recreation of the night sky—constellations glowing softly against a deep blue backdrop, reminiscent of the enchanted ceiling in Hogwarts' Great Hall.

"It's not magical," Tony admitted, "just very, very good tech. But I figured it might remind you of your school. Peter mentioned it was one of your favorite things there."

Harry felt a lump form in his throat. "It's amazing," he managed, staring at the hologram, remembering the awe he felt when he entered the Great Hall for the very first time.

Tony stood up and pulled the blankets higher over Harry. “Go back to sleep, kiddo. Today is going to be a busy day. We’ll start the move on Saturday morning.” He said, smoothing Harry’s hair one more time.

Harry nodded, suddenly feeling tired again as the emotional weight of the nightmare and the surprise of Tony's gift settled over him. He removed his glasses and placed them back on the nightstand.

"G'night, Tony," he murmured, eyes already growing heavy.

"Night, kid," Tony replied softly, dimming the room's lights with a gesture as he headed toward the door.

As Tony slipped out, Harry drifted back into sleep, this time dreaming of star-filled ceilings and rooms that felt like home.

—------------------

The morning of Peter's birthday dawned bright and clear, with sunlight streaming through the windows of the Avengers Compound. Harry had been awake for over an hour, his excitement making sleep impossible despite his exhaustion from the night before. He'd managed to partially dress himself—a small victory with the assistance of a nurse who helped with the compression stockings, catheter, pants, and shoes—and was now impatiently waiting for Tony to come help with the final preparations for Peter's surprise.

Mini-U hovered nearby, occasionally beeping encouragingly as Harry adjusted his position in the wheelchair for what felt like the hundredth time. He wore a new long-sleeved t-shirt in a deep emerald that Tony had insisted "brought out his eyes," paired with dark jeans that had been specially tailored to accommodate his legs and the leg bag.

"FRIDAY, what time is it?" Harry asked, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair.

"It is 9:17 AM, Harry," FRIDAY replied. "Boss will be arriving in approximately two minutes. He was finalizing arrangements with Colonel Rhodes at the east wing lakeside yard."

Harry nodded, fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt.

"How's it looking out there?" he asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

FRIDAY's voice held a hint of amusement. "The decorations have been completed according to specifications. Mr. Hogan is currently arguing with the caterers about the placement of the dessert table."

Harry smiled, picturing Happy's stern face as he micromanaged the party setup. He glanced toward the window, wishing he could see the lakeside yard from his room.

"And Peter? Any sign of him yet?"

"Peter Parker is currently on his way with Miss Potts and Mrs. Parker. He is under the impression that it’s just a simple BBQ in the yard. He doesn’t expect a full party.”

Harry grinned, imagining Peter’s expression. The thought was interrupted by the soft whoosh of the med-bay door sliding open.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," Tony greeted, striding in with his usual energy. He wore casual clothes—dark jeans and a band t-shirt under an expensive-looking blazer—but his eyes betrayed his excitement. "Ready for Operation Spider?"

"Been ready," Harry replied, unable to suppress his smile. "How much longer until Peter gets here?"

"They are arriving at around eleven, which gives us—" Tony glanced at his watch, "—about an hour and a half to get everything perfect." He circled Harry's wheelchair, running his hand over Harry’s hair, trying to style it.

“Let’s go.”

————————-

The Ancient One found Sirius on a terrace overlooking the plains, the wind carrying the faint scent of mountain snow and freedom. He stood with an impatience that bordered on frantic, eyes scanning the horizon as if he might catch sight of something, anything, that would shorten the distance to his godson.

"I see you are ready," The Ancient One announced, voice low but carrying the authority of prophecy. Wong was a few steps behind her.

Sirius turned, an eagerness in his expression that gave him a younger, almost boyish look. "I am. Are you sure we can get to him directly?"

"Yes, I am sure." The Ancient One confirmed, her tone measured but kind.

Sirius exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The thought of Harry on another continent, with people unfamiliar to Sirius had kept him awake all night.

"We’ll open a portal," Wong added, joining them with the calm precision that had marked all his actions. "And we'll be there in moments."

Sirius nodded, a flood of emotion choking his words but not his resolve. "I'm ready. Let’s go."

The air flickered as a portal materialized, encircled by swirling lights resembling fireworks. Through it, Sirius could see a clear blue sky, so achingly familiar and yet so foreign, part of a lake or maybe a river, and multiple people staring.

The Ancient One gestured toward the portal with a fluid movement of her hand. "After you, Lord Black."

Sirius took a deep breath, steadying himself as he faced the shimmering gateway. The portal revealed a glimpse of what looked like expansive green grounds surrounding a sleek, modern facility—the Avengers Compound, he presumed. The group on the other side had frozen in place—a collection of people whose expressions ranged from shock to defensive wariness.

His heart hammered against his ribs as he stepped forward, every fiber of his being focused on a single thought: Harry.

Wong stepped through first, his movements precise and measured. The Ancient One gestured for Sirius to follow, and with a deep breath, Sirius stepped through.

Crossing through the portal felt like stepping through a curtain of cool water, a momentary disorientation that cleared as quickly as it came. Sirius found himself standing on manicured grass, the mid-morning sun warm on his face. The compound rose before him, all glass and steel and sprawling architecture that screamed of Muggle innovation and wealth.

The portal shimmered closed behind them, leaving the three newcomers standing before the assembled Avengers. Sirius's eyes darted frantically across the gathering, searching for the one face he longed to see. The party had frozen in tableau—decorations half-hung, tables laden with food, and a large banner proclaiming "HAPPY BIRTHDAY PETER" fluttering in the breeze.

————————-

Harry sat in a large, comfortable lawn chair, his legs stretched out in front of him and his wheelchair positioned partially behind him, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of disbelief and wonder. Peter was pressed against his side, their shoulders touching in comfortable intimacy. Harry leaned into the warmth of Peter's side, savoring the quiet contentment of the moment.

The memory of Peter's face when he had first seen the decorated yard—just under an hour ago—had been everything Harry had hoped for. Tony had orchestrated the surprise perfectly. Harry had been positioned strategically under a large oak tree, Mini-U hovering protectively nearby, as they waited for the birthday boy to arrive.

Peter had rounded the corner of the building, his steps faltering as he took in the festive transformation of the lakeside yard. Colorful streamers danced in the gentle breeze, twisting and turning like living things against the bright blue sky. Tables draped in vibrant cloths stood laden with food and presents, while the enormous "HAPPY BIRTHDAY PETER" banner fluttered overhead, its bold letters visible from across the compound.

Harry watched from his position as Peter's expression morphed from confusion to astonishment to pure, unfiltered joy. His brown eyes had widened comically, his mouth forming a perfect 'O' of surprise before breaking into the widest grin Harry had ever seen.

"What—" Peter had stammered, looking between May, Pepper, and Tony, who stood with matching expressions of satisfaction. "Is this all for—"

"Happy birthday, kid," Tony had said, clapping him on the shoulder with undisguised affection. "Surprise."

Peter's eyes had scanned the gathering—Rhodey and Steve manning the grill with practiced ease and teamwork, Happy fussing over the arrangement of presents with Nat, Vision, and Wanda setting up some kind of game on the lawn—before finally landing on Harry. Their eyes met across the yard, and something warm and private had passed between them, a silent acknowledgment that transcended the celebration around them.

Peter made his way to Harry immediately, sitting down beside Harry and enveloping him in a fierce hug that spoke volumes about their connection.

"Did you know about this?" Peter had whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Harry had grinned, "Maybe," Harry had replied with a mischievous smile, leaning into Peter's embrace. "Happy birthday."

Peter had pulled back just enough to look at Harry, his eyes shining with emotion. "You're amazing, you know that?"

Peter had gone around thanking everyone and receiving hugs and pats on the back. Now, as they sat side by side watching Tony argue with Happy about the proper way to light the sparklers for the cake, Harry felt a contentment he hadn't experienced in a long time. Peter moved his arm behind Harry’s neck, pulling him closer as they observed Tony arguing good-naturedly with Rhodey about the proper way to flip burgers.

"This is the best birthday ever," Peter murmured, his other hand finding Harry's, fingers intertwining with casual intimacy.

Harry squeezed Peter's hand, a smile playing on his lips. "It's not even noon yet. Wait until you see what else we've planned."

Peter groaned dramatically, letting his head fall back. "You're killing me, Potter. More surprises?"

"Maybe," Harry teased, enjoying the way Peter's eyes lit up despite his protests. "Tony might have mentioned something about—"

His words died in his throat as a circular gateway of golden sparks materialized near the edge of the lawn. The conversation around them stuttered to a halt as everyone turned toward the unexpected phenomenon.

Tony was on his feet in an instant, hand raised with his watch glowing, ready to deploy his suit. Rhodey and Steve moved forward, flanking Tony in a defensive formation that spoke of years of teamwork. Wanda's hands glowed red, Vision hovering slightly above the ground beside her. Even Happy had pulled out a gun, positioning himself protectively near Pepper and May, with Natasha at his side.

The first figure to step through was an Asian man in traditional-looking robes, his expression serious but not threatening. He was followed immediately by a tall, bald figure whose presence seemed to command attention without effort.

But it was the third figure that caused Harry's world to tilt on its axis.

Tall and lean, with long dark hair pulled back from a face that was achingly familiar despite its newfound health. He wore a leather coat, with a dark blue top, black jeans, and combat boots. His grey eyes scanned the gathering with an intensity that bordered desperation until they met wide emerald green eyes staring back at him.

Harry felt Peter move beside him, but he was frozen, not knowing what to do, or what to say.

"Harry," Sirius whispered, the name escaping like a prayer from lips that had repeated it countless times during his recovery.

Harry couldn't breathe. His lungs seized, his vision tunneling until all he could see was the impossible figure standing across the lawn. The world around him faded to background noise—the festive decorations, the gathered Avengers, even Peter's warm presence beside him—all receded as his focus narrowed to the impossible figure standing across the lawn. Time stretched and compressed all at once, heartbeats expanding into eternities as Harry struggled to process what he was seeing.

"Sirius?" Harry's voice cracked, barely audible. His hand clutched Peter's with bruising force.

Sirius stood motionless for a moment, drinking in the sight of his godson. His eyes, once haunted by Azkaban and then by the void between dimensions, now shone with fierce life and recognition. When he spoke, his voice carried across the hushed gathering like a spell breaking.

"Pup," he breathed, the single word carrying the weight of all he'd endured to return.

The tableau broke. Sirius moved forward with the urgency of a man who'd been held back too long, his strides eating up the distance between them. The Avengers tensed collectively, but Tony held up a hand, stopping any intervention as he studied the raw emotion on Harry's face.

Before Sirius could reach him, Harry held up his shaking hand.

“What…” Harry forced himself to take a deep breath while Sirius stopped a few steps away from them. “What did you give Ron as an apology for making him lose his pet?” He finally asked in a shaky voice.

Sirius gazed at Harry with confusion for a moment, then realization spread across his face. Harry was verifying that it was truly him, not an impostor. He let out a shaky laugh, his love and appreciation for his godson stronger than ever.

“Pig. I sent him that crazy little owl to replace the rat…”

Harry's breath caught in his throat and his entire body trembled as Sirius's words confirmed what his heart already knew. The world around him blurred as tears filled his eyes.

It was him. It was really him.

"Sirius," he whispered again, voice breaking on the name. The tears in his eyes cascading freely down his cheeks.

Sirius closed the remaining distance in three long strides, dropping to his knees beside Harry's chair. His hands hovered uncertainly for a moment, as if afraid Harry might vanish at his touch, before reaching for his godson's face instead, cradling it between his palms as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

"I'm here, pup," Sirius said, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm here."

Then, with a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, he wrapped his arms around his godson, pulling him into an embrace that spoke of weeks of longing.

Harry threw his arms around Sirius's neck pulling himself closer. Sirius’s strong arms wrapped around Harry's back, burying his face in the teen’s hair.

"I thought you were dead," Harry choked out, clutching at Sirius's leather jacket with desperate fingers. "I saw you fall through the veil. You were gone. You were dead."

Sirius pulled back just enough to frame Harry's face with a trembling hand while keeping him close and steady with the other, his gray eyes drinking in every detail. "I know, pup. I know." His thumb gently wiped away Harry's tears. "But I'm here now. I came back to you. I’m sorry it took me so long."

Harry couldn't stop the tears now. They flowed freely down his cheeks as he stared at his godfather, alive and whole before him. All the grief and guilt he'd carried since that night in the Department of Mysteries crashed over him like a wave, threatening to pull him under.

"I'm so sorry," Harry whispered, his voice breaking. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have gone there. If I hadn't fallen for his trick—"

"No," Sirius cut him off firmly, his hand still cradling Harry's face. "None of that, Harry. It wasn't your fault. Never your fault."

Peter, having stepped back upon realizing the stranger was Sirius Black, gently squeezed Harry's shoulder. He then rose to his feet and remained by the chair, as if standing guard.

Sirius noted the interaction with interest, but didn’t comment as Harry pulled himself closer, hiding his face in Sirius’s neck.

Sirius tightened his embrace as Harry finally let his emotions spill over, releasing the sorrow and frustrations he had kept bottled up for the past two months.

Everyone else was in varying degrees of shock, alarm, and confusion.

The Ancient One stepped forward, her movements fluid and graceful. "I believe introductions are in order," she said, her voice carrying across the now-silent gathering.

"I am the Ancient One, and this is Wong. We are from Kamar-Taj, home of the Masters of the Mystics Arts." She gestured toward Sirius, who was still holding Harry tightly. "This is Lord Sirius Orion Black, Harry Potter's godfather."

Tony stepped forward, his posture still guarded despite having lowered his hand. "Tony Stark. And I'd like to know exactly how a man we were told was dead just walked through a portal into my compound."

The Ancient One inclined her head in acknowledgment. "A fair question. Lord Black fell through what wizards call 'the veil'—a gateway between dimensions. We found him trapped in a pocket dimension, barely alive. We've spent the past month nursing him back to health."

Harry, still holding tightly onto Sirius's jacket, as if afraid he might disappear again, whispered "A month?" his voice hoarse. "You've been back for a month?"

Sirius nodded, brushing Harry's hair back with gentle fingers. "I was not in the best condition when they found me, Pup. It took me a while to regain my senses and then my strength.” His arms wrapped around Harry again. “I’m so sorry, Pup. I didn’t mean to take so long.”

Harry buried his face deeper into Sirius's shoulder, inhaling the scent of leather and something uniquely Sirius—a mix of sandalwood and wilderness that had always meant safety to him. He felt sixteen years old and eleven years old all at once, lost in the conflicting emotions of having his godfather returned to him when he'd already mourned him, already tried to accept his absence as permanent.

"You're really here," Harry murmured, his voice muffled against Sirius's jacket. "You're really alive."

"I am," Sirius confirmed, his voice rough with emotion. He pulled back slightly, his hands moving to Harry's shoulders as he studied his godson's face. "Let me look at you."

His gray eyes traveled over Harry's features, noting the subtle changes that two months had wrought—the shadows beneath his eyes, the new angles to his face that spoke of recent weight loss and recovery. Then his gaze moved lower, taking in Harry's position in the chair, the way his legs lay still while the rest of him trembled with emotion.

A shadow passed over Sirius's face, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Harry," he said softly, a question in his voice as his gaze lingered on Harry's thin and unmoving legs.

Harry swallowed hard, suddenly acutely aware of everyone watching them. "I… I broke my spine," he said simply, his voice low. "At the Dursleys..."

Sirius's face darkened, pure shock followed by a flash of the fierce protectiveness that had always defined him surfacing. "Who?" he demanded, his voice a dangerous growl as he thought about the walrus who passed as Harry’s uncle.

The look in Harry’s eyes was the confirmation of his suspicions. "I am going to kill him."

"It doesn't matter now," Harry replied, his hand finding Sirius's and squeezing tightly. "It's done. I'm dealing with it."

Sirius looked like he wanted to argue, to demand names and details, but the plea in Harry's expression stopped him. Instead, he nodded once, though the fire in his eyes didn't diminish.

"We have much to talk about," he said quietly, his thumb brushing over Harry's knuckles. Harry nodded and pressed himself back into Sirius.

Tony cleared his throat, reminding them they weren't alone. He walked around, positioning himself by Harry's wheelchair.

Sirius's eyes flicked up, meeting Tony's gaze with a mixture of gratitude and wariness. The two men studied each other for a moment, both protective of Harry in their own ways, both uncertain of the other's role in his life.

"Mr. Stark," Sirius acknowledged, his voice steady despite the emotions still evident in his eyes. "I understand my godson has been in your care."

Tony nodded, his posture relaxing slightly at Sirius's respectful tone. "He has. And call me Tony." He gestured around the compound. "Welcome to Avengers HQ. Not exactly how we planned to spend the day, but life's full of surprises."

The tension in the air gradually dissipated as the Avengers lowered their defensive stances. Steve Rogers stepped forward, extending his hand to Sirius. "Steve Rogers," he introduced himself. "It's good to meet you, Mr. Black."

Sirius accepted the handshake, his eyes still frequently darting back to Harry as if to reassure himself of his godson's wellbeing. "Likewise. And it's just Sirius."

As the introductions continued, Harry remained in Sirius's embrace, unable to fully process what was happening. His mind raced with questions, but they were secondary to the overwhelming reality of Sirius's arms around him—solid, warm, and undeniably alive.

Peter shifted awkwardly beside them, caught between wanting to support Harry and feeling like an intruder on this deeply personal reunion. His movement caught Sirius's attention, and the man's gray eyes settled on Peter with keen interest.

"And you are?" Sirius asked, his tone gentle but curious.

Peter straightened, extending his hand with a nervous smile. "Peter Parker, sir. I'm, uh—" he glanced at Harry, uncertain how to introduce himself.

"Peter's my boyfriend," Harry said quietly but firmly, looking at Peter with a soft smile.

Sirius's eyebrows rose slightly, but his expression remained warm as he accepted Peter's handshake. "Well, Peter Parker, it seems I owe you my thanks for looking after my baby."

Peter's cheeks flushed. "I—it's not—Harry's pretty amazing on his own."

A small smile tugged at Sirius's lips as he observed Peter's flustered response and the way Harry's eyes softened when looking at the young man. There was something genuine in their interaction that reminded him of James and Lily.

"I don't doubt that for a second," Sirius replied, giving Peter's hand a firm shake before releasing it. His gaze returned to Harry, drinking in the sight of his godson as if afraid he might disappear. "Your father was the same way at your age—utterly capable and still completely oblivious to it."

Harry's eyes brightened at the mention of his father, and Sirius felt a pang in his chest at how little Harry knew of James and Lily. He made a silent vow to remedy that, to share every memory he possessed.

The Ancient One stepped forward, her serene presence drawing attention. "I believe we've interrupted what appears to be a celebration," she observed, gesturing to the festive decorations.

"Peter's birthday," Harry explained, his hand still firmly gripping Sirius's as if afraid to let go. "We were just getting started."

Peter shifted awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. "It's ok. The more people the merrier, right?”

Sirius looked at Peter with newfound appreciation. The boy's willingness to share his special day spoke volumes about his character.

Tony clapped his hands together, breaking the moment of silence. "Alright, people. No reason we can't have a reunion and a birthday celebration simultaneously." He turned to the Ancient One and Wong with his trademark grin. "Care to join us? We've got plenty of food, and apparently, we're collecting practitioners of all kinds of arts these days."

The Ancient One inclined her head with a small smile, a serene expression that somehow managed to convey both amusement and dignity. "We would be honored."

As the group began to disperse, returning to their previous activities with an air of cautious acceptance, Sirius remained kneeling beside Harry's chair. His eyes traveled over his godson's face, memorizing every detail, from the lightning scar half-hidden beneath messy black hair to the new shadows beneath those familiar green eyes.

"I have so many questions," Harry whispered, his voice steadier now but still thick with emotion.

"As do I," Sirius replied, squeezing Harry's hand. "But we have time now, pup. All the time in the world."

Harry nodded, unable to take his eyes off Sirius, still struggling to believe he was real. He noticed the subtle changes in his godfather—how his face appeared healthier than Harry had ever seen it, the haunted shadows of Azkaban finally fading from his features. Sirius looked younger somehow, more like the man in his parents' wedding photos.

"You look good," Harry said softly, his voice still raw with emotion. "Better than before."

Sirius smiled, the expression transforming his face. "The Ancient One and Wong, they're miracle workers.”

Sirius shifted slightly, moving Harry with him. “Pup, can I pick you up?” He asked.

Harry hesitated only for a moment before nodding, feeling like a child again—but not minding it at all. "Yes," he whispered.

With careful movements, Sirius slipped one arm under Harry's knees and the other around his back, lifting him from the chair with surprising gentleness, cradling him against his chest. Harry's arms automatically went around Sirius's neck, holding on as his godfather straightened to his full height.

"You're too light," Sirius murmured, concern etching lines around his eyes as he adjusted his hold.

Harry gave a weak smile. "Been a rough couple of months."

Sirius nodded, understanding in his gaze as he carried Harry to the waiting wheelchair that Peter had moved closer.

"I want to hear everything," Sirius said as he carefully lowered Harry into the wheelchair. "Every detail, no matter how small."

Together, they moved toward one of the picnic tables, where May was already clearing space. The rest of the party had resumed around them, though Harry noticed the occasional curious and cautious glances thrown their way.

Peter hovered nearby, his expression a mixture of concern and happiness for Harry. "I'll go get you guys some drinks," he offered, recognizing their need for a moment alone.

As Peter walked away, Sirius settled into the chair beside Harry's wheelchair, turning it to face his godson fully. His eyes never left Harry's face, studying every aspect of it.

"I can't believe you're really here," Harry murmured, reaching out to take hold of Sirius's arm, needing the physical reassurance of his presence.

Sirius caught Harry's hand in his, squeezing gently. "I know, pup. I feel the same way." His voice dropped lower, meant only for Harry's ears.

Harry swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. "How did you survive? Everyone said no one comes back from the veil."

"I didn't," Sirius admitted softly. "Not on my own." His gaze drifted to where the Ancient One stood conversing with Vision, their discussion seeming to fascinate both equally.

"I was... lost. Drifting. It felt like years, when it was really only a few weeks—time worked differently there." His gray eyes softened as he studied Harry's face.

"The Ancient One told me you were with... heroes," Sirius continued, the word sounding strange on his tongue. "But she didn't explain how you ended up here, or..." his gaze dropped briefly to Harry's wheelchair.

Harry took a deep breath, bracing himself for the conversation he'd rehearsed countless times in his head during those long nights when sleep eluded him. He had imagined explaining everything to Ron and Hermione so often—the attack, his injury, finding himself in the care of muggles. But Sirius was different. With him, he could be open about the long-term side effects of his injury and the medical complications he had dealt with in the last month. He could talk about the visit to Gringotts and he knew he could discuss Dumbledore as well. Sirius’s faith in the old goat was not as set on store as many believed.

And so, Harry spoke, updating Sirius on everything he had missed in the last two months and more.

Chapter Text

Sirius leaned back, nursing his glass like an old wound. "I remember the first time I held him," Sirius said, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper. The amber liquid in his glass caught the light, transforming into liquid gold. "It was raining that night—one of those summer storms that rolls in without warning with thunder that shook the windows."

Tony leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fully present in a way few ever witnessed.

"James sent his Patronus to find me—a silver stag bursting into my flat at three in the morning." Sirius's eyes took on a faraway gleam. "I apparated straight to St. Mungo's, still wearing my pajama bottoms and an old Quidditch jersey. Didn't even stop for shoes."

He traced the rim of his glass with his finger, each movement deliberate, as if drawing the memory into sharper focus.

"The hospital smelled of antiseptic charms and dittany. Healers in lime-green robes rushing about. But the moment I stepped into Lily's room, it was like the world outside ceased to exist."

Tony nodded, understanding how a single room could become the entire universe.

"Lily was exhausted but radiant," Sirius continued, his voice softening with the memory. "James stood beside her bed, looking simultaneously terrified and more proud than I'd ever seen him. And there, bundled in a light blue blanket, was Harry."

Sirius took a slow sip of his drink, his gray eyes glistening in the low light.

"James said, 'Meet your godson, Padfoot.' And he... he just placed him in my arms." Sirius's hands trembled slightly, mimicking the gesture of cradling an infant. "Tiny little thing with a shock of black hair. Couldn't have weighed more than a Quaffle... I was terrified I'd break him."

Tony's expression softened, imagining a younger Sirius—unburdened by Azkaban, by loss—holding his best friend's son for the first time.

"He opened his eyes—Lily's eyes—and looked at me. Just... looked at me." Sirius swallowed hard. "And I swear on Merlin's grave, I felt something shift inside me. Like some part of my soul just... rearranged itself to make room for him. I made him a promise right then. That I would always protect him. That I would die before I let anything happen to him."

The silence that followed was heavy with shared understanding.

"And I failed him," Sirius whispered, his voice cracking. "When James and Lily died, I went after Peter instead of staying with Harry. I let my anger cloud my judgment... and Harry paid the price."

Tony shifted in his seat, the leather creaking beneath him. "You were set up," he said quietly. "And from what I've gathered, the entire wizarding justice system failed spectacularly. No trial, no evidence beyond circumstantial."

Sirius gave a humorless laugh. "Doesn't change the fact that Harry grew up without anyone who loved him. Those bloody Dursleys—" His knuckles whitened around his glass. "James and Lily would have never wanted that for him."

"Well, he's not going back there. Not while I'm breathing." Tony said with finality. "I’ll let you in on a little secret. Harry knows some of this.”

He leaned back against the sofa. “I blackmailed them into signing off their guardianship of Harry to me.” He let out a humorless chuckle, “Or more like Pepper did, while I was here with Harry.”

Sirius's eyebrows shot up, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You blackmailed the Dursleys?"

"It wasn't difficult," Tony shrugged, swirling the remaining liquid in his glass. "People like Vernon Dursley are transparent—all bluster and no backbone. One whiff of a scandal threatening his precious reputation, and he folded faster than cheap lawn furniture.” He paused for a few seconds.

“I couldn’t get him for what he did to Harry, at least not officially without putting Harry in the spotlight, but that at least secured that Petunia wouldn’t be able to contest any claim.”

Tony then smirked at Sirius in such a mischievous that reminded Sirius of James and the Weasley twins.

“Then we got the help of the goblins and I destroyed his precious career. FRIDAY's still making his life miserable. His credit score is in the toilet, his car keeps getting mysteriously towed, and his emails somehow end up in spam folders of everyone he contacts." Tony's eyes gleamed with vindictive satisfaction. "Death by a thousand digital cuts."

Sirius let out a bark of laughter that seemed to surprise even himself. "Remind me never to cross you, Stark. James would have approved. He always did appreciate a well-executed scheme."

"Just protecting what's mine," Tony replied simply. "And Harry is..." He trailed off, searching for the right words.

"Family," Sirius finished for him, his expression growing serious again. "I need to thank you, Stark. For being there when I couldn't be."

"Don't," Tony said, raising a hand. "I didn't do it for thanks."

"I know," Sirius replied. "That's precisely why you deserve it."

A comfortable silence settled between them, two men from different worlds bound by their love for the same boy.

“You remind me of James a lot. He never backed down from a fight,” Sirius said, his words almost drowned by the creaking of old beams. "Or a drink.” His smile held the distant warmth of a dying star. The old trees seemed to lean in, eavesdropping on their conversation. Tony watched him closely, like he was inspecting a new piece of tech.

“Must be a family trait,” Tony said, pouring himself another. The room was a patchwork of scars and stories, each corner holding a piece of history neither man could fully claim.

Sirius tilted his head, the shadows playing across his face like a shifting mask. “You know, Lily was the smart one. A real Charms prodigy. She was Flitwick’s favorite from the very beginning, with Remus in second place. James and I were always competing for Transfigurations' first place.” He took a long sip, letting the taste linger.

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Transfiguration. That's the turning-things-into-other-things branch of magic, right?"

"That's a simplified way of putting it, but yes." Sirius smiled, memories flickering behind his eyes. "James could transform a desk into a pig by our fourth year. I was better with the smaller, more intricate work." He twirled his finger in the air, as if tracing an invisible pattern. "We both became Animagi in our fifth year—illegally, mind you—to help Remus during his transformations."

Tony's eyes brightened with interest. "Harry mentioned you were all Animagi—turning into animals, right? That's some serious magical engineering."

"It was James who cracked it first," Sirius said, pride evident in his voice. "Most adult wizards never manage it, but James..." He shook his head in wonder. "Brilliant mind when he applied himself. Lily used to say he could've revolutionized Transfiguration if he wasn't so busy hexing Slytherins and ruffling his hair to impress her."

"The stag," Tony said, recalling what Harry had shared about his father's Animagus form.

"Yes." Sirius's face lit up. "Prongs, we called him. Magnificent creature, stood taller than me. Antlers that could've taken your eye out if he wasn't careful." He chuckled softly. "I was Padfoot—the dog. And Peter..." His expression darkened momentarily. "Wormtail. A rat. Should've seen the symbolism there, I suppose."

Tony swirled his drink thoughtfully. "And Remus was the wolf, though not by choice."

"Moony," Sirius confirmed with a nod. "Together, we were the Marauders." He said the name with such reverence that Tony could hear the capital 'M'.

"Sirius, what can you tell me about Snape and Dumbledore," Tony said. “I’d like to know your opinion of them.”

Sirius's face tightened at the mention of those names, his fingers flexing around his glass. He took a long drink before responding.

"Severus Snape," he said, the name leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. "Brilliant wizard, I'll give him that. Especially with potions and dark arts. But he's..." Sirius paused, visibly struggling with his bias. "There's history there. The bad blood between us that goes back to our school days."

Tony nodded, keeping his expression neutral. "Harry's mentioned he's not exactly Teacher of the Year material."

"That would be an understatement," Sirius snorted. "Snape and James hated each other from the moment they met on the Hogwarts Express. Lily was...a point of contention between them."

"Ah," Tony said, understanding dawning. "The classic 'in love with the same girl' scenario."

"Snape grew up with Lily. They were friends before Hogwarts," Sirius explained, his voice measured. "But he made choices—aligned himself with people who thought Lily was lesser because of her Muggle parents. Called her something unforgivable." Sirius's jaw clenched. "He called her a Mudblood."

Tony frowned at the unfamiliar term. "I'm guessing that's not a term of endearment."

"It's the worst thing you can call someone of Muggle birth," Sirius explained, his voice low with disgust. "Like calling someone a—" He paused, searching for a Muggle equivalent.

"I get the idea," Tony interrupted, his expression hardening. "So he was prejudiced."

"Was… I think," Sirius muttered. "After Hogwarts, he became a Death Eater—one of Voldemort's followers. Took the Dark Mark and everything."

Tony's eyebrows shot up. "And Dumbledore hired him to teach children?"

"That's where it gets complicated," Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t think Snape ever meant to become a teacher. At all. But Dumbledore claims that Snape turned spy for our side before Voldemort's fall. Says he's been loyal ever since." He shook his head. "I don't trust him. Never have. But Dumbledore does…”

"And Dumbledore?" Tony prompted, noting the complex emotions that flashed across Sirius's face at the mention of the Hogwarts Headmaster.

Sirius exhaled slowly, his fingers drumming against his glass. "Harry told me about your meeting in Gringotts." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I won’t say I was surprised because I wasn’t." Sirius held his left hand up. For a few seconds nothing happened, an ornate gold ring with a flat top appeared on his middle finger. “I got it after Christmas last year. During my visit to Gringotts in London, I found out about Dumbledore’s involvement in the sealing of James and Lily’s wills, as well as some other irregularities in my account," Sirius said grimly. "It was the final straw. I claimed my title as Lord Black."

Tony's eyes widened in recognition. "So that's what Harry meant about your 'lordship.' I thought it was just a British wizarding quirk."

"It's more than a title," Sirius explained, turning the ring on his finger. "The old families—the Sacred Twenty-Eight as they're called—carry political power and influence. The Blacks are one of the oldest, with seats on the Wizengamot—our high court and legislative body." His expression darkened. "I never wanted it. Rebelled against everything the Black family stood for. But now..."

"Now you have Harry to think about," Tony finished for him.

"Exactly." Sirius nodded, a determined glint in his eye. "As Lord Black, I have resources and legal standing that I wouldn't otherwise. Protection that extends to my godson."

"Smart move," Tony acknowledged.

Sirius's expression turned contemplative. "Albus Dumbledore is...He's a great wizard, possibly the greatest of our age. But he plays a long game, and sometimes... he thinks he is above everything and everyone thanks to the position he has forged during his life."

The room fell silent as Tony processed this information, the only sound the gentle crackling of the fire.

"Harry and President Quahog said something similar." Tony finally said, his voice carefully controlled. "What position does Harry play in his plans? What did he tell you?”

Sirius's expression darkened, and he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "That's the thing, Tony. He didn't tell me anything. Not directly."

Sirius swirled the remaining liquid in his glass before downing it in one swift motion. "After I escaped Azkaban, I was desperate to see Harry, to protect him. It took me a whole year to talk to him for the first time in years. After the messy encounter with Moony and the Dementors, Dumbledore facilitated our communication but always under strict conditions. 'Don't tell Harry too much,' he'd say. 'The boy isn't ready.'"

Tony's jaw tightened visibly. "Ready for what?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" Sirius's laugh was hollow. "When I questioned him about Harry living with the Dursleys despite James and Lily's explicit wishes, he spoke of blood wards and necessary sacrifices. When I demanded to know why Harry faced Voldemort in his first year at Hogwarts, he called it 'unfortunate but enlightening.'"

Sirius's fingers clenched around the empty glass. "There was a prophecy," he said finally. "Made before Harry was born. I don't know the exact wording—James never told me everything—but I know it concerns Harry and Voldemort. Something that binds their fates together." His voice grew bitter. "Dumbledore guards that information like a dragon with its hoard."

Tony's analytical mind raced, connecting dots across conversations. "The prophecy... is it stored somewhere? Documented?"

"The Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic," Sirius confirmed. "Hall of Prophecy. Each prophecy can only be retrieved by those it concerns."

"So Harry could access it," Tony said, the wheels turning.

“He did already. It was the night I ’died’.” Sirius’s eyes flashed with untold emotions. “The prophecy was lost during the battle in the Department of Mysteries. I don’t know the exact details, but Harry is now fully aware of it and its wording.”

"But Dumbledore knows it," Tony stated rather than asked, his mind already calculating possibilities. "He's been orchestrating events based on information he hasn't fully shared with anyone—not even you, Harry's godfather."

Sirius nodded grimly. "That's Albus for you. Always ten steps ahead, playing chess while the rest of us are playing checkers." He sighed heavily. "Don't get me wrong—I believe he wants Voldemort defeated. But his methods..."

"Involve using a teenager as a pawn," Tony finished, a dangerous edge to his voice. "And leaving him with abusive relatives for a decade."

"The greater good," Sirius said with unmistakable bitterness. "That's always been his justification. I've heard him use those exact words. Like Harry's happiness, his childhood, was an acceptable casualty in this war."

Tony's expression hardened into something dangerous. "That’s why he is so desperate to get Harry back, to use him as some kind of prophesied weapon."

"I think..." Sirius hesitated, glancing around as if the walls might be listening. "I think he's been grooming Harry. Testing him. The Philosopher's Stone in his first year, the Chamber of Secrets in his second, the Tournament last year..." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. "It's like he's being prepared for something bigger."

"And no one's called him out on this?" Tony's voice carried the edge of someone unused to institutional failure.

Sirius's smile was grim. "Dumbledore has been the guiding light of the wizarding world for decades. Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Headmaster of Hogwarts. His word has been law since he defeated Grindelwald in 1945."

"Until now," Tony finished, his eyes glinting with determination. "Times change. Heroes fall. New ones rise."

Sirius studied Tony for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "You're not what I expected, Stark."

"I get that a lot," Tony replied with a half-smile. "Usually followed by disappointment."

"Not disappointment," Sirius corrected. "Relief." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Harry needs someone who understands what it means to have expectations thrust upon you. Someone who knows what it's like to live in the shadow of greatness while forging your own path."

"Sounds like you're describing yourself," Tony remarked.

Sirius shook his head. "I was rebellious, not revolutionary. There's a difference." He gestured toward Tony. "You built something new. Something your father never imagined."

The silence that followed was contemplative rather than awkward, both men lost in thoughts of fathers and sons and legacies.

“How about you?” Sirius asked, catching Tony in a rare moment of reflection. “I hear you’ve got a few stories yourself.”

Tony smirked, his eyes sparking like old electric wires. “Well, I never backed down from a drink, either.”

Sirius chuckled, a sound like distant thunder. “Or much else, I'd wager. Now, tell me about the whole Iron Man and the Avengers business.”

Tony leaned back, a familiar mask of casual nonchalance sliding into place. "Oh, that? Just a little side project. Built a weaponized suit of armor in a cave with scraps, decided to become a superhero, saved the world a few times." He waved his hand dismissively, but the pride in his voice was unmistakable.

"A cave?" Sirius repeated, eyebrows raised in genuine interest.

"Afghanistan," Tony confirmed, his expression momentarily darkening. "I was kidnapped by terrorists who wanted me to build them weapons. Instead, I built something to get myself out."

Sirius nodded slowly, recognizing the haunted look that flashed across Tony's face—the same one he sometimes caught in his own reflection. "Necessity breeds innovation. James and I created the two-way mirrors when McGonagall separated us for a month of detentions."

Tony's eyes lit up. "The enchanted mirrors Harry mentioned? Communication devices that work like video calls?"

"Exactly," Sirius said, a hint of pride seeping into his voice. "Though our motivation was continuing to plan pranks rather than escaping captivity."

"Different stakes," Tony acknowledged, “Before Afghanistan, I built weapons. Really good ones. Best in the world." His voice took on a harder edge. "Then I saw them being used against the people I thought I was protecting."

He tapped the center of his chest, where the arc reactor had once glowed. "Got kidnapped, shrapnel in my chest, built the first suit in a cave with scraps from my missiles to escape.”

Sirius's eyebrows rose. “And then?” He pushed gently.

“Then I came home, shut down the weapons division of my company, and decided to become something else after realizing the person who used to be like my second father was the one trying to kill me," Tony replied, his expression darkening momentarily.

"It nearly cost me Pepper. Definitely cost me sleep." He took a sip of his drink. "Then, barely five months later, I find that the same device that is keeping me alive is also killing me. I was dying because of palladium poisoning from the core of the arc reactor. The very thing keeping the shrapnel out of my heart." Tony's fingers traced absent patterns on his glass. "Had to invent a new element to survive."

Sirius let out a low whistle. "You invented an element?"

"Rediscovered, technically," Tony shrugged with practiced nonchalance. "My father had theorized its existence but lacked the technology to synthesize it. I built a particle accelerator in my workshop and created it." He paused, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. "Destroyed part of the mansion in the process."

"Sounds like something the Marauders would have done," Sirius chuckled. "Though our experiments usually just singed eyebrows or turned someone's skin purple for a week."

Tony’s face relaxed a little and a smile appeared on his face, disappearing just as quickly when he continued, his voice growing distant. "Then New York happened. Did you know that the Norse Gods are real?” He asked Sirius. “I—We, fought one of them while having the other one as a teammate. Then a portal opened above my tower. Aliens poured through. I carried a nuclear missile through that portal, saw things..." He trailed off, his eyes focusing on something far beyond the room's walls.

Sirius remained silent, recognizing the look of a man revisiting his nightmares.

"I saw an armada that made our military look like kids with water guns. And I knew—I knew—they'd be back someday." Tony finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Watched a warship explode from the other side of the portal, thinking I'd never make it back. The suit lost power. I was conscious during all of it." He took a long drink. "Sometimes I'm still falling."

Sirius nodded slowly, understanding written across his face. "The Dementors... they make you relive your worst memories. For twelve years, I was trapped in a cell with nothing but the knowledge that I'd failed James and Lily, that Harry was alone, that Peter had betrayed us all." His fingers tightened around his glass. "Some nights, I still wake up thinking I'm back there."

"PTSD," Tony said matter-of-factly. "Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Bruce helped me put a name to it after New York."

"We don't have a name for it in the wizarding world," Sirius admitted. "Just call it 'battle fatigue' or 'Dementor sickness' depending on the cause."

"Sounds about right for a society that still uses quills," Tony remarked with a hint of his trademark bravado, though the glint in his eyes betrayed an underlying weariness.

He fell silent for a moment, his mind touching on memories darker than the room around him. The New York invasion, the terror of space, the moments hanging between life and certain death—all echoed in the pauses between his words. Finally, he ran his palm slowly over his face, as if wiping away the ghosts that clung to him. He seemed to wrestle with them momentarily, his bravado flickering like an old lightbulb.

"And here I thought a little PTSD was my biggest problem," Tony admitted, his bravado starting to peel away. The admission came with more weight than he'd initially intended, a leaden truth he seldom allowed to see the light of day. "Turns out most of my demons wear a human face," he added, his voice tight with the unguarded emotion that lurked beneath his practiced nonchalance. He looked away, eyes glazing over with remembered pain.

"More names than I have time left to make them pay." It was a stark glimpse of the burden he carried—one built out of betrayal, loss, and the kind of disappointment only family can deliver.

Sirius nodded slowly, understanding written across his features. "The weight of knowing what's coming when no one else believes you."

"Exactly," Tony said, surprised by how easily Sirius grasped it. "I built suits. Dozens of them. Couldn't sleep, couldn't eat. Nearly lost Pepper for good that time."

"How did you get through it?" Sirius asked quietly.

Tony's laugh was hollow. "Bold of you to assume I did." He paused, his expression softening slightly. "But having people who believe in you helps. Rhodey. Happy. Pepper, when I'm not being a complete ass." He glanced toward the door, as if he could see through it to where Harry and Peter were. "Peter, too. He's..."

"...a good kid. Better than I was at his age." Tony's face softened in a way Sirius recognized immediately—the look of a man who had unexpectedly found something worth protecting. "Smart as hell, heart bigger than his brain sometimes. Which is saying something because the kid's brilliant."

"Sounds like Harry," Sirius said with a fond smile. "James's talent for trouble with Lily's compassion."

"Those two have hit it off," Tony remarked, glancing toward the door. "Peter's been good for him. Someone who understands what it's like to be different, to carry responsibilities no teenager should have to shoulder."

A teasing glint filled his eyes. “How does it feel to be an in-law for the first time?”

Sirius’s bark of laughter echoed in the whole room. "In-law? Merlin, I’d forgotten about that." He broke off, eyes widening as realization dawned. "The way Harry just said ‘He’s my boyfriend.’ How long have they been together?"

"A few days, as far as I know," Tony said, enjoying Sirius's reaction a bit too much. "I wasn’t surprised. I've seen the way they look at each other when they think no one's watching." He swirled his drink thoughtfully. "It's like watching a planet get caught in another's gravity well. Inevitable."

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, looking momentarily overwhelmed. "Merlin's beard, I've only been back a day and Harry's already..." He trailed off, then let out another bark of laughter. "James would be thrilled. He was smitten with Lily from the moment he saw her. Used to say Potter men fall hard and fast for the extraordinary ones."

"Peter's definitely extraordinary," Tony agreed. "Not just the spider thing. The kid has an actual moral compass—which, trust me, is rare in our line of work." His expression grew more serious. "He's good for Harry. Grounds him."

"And Harry's good for Peter," Sirius finished, understanding evident in his eyes. "They balance each other."

Tony nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "The kid was drowning in responsibility before Harry came along. All power, no permission to be a teenager." He leaned back, his posture relaxing slightly. "Now I catch them laughing about inside jokes, building ridiculous Lego contraptions in the med bay, engrossing themselves in movie marathons, just... being kids sometimes."

He gestured vaguely. "It's like he finally has someone who understands the weight of too much responsibility, too soon. And he is also quite protective of Harry. I’m sure you noticed that earlier."

Sirius nodded. “I did…” He frowned for a second. “The spider thing that you mentioned… What does that mean?”

Tony's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You don't—" He stopped himself, realization dawning. "Right. You wouldn't know. Harry must not have gotten to that part yet."

"What part?" Sirius leaned forward, curiosity etched across his face.

Tony took a deliberate sip of his drink, considering how to explain. "Peter isn't... entirely normal, even by magical standards. But that’s… probably something Peter should tell you himself. Just know that he's got abilities that make him uniquely qualified to understand what Harry's going through." He took another sip of his drink. "Let's just say he's not your average teenager."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Is anyone in this compound?"

"Fair point," Tony conceded with a chuckle. "We collect exceptional misfits like some people collect stamps. Just know that Peter sees Harry as Harry, not the so-called titles given to him in Britain."

Sirius nodded thoughtfully. "Harry needs that—people who see him, not the Boy Who Lived." He paused, swirling the remnants of his drink.

"You know, it's strange. I spent so many years in Azkaban dreaming of getting out, finding Harry, taking him away from those awful Muggles... I had it all planned out." His laugh was tinged with irony. "Never once imagined I'd be sharing custody with a Muggle superhero in America."

"Life's funny that way," Tony replied.

Sirius studied his empty glass for a moment. "I missed so much," he said, a note of regret coloring his words. "His first words. His first day at Hogwarts. And now..." He looked up, determination hardening his features. "I won't miss anything else. Not a single moment."

"Good," Tony said firmly. "Because that kid needs all the family he can get.”

Chapter Text

The lights in Harry’s room emitted a soft, mechanical hum. Peter stood close to Harry, leaning in slightly, his hands ready to assist if needed. “You sure you don’t want me to get Tony?” Peter asked, his voice a mix of concern and readiness.

Harry gave him a look, half amused, half confused. “Why so nervous all of a sudden? I can do it, and if I need help, you know what to do.”

Peter's eyes locked with Harry's, a silent apology and a sign of trust. “Ok, you're right. I just..." Peter ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit. "I guess with your godfather here, I'm just a little..."

"Intimidated?" Harry offered with a small smile, reaching for Peter's hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Sirius isn't going to bite. Well, I don’t think so..."

Peter chuckled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Very funny. It's just... he's important to you. And I want him to like me."

Harry's expression softened. "He will. Just be yourself—that's who I fell for, remember?"

A blush crept up Peter's neck at Harry's words. "Yeah, okay. You've got this." He leaned in, gently kissing Harry’s lips as Harry prepared to make the move.

Peter remained close, ready to provide support if needed, as Harry began to transfer himself from the wheelchair to the bed with careful precision, his arms supporting him.

Harry completed the transfer and settled onto the bed. Peter sat beside him and immediately wrapped his arms around Harry, steadying and kissing him. When their lips parted, their foreheads touched, both taking comfort in the closeness.

"You're staring," Harry whispered, his breath warm against Peter's lips.

"Can you blame me?" Peter replied, "My boyfriend's kind of gorgeous."

A flush crept up Harry's neck, and he giggled. "Smooth talker."

"Only with you," Peter admitted, pressing his lips gently against Harry's cheek. "With everyone else, I'm still a stuttering mess."

Harry's laugh was soft in the dimly lit room. "I find that hard to believe."

Peter kissed Harry one more time before helping him settle into bed. He adjusted the pillows behind Harry's back, ensuring he was comfortable before moving to the end of the bed. His hands automatically moved to Harry's legs, repositioning them for Harry as he found a relaxed position, lying partially on his side. Peter frowned as he removed the soft sleepers from Harry’s feet, his hands brushed over them, noticing how cold they were.

"Your feet are too cold," Peter said, his hands instinctively began to rub them, trying to warm them up.

"They always are," Harry replied with a small shrug. ”I can't feel it, but I can see they're pale sometimes."

Peter nodded, his thumbs working gentle circles into Harry's arches, his brow furrowed with concern. "We should get you some warmer socks. And maybe warmer shoes? I bet Tony could get something. If not, maybe we even invent something."

"It's fine," Harry assured him, watching Peter with a fond expression. Though Harry couldn't feel Peter’s touch, there was something intimate about the gesture that made his heart swell. "You don't have to worry so much, you know. I'm not going to break."

Peter's movements paused briefly before resuming. "I know that. It's just..." Peter said, continuing his gentle ministrations despite knowing Harry couldn't feel them. He moved his hands up to Harry's calves, massaging the muscles that had begun to atrophy from disuse.

Looking up, he met Harry's eyes. "Just because you can't feel them doesn't mean they don't need care."

"Ok," Harry said softly.

A comfortable silence settled between them, Harry studied Peter’s face as he looked down and continued to take care of Harry in ways he would have never imagined. Harry was still amazed by how natural this had become—Peter helping him without a hint of pity or awkwardness. Yet, now he seemed pensive, a little lost in his thoughts with a glint of sadness in his eyes.

“Pete.”

Peter's eyes snapped up, meeting Harry's concerned gaze. "Yeah?"

"What's going on in that web-head of yours?" Harry asked softly. "You seem... I don't know. Distracted?"

Peter's hands stilled on Harry's feet. He bit his lower lip, a habit Harry had come to recognize as Peter's tell when he was wrestling with something difficult.

"I just..." He sighed, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I keep thinking about how Sirius is back, and I'm happy for you, I really am, but..."

"But what?" Harry prompted gently when Peter trailed off. “Are you worried about Sirius not approving?"

"Maybe a little," Peter admitted, resuming his gentle massage of Harry's feet. "I mean, he just got you back, and suddenly there's this random American guy who's... You know..."

"Dating his godson?" Harry finished with a smile.

"Yeah." Peter's cheeks colored slightly. "Plus, I'm not... I'm not magical. Not in the way you are. And…what if he wants to take you back to England?" Peter finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if he thinks you should be there, with your own kind, learning magic properly? What if—"

"Peter," Harry interrupted firmly, pushing himself up on his elbow. "Come here."

Peter crawled up the bed and settled beside Harry, who immediately reached for Peter, pulling him closer.

"First of all, I'm not going anywhere," Harry said with quiet certainty.

"Not without you, at least," Harry added, taking Peter's hand. "And as for not being magical—Peter, you literally climb walls and sense danger before it happens. That's more amazing than half the spells I know."

Peter's lips quirked up slightly. "It's science, though. Radioactive spider bite, mutated DNA."

"And mine is supposedly genetics and a killing curse backfiring," Harry countered. "The line between science and magic gets blurrier the more I think about it." He shifted closer to Peter, wincing slightly as he re-positioned himself.

Peter immediately noticed, his hand moving to support Harry's back. "You okay? Do you need your pain potion?"

Harry shook his head. "Just a twinge. It'll pass." He studied Peter's concerned face, reaching up to trace his jawline with gentle fingers. "You worry too much."

"Can't help it," Peter murmured, leaning into Harry's touch. "It's my default setting."

"I know," Harry said softly. "But there’s something else, isn’t it? Something you are not telling me.”

Peter stared into Harry’s emerald green eyes for what felt like hours before gently pulling him closer until he could wrap his arms around Harry and be so close that their noses touched.

“I think I am jealous.”

Harry blinked in surprise. "Jealous? Of Sirius?"

Peter frowned, his forehead brushing against Harry's. "No. Of you…" He whispered, vulnerability lacing his voice. "You got him back. He's your family—your real family. He knew your parents, he was supposed to raise you. And you got him back." He trailed off, unable to find the right words. “It's stupid, I know…”

Harry’s hand came up to cup Peter's cheek. “It’s not…”

"But I can’t help thinking of Ben," Peter admitted, his voice cracking under the weight of emotion he rarely let show. "I feel like I would do anything to have him back." The words hung in the air, heavy with the truth of his feelings. "I'm happy that you got him back, Harry, I am. But part of me wishes it had been Ben instead." His eyes found Harry’s, filled with guilt and longing. "It’s dumb. I’m sorry."

Harry was quiet for a moment, letting the confession settle between them. His thumb traced small, soothing circles on Peter's cheek, grounding them in the present. "It’s ok. I get it. It’s not dumb at all," he finally said after a long pause, his voice tender and understanding.

Peter shook his head slightly, uncertainty clouding his features as he continued to hold Harry close.

"You know what's weird?" Harry said softly, gently brushing a curl from Peter's forehead. "I spent so much time dreaming about having my parents back. Every night in that cupboard, I'd imagine what it would be like if they just... walked through the door. If it had all been some horrible mistake."

Peter remained silent, his eyes fixed on Harry's, understanding in their depths.

"When I found out Sirius was my godfather, I had this... this moment where I thought maybe I could have something like a real family." Harry's voice grew quieter. "And then that moment was gone. Just like that. He was still there, but always at a distance. Almost unreachable. When he fell through the veil, I thought a part of me died with him."

He shifted slightly, wincing as he adjusted his position. Peter immediately helped, his movements gentle and practiced.

"If I could bring Ben back for you, or your parents, I would do it in a heartbeat. No hesitation.”

Peter exhaled a shaky breath, relief and an unspoken gratitude visible in his eyes. "Really?" His voice was small and vulnerable, but it carried a hint of hope that had been missing before.

"Yeah," Harry assured him, his voice a soft promise. "I know what it's like to want just one more moment with someone you've lost."

Peter rested his forehead against Harry's, the tension in his shoulders slowly unwinding. "It's selfish, isn't it? Wanting something like that when I already have so much?" he murmured, a mix of wonder and appreciation in his tone.

"It's not selfish," Harry replied with a rueful smile. "It's human."

Peter's eyes closed briefly, savoring the closeness while Harry brushed his lips against Peter's. "And you don’t have to be sorry for feeling that way." He pulled back slightly to look Peter in the eyes. "I want you to have everything you want, Pete. Everything."

Peter's eyes glistened with unshed tears, but he managed a wobbly smile. "You know what's crazy?" he whispered, his fingers gently tracing patterns on Harry's back. "I think Ben would have really liked you."

"Yeah?" Harry's voice was soft, encouraging.

"Definitely," Peter nodded, his expression growing wistful. "He was always talking about how character matters more than circumstances.” He swallowed hard.

Harry pressed closer, finding comfort in Peter's steady heartbeat. "I wish I could have met him."

"He would've teased me mercilessly about having such a cute boyfriend," Peter added with a quiet laugh, his mood lightening. "But in the best way possible. Especially since you're kind of amazing, you know that?" he whispered, kissing Harry’s nose.

Harry rolled his eyes, but the blush creeping up his neck betrayed him. "I'm really not."

"You are," Peter insisted, pressing a gentle kiss to Harry's cheek. "And for the record, I'm not going anywhere either. No matter what happens with Sirius or your magic education or anything else."

Harry's smile was soft and private, meant only for Peter. "Good. Because I've gotten rather attached to having you around, web-head."

"Is that so, wizard?" Peter's lips quirked up in a teasing smile as he shifted to a more comfortable position, his arms still protectively around Harry.

"Mmm," Harry hummed in agreement, nestling closer. "You're quite useful. Reaching high shelves, carrying things..."

"Wow, reduced to a pack mule," Peter laughed, the earlier heaviness lifting from the room. "Is that all I'm good for?"

Harry pretended to consider it. "Well, you're also quite nice to look at," he added with a cheeky grin that made Peter's heart skip a beat.

"Oh, is that all?" Peter teased, his fingers finding their way into Harry's perpetually messy hair.

"And you're a decent kisser," Harry added with mock seriousness, his eyes dancing with mischief. "For a Muggle."

Peter gasped in feigned offense. "Decent? I'll have you know I've had exactly zero complaints!"

"Sample size of one isn't statistically significant, Mr. Parker," Harry countered, his scientific terminology making Peter laugh.

"Been spending too much time with Tony," Peter murmured, leaning in to capture Harry's lips in a gentle kiss that quickly deepened. When they finally pulled apart, both slightly breathless, Peter's expression grew tender. "Better than decent?"

"Fishing for compliments now?" Harry teased, his fingers tracing the line of Peter's jaw. His expression softened. "You're perfect. All of you."

Peter's eyes widened slightly, a blush creeping up his neck at the unexpected sincerity. "Harry..."

"I mean it," Harry continued, his voice quiet but firm. "You never once looked at my paralysis and saw a burden. You never saw my scar or heard my name, and went nuts over it. You just saw me." Harry's voice had dropped to a whisper, emotion making it catch slightly. "Do you have any idea how rare that is?"

Peter's expression softened, his thumb brushing across Harry's cheekbone. "I see you because you're worth seeing," he said simply, as if stating an obvious fact. "The chair doesn't define you any more than the spider bite defines me."

Harry's eyes glistened in the dim light. "See? Perfect." He leaned forward, pressing his lips against Peter's with a tenderness that spoke volumes.

When they pulled apart, Peter's voice was slightly husky. "I should probably finish getting you ready for bed."

Harry nodded, though reluctance was evident in his eyes. "Probably."

Peter slid off the bed with graceful efficiency, moving to retrieve Harry's nightclothes from the dresser. As he turned back, he caught Harry watching him with an expression that made his heart stutter in his chest.

"What?" Peter asked, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Nothing," Harry replied, though his eyes said otherwise. "Just... happy you're here. That I got to meet you."

Peter's smile widened as he returned to Harry's side. "You know, for someone who claims I'm the smooth talker, you sure know how to make a guy's heart do backflips. Besides, there's nowhere else I'd rather be."

"It's not smooth if it's just the truth," Harry replied, his voice quiet but steady. "I never thought I'd have this. Any of this. A place that truly feels like home. You."

Peter stared into Harry’s eyes for a moment before leaning in and kissing him again, slow and deep. “Ditto.” He said before he started to help Harry change into his sleep clothes with practiced care.

They fell into their familiar routine, the air between them filled with comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of fabric and soft murmurs of "Lift up a bit" or "Lean on me". There was an intimacy to these moments that transcended the physical—a trust built on weeks of open vulnerability and quiet strength.

"Do you think Sirius and Tony are getting along?" Harry asked as Peter carefully removed his leg bag, exchanging it for a night collection bag.

Peter chuckled. "Given that we haven't heard any explosions, I'd say yes. Though I'm not sure if that's reassuring or concerning."

"Concerning," Harry decided with a grin. "They're probably plotting something ridiculous together. Sirius was quite the prankster in his day."

"And Tony's never met a rule he didn't want to bend," Peter added, helping Harry into his pajama bottoms with gentle efficiency. "So basically, we're doomed."

Harry laughed softly. "Probably."

Once Harry was dressed for bed, Peter helped him with his evening stretches—another routine that Peter had mastered in no time. Peter's hands were gentle but firm as he moved Harry's legs and hips through the prescribed exercises, careful to watch Harry's face for any signs of discomfort or pain. These moments were as much about physical therapy as they were about connection—a chance to talk without distractions, to share the quiet intimacy of care and trust.

"Peter," Harry said suddenly, his voice thoughtful as Peter worked on his left leg. "What do you think about telling Sirius? About you being Spider-Man, I mean."

Peter's hands paused momentarily before resuming their careful movements. "I... hadn't really thought about it," he admitted, though his expression suggested otherwise. "Do you think I should? Do you want me to?"

Harry studied Peter's face, noting the slight furrow between his brows. "I think he'd understand and accept it without fuss." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "And since he's going to be part of my—our lives—I think it would be easier for all of us if everything was out in the open." He shrugged lightly. "But it's your secret to tell, not mine."

Peter nodded slowly, considering. "You trust him completely, don't you?"

"With my life," Harry confirmed without hesitation. "And with yours."

A small smile tugged at Peter's lips. “It would be nice not to have to sneak around or make excuses," he admitted. "Later. After he's had some time to settle in." He gently lowered Harry's leg and moved to the other side of the bed to work on the right one.

Harry reached out, catching Peter's wrist as he moved closer. "You're sure?"

Peter's eyes met Harry's, warm and resolute. "I'm sure. He's your family, which makes him important to me too." He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Harry's lips. "And I want him to get to know him better.”

Harry nodded, relief evident in his expression. "Thank you. It would mean a lot to me."

"I know," Peter replied softly, his movements steady and sure as he completed the stretching routine. "Besides, it might be nice to have someone who understands both worlds."

A comfortable silence settled between them as Peter helped Harry back into a comfortable sleeping position, adjusting pillows and making sure the collection bag was properly situated and the catheter unobstructed.

As he tucked the blanket around Harry's legs, he asked, "Do you want me to stay tonight?"

Harry nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Please. If you don’t mind." He said, giving his best impression of puppy eyes to Peter.

Peter's heart melted instantly.

"I never mind. And even if I did, how could I say no to those eyes?" he chuckled, kissing Harry's lips before moving away to change into the spare pajamas he kept in Harry's room. He slipped into the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face, returning moments later in soft flannel pants and a worn MIT t-shirt that Tony had given him.

Harry watched with fond eyes as Peter moved around the room with the easy familiarity of someone who belonged there. It still amazed him how quickly Peter had become an essential part of his life—how naturally they had fallen into this rhythm together.

"What?" Peter asked, noticing Harry's gaze as he moved to climb into bed.

"Nothing," Harry replied, his smile widening. "Just thinking."

When Peter finally slid under the covers beside him, Harry immediately pulled him close.

"Is this okay?" Peter asked softly, his arm carefully wrapping around Harry's shoulders.

"Perfect," Harry murmured, tucking his face against Peter's neck where he could easily hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"Peter," Harry murmured sleepily, "Would you go on a date with me?"

Peter tightened his hold slightly, a surprised smile spreading across his face. "Are you asking me out, Potter?"

"I believe I am, Parker," Harry replied, his voice a mix of sleepiness and mischief. "We've done this all backwards, haven't we? In a relationship before the first date."

Peter's quiet laugh rumbled through his chest. "We've never been conventional." His fingers traced gentle patterns on Harry's shoulder. "But yes, I would go on a date with you."

"Good," Harry mumbled, already drifting toward sleep. "Somewhere nice. Not the med bay or inside the compound."

"I have a few ideas," Peter whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Harry's head. "Leave it to me."

As Harry's breathing evened out, Peter found himself wide awake, his mind racing with possibilities. A real date. Something normal teenagers did. Something that had nothing to do with anyone else.

Just them. Hopefully.

Careful not to disturb Harry, Peter reached for his phone on the nightstand. He hesitated for a moment before quickly typing out a text to May, hoping she might have some insight into planning this next big step. Despite everything they'd faced, a real date seemed both simple and monumental. Peter smiled to himself. The kind of thing that normal teenagers did. It was a wonder they were managing it at all, with all of the chaos that often surrounded them.

*Need date ideas. Will pay for dinner. Very important.*

He hesitated, then added:

*For Harry. Our first real date. Need it to be perfect.*

Though Peter didn't expect a quick response from May, his phone vibrated almost immediately, the message lighting up the screen in the dim room:

*My baby's growing up 😭 We’ll talk tomorrow. We can plan something wonderful. So happy for you both ❤️*

He replied instantly, unable to contain his eagerness.

*Thanks, May. You're the best.*

The phone buzzed softly once more, May's response like a gentle promise:

*Always have been! Get some sleep. You need it more than me.*

Peter smiled, setting the phone aside, careful not to wake Harry, who was now sleeping peacefully against his chest. The soft glow from the window cast shadows across Harry's face, highlighting the relaxed set of his features—a rare sight that Peter treasured. Gone was the vigilant wariness that Harry often carried, replaced by the unguarded expression of peaceful sleep. Peter felt a fierce protectiveness surge through him. He'd meant what he said earlier—he wasn't going anywhere. Not when he'd found someone who made him feel the way Harry did. Someone who understood the weight of responsibility that came with power, whether magical or mutated.

Peter sighed as sleep finally began to claim him; his last conscious thought was of Harry's smile when he'd asked about the date.

*********

The next morning arrived with golden sunlight streaming through the partially opened blinds. Peter woke first, his enhanced senses registering the change in light before his conscious mind fully engaged. He kept his eyes closed, allowing his senses to inform him about his surroundings—the soft sheets, the quiet hum of the compound's systems, and most importantly, Harry’s warm weight, still nestled against his body.

Then he sensed another two heartbeats close to them, a rhythmic presence that seemed strangely out of place in the quiet of the morning. Curiosity tugged at the edges of his sleep-muddled thoughts, prompting him to open his eyes slowly and take in the room. To his surprise, he saw Tony sprawled across the sofa, not far from the bed, arms crossed and looking decidedly comfortable as he observed the sleeping teenagers.

Tony’s grin loomed large and unapologetic, as if he’d been there for hours. “Morning, sunshine,” he greeted, his voice dripping with amusement and mischief. Peter, momentarily startled, felt Harry’s steady breath against his neck and the warmth of their blanket cocoon. A sudden flush spread across his face, a quick mix of embarrassment and an emotion he couldn’t quite pin down. They had been so caught up in each other that they’d forgotten the rest of the world existed—and Tony was intent on reminding them.

“Uh, hi?” Peter said, his voice rising. He inadvertently shifted, his limbs tangled in the soft fabric of the blanket as he struggled to sit up in surprise.

Besides Tony, a massive black dog wagged its tail with eager enthusiasm, its eyes locked on Peter with unsettling focus. Peter blinked, stunned by the sight, his mind racing to catch up with his senses. The dog’s playful demeanor relaxed Peter’s senses. Then, just as he managed to fully untangle himself from the blankets, the dog began to shift. Fur receded, limbs stretched, and in one seamless, disorienting motion, the dog transformed into Sirius.

Peter's eyes widened in astonishment, and he let out a yelp as his instincts kicked in. A split second later, he was stuck to the ceiling like an animated cartoon character, wide-eyed and clinging to the smooth plaster. The unexpected maneuver left the blankets heaped on the floor and Harry exposed to the cool morning air.

Tony’s laughter exploded, a soundtrack of pure delight that filled the entire room, while Sirius took a dramatic bow, clearly pleased with the results of his impromptu prank.

Peter took a deep breath, surveying the scene below him—a surreal tableau of grinning faces turned skyward.

“I’m guessing you’re not a dog person?” Sirius called up, clearly reveling in the aftermath of his prank. His voice carried a playful challenge, equal parts tease and invitation to join in the fun.

Harry, still lying partially on his side and barely awake, glanced between Peter and Sirius, a soft smile decorating his face as his eyes met Peter’s. The sight of it made Peter’s heart ache with affection.

“Come down, Peter, it’s safe. I promise.” Harry said, his voice still rough with sleep and warm.

Peter hesitated, clinging to the ceiling as he looked between Harry's gentle smile and the mischievous grins of Tony and Sirius. He felt his face flush with embarrassment, but there was also something oddly comforting about the scene—like being inducted into some secret family ritual of practical jokes.

His gaze lingered on Sirius, who was now looking at him with undisguised curiosity.

"Right," Peter said, voice slightly higher than normal. "The whole turning-into-animals thing." He cleared his throat. "Sorry about that. Reflex."

With a deep breath, Peter detached himself from the ceiling and dropped gracefully to the floor, landing in a perfect crouch beside the bed.

Sirius's eyebrows shot up in surprise while Tony wiped a tear from his eye, his laughter finally subsiding.

"Your face, kid. Priceless. FRIDAY, please tell me you got that on camera."

"Of course, boss," FRIDAY's lilting voice replied. "Already saved to the 'Peter's Greatest Hits' folder."

Peter groaned, raking a hand through his disheveled hair. "Seriously? There's a folder?"

"Volume three, actually," Tony quipped, rising from the sofa with a stretch. "You're very... expressive."

Peter shaked his head as he picked up the blankets and placed them at the foot of the bed, before a low “Hey!” from Harry made him smile, and he quickly draped them over Harry in such a way that only left his face uncovered.

As Peter rubbed the back of his neck, he sat on the edge of the bed.

"So... you can turn into a dog?" he asked, looking at Sirius.

"Yeah. And apparently you can stick to the ceilings…" Sirius remarked with a gentle smile, as Harry chuckled and snuggled the blankets closer around himself.

Peter shifted, feeling his face warm with another round of embarrassment. "I, uh… guess the cat's out of the bag."

"And up a wall," Tony added with a smirk.

"I was going to tell you," Peter said, sincerity lacing his voice as he met Sirius's eyes. "I just didn't expect you to have a… secret identity as well."

Sirius chuckled, clearly amused and not at all bothered. "I'm an Animagus," Sirius explained, taking a seat on the end of the bed near Harry's feet.

"It's a form of transfiguration—turning oneself into an animal at will. Very advanced magic, few witches or wizards can manage it."

"That's... amazing. Harry told me about his dad and a Professor ‘Macdonagal’ —I think— but he didn’t say that you could do that as well." Peter said, genuinely impressed despite his lingering embarrassment. "So you can just... become a dog whenever you want?"

"It’s McGonagall," Harry mumbled sleepily. "And call him Padfoot. That's his nickname. From school."

"Right," Sirius grinned, clearly pleased that Harry remembered his nickname. "James and I became Animagi in our fifth year to help our friend Remus during the full moon." His expression softened with nostalgia. "James was a stag—Prongs, we called him. Majestic creature. I'm Padfoot."

"That's incredible," Peter said, his scientific curiosity overriding his embarrassment. "So it's a complete cellular transformation? Do you retain your human consciousness? What about mass conservation?"

Sirius blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the barrage of questions. He glanced at Harry’s face for a few seconds, finding him smiling with his eyes closed, clearly paying attention to the conversation and fully relaxed. His eyes turned back to Peter.

"Ah. Yes, I keep my human mind, though some instincts become more prominent—scents are sharper, sounds more distinct." Sirius leaned forward, warming to the topic. "As for mass conservation, magic tends to bend those rules. I'm lighter as Padfoot, faster too."

Peter nodded, fascination evident in his expression. "That's... wow. The implications for physics alone are mind-blowing." He glanced at Tony, who was watching the exchange with undisguised interest. "It's like quantum entanglement but on a macro scale."

Tony snorted. "Don't get him started, Sirius," Tony said, though his tone was more indulgent than warning. "We'll be here all day while you two start discussing physics and magic."

"Actually," Sirius said, a gleam of interest in his eyes, "I'd love to know more about your... ceiling-climbing abilities. I'm pretty sure that's not standard Muggle behavior." His curiosity seemed to grow as he spoke, his words laced with a challenge that suggested he doubted anything could surprise him at this point.

Peter met Harry’s gaze, searching for reassurance. He found it in the twinkle of Harry's eyes and the slight nod that spoke volumes of encouragement. Tony caught his next look, offering a small, dismissive shrug that seemed to convey, 'your call,' a gesture that freed Peter to decide what to share about his unusual abilities.

Peter bent down, pressing a quick, affectionate kiss to Harry’s temple. He felt Harry's soft intake of breath before he drew back, heartened by the small but intimate exchange. Straightening up, Peter turned his focus back to Sirius, ready to share his story.

"Well," Peter began, squaring his shoulders slightly as if preparing for a challenging test, "I was bitten by a radioactive spider on a school field trip. Not the most heroic origin, but it definitely changed things." He laughed lightly, trying to downplay the significance, though the enormity of it was clear in his voice. "The bite altered my DNA, made me... different. Now I can climb walls, sense danger before it happens, and—" he hesitated, momentarily overwhelmed by the surreal nature of his own abilities "—I'm stronger and faster than I should be."

Peter saw the growing amazement on Sirius's face and pressed on, gaining confidence from the older man's rapt attention. "I can shoot webs, too. Well, technically they're from web-shooters I made, but still pretty cool, right?" His voice quickened with a mixture of enthusiasm and the relief of finally sharing a part of himself. "It’s like this sixth sense. I know when something is about to go wrong. And my reflexes—it’s almost like I can see things before they happen."

He paused, his gaze flickering back to Harry, who was watching him with a proud, tender look that warmed Peter down to his toes. That look gave him the courage to continue. "The changes started right away. At first, I was terrified, and didn't know what was happening to me. Then I realized—I could use these powers to help people." His eyes moved to Tony. "To do something good."

Sirius absorbed Peter’s words, caught off guard by the depth and breadth of what he’d just heard. He glanced at Harry, then Tony, as if seeking confirmation that Peter wasn't embellishing the story. Both wore expressions that left no doubt—the tale was as true as it was unbelievable.

Sirius's eyebrows shot up. "A spider bite changed you that much?"

Peter nodded, a small, self-deprecating smile playing on his lips. "Not just any spider—a genetically modified one from Oscorp Industries. It was irradiated as part of some experiment." He shrugged, as if discussing an unusual homework assignment rather than a life-altering event. "Wrong place, wrong time, I guess. Or the right place, depending on how you look at it."

"The kid's not exaggerating,” Tony interjected with a hint of pride in his voice. “his strength and reflexes are off the charts."

Peter ran a hand through his hair, a bashful smile spreading across his face. "I can lift a bus," he admitted quietly. "And I heal pretty fast. It's come in handy a few times."

Sirius leaned forward, fascination evident in every line of his face. "So you're essentially a human-spider hybrid? Like a magical creature, but created through Muggle science?" The concept delighted him, his eyes alight with the same mischievous gleam Harry recognized from discussions of particularly complex pranks.

"I guess you could put it that way," Peter replied, relaxing as he sensed Sirius's genuine interest.

"That's..." Sirius seemed to search for the right word, his expression cycling through disbelief, fascination, and finally settling on impressed. "Extraordinary. And you use these abilities to help people? Like some sort of vigilante?"

Peter shifted uncomfortably, shooting a glance at Tony, who gave him an encouraging nod.

"I'm Spider-Man," Peter admitted, the words both a confession and a declaration of identity. "I patrol Queens, stop muggers, help old ladies cross the street, that sort of thing." His voice grew more confident as he spoke, pride seeping through despite his attempt at nonchalance. "I've helped with bigger stuff too, when Mr. Stark needed me."

Harry's sleepy voice joined the conversation, warm with affection. "He's amazing. You should see some of his videos in action."

Sirius looked between the two boys, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Spider-Man," he repeated, testing the name. "I like it. Has a certain ring to it." He leaned back, studying Peter with new appreciation. "So that's how you two met? Through Tony and the Avengers?"

Peter nodded, reaching for Harry's hand beneath the blanket and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Yeah. I was there when Harry appeared out of nowhere. I guess I just… sensed a connection?” He wondered, looking into Harry’s eyes.

Sirius’s grin softened as he watched their interaction. “Like fate?”

Peter blushed, ducking his head slightly. "I don't know about fate. But something definitely pulled me toward him." His gaze shifted to Harry, who was now fully awake, emerald eyes soft with affection. "I just knew I needed to be there."

"He wouldn't leave my side," Harry added, his voice still husky with sleep but warm with affection. "When I was barely conscious, when I could only stay awake for a few moments. When…” Harry paused, squeezing Peter’s hand. “Peter just sat with me, talking to me, making me feel like we'd known each other forever. Not alone."

Tony cleared his throat, a sad smile playing at his lips. "Pete spent more time at Harry's bedside than I did. And I practically lived there," Tony admitted, his voice carrying a hint of gratitude beneath the teasing. "Doctor Cho started calling him 'Harry’s shadow' because he was always there, just... watching over Harry."

Peter ducked his head, embarrassed by the attention. "I was just doing what anyone would do."

"Not just anyone," Sirius said softly, studying Peter with newfound respect. "Most people would have been scared off by the magic, the unknown factor." His gaze shifted to Harry, who was watching Peter with undisguised affection.

Peter stayed silent, blushing as he rubbed his thumb over Harry’s knuckles under the blanket.

Sirius studied Peter intently for a moment, his gaze penetrating but not unkind. A flash of understanding passed through his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of Peter’s feelings for Harry and vice versa. He was grateful, even in such dire circumstances, Harry had managed to find a source of light, of happiness.

"Well, at least now I know Harry has someone special to save him from the Potters’ disaster-prone tendencies," Sirius said with a knowing chuckle, feeling the need to ease the awkwardness in the air. "James had the Marauders…"

"I'm not disaster-prone," Harry interrupted, protesting weakly, attempting to roll himself onto his back.

Two sets of eyebrows raised simultaneously in perfect skepticism, while Peter instinctively helped Harry with the pillows, a smile playing on his lips.

"Fine," Harry conceded with a sigh. "Maybe a little."

"Kid, you literally appeared out of thin air with a broken back and turned my med bay into Hogwarts 2.0," Tony pointed out dryly. "If that's not disaster-prone, I don't know what is. Not to mention that you somehow managed to find the one person in New York who could match your penchant for trouble," Tony added, gesturing toward Peter with a smirk.

"Hey!" Peter protested, though his indignation was undermined by the grin tugging at his lips. "I'm not that bad."

"Pete, you got bit by a radioactive spider, fought crime in pajamas, and before Harry showed up, have been visiting the med-bay so often in the past year that I was thinking of setting a permanent room for you and Dr. Cho agreed," Tony countered, his tone light and fond despite his words. "You and Harry are practically disaster twins."

Sirius barked out a laugh, loud and free, reminding Harry of days at Grimmauld Place when his godfather had found rare moments of joy. "Disaster twins," he repeated, clearly delighted by the phrase. "James and Lily would have loved that.”

Harry's smile softened at the mention of his parents, a bittersweet mixture of longing and contentment washing over his features. "Would they really?" he asked, his voice quiet but hopeful.

Sirius's expression grew tender, the laughter lines around his eyes crinkling with fondness. "Without a doubt," he assured Harry. "Your mother would have adored Peter's scientific mind—she was always fascinated by how things worked, magical or otherwise. And James..." He shook his head, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips. "James would have been thrilled you found someone who could keep up with you and make you Happy.” He finished with a wink, making both Harry and Peter blush.

Tony laughed, clapping his hands together, breaking the moment. "As heartwarming as this is, we came in here for a reason other than catching you two lovebirds in the act." He glanced at his watch. "Breakfast is ready, and we've got a busy day ahead. Sirius and I have been up for hours planning."

Peter's eyebrows shot up in alarm. "Planning? That sounds... ominous."

"Terrifying is the word you're looking for," Harry muttered, pushing himself up further against the pillows.

Sirius grinned, the expression somehow both reassuring and mischievous. "Nothing to worry about. Just some ideas for continuing your magical education, Harry. As well as talking about England. Have you thought about getting in contact with anyone there?" His eyes flickered to Peter.

"I've thought about it," Harry said carefully, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. "About getting in contact with Ron and Hermione at least. They must be worried sick. But there is no way I am sending Hedwig to deliver a letter across the ocean. And I've been so caught up with everything else here..." He trailed off, guilt evident in his voice.

Peter squeezed Harry's hand in silent encouragement.

"Hey," Tony interjected, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. "You've had a lot on your plate. Adjusting to the paralysis, the new environment, magical discharge problems—cut yourself some slack."

Sirius nodded in agreement. "Tony's right. There is no rush, I just wanted to know if you want to find a way to communicate with them. And maybe the twins… And Remus," Sirius added, his expression softening. "He thinks I'm dead, and now you've disappeared too. He must be beside himself. We just need to find a way to communicate that doesn’t involve sending Hedwig that far or Dumbledore."

Harry's brow furrowed in thought. "I hadn't considered Remus. You're right, he must be devastated." His eyes met Sirius's, regret and determination mingling in his gaze. "We need to reach him somehow, let him know we're both okay."

"Maybe MACUSA could help?" Peter suggested, his mind already working through the problem. "They must have secure communication channels with the British Ministry."

Tony snapped his fingers, pointing at Peter. "Pete's onto something. Quahog mentioned being willing to assist with 'reasonable requests.' This seems reasonable enough."

"We'd need to be careful about who knows," Sirius cautioned, his expression turning serious. "There’s barely anyone at the Ministry who can be trusted. If word that I am back gets back to Dumbledore too soon..."

"What about Gringotts? Maybe we can get in contact with Bill and Fleur through them?" Harry wondered aloud. "Fred and George are already out of Hogwarts… I think it would be easier to keep in contact with them, and they can pass along any message to Ron, Hermione, or anyone else from the D.A.” He stared at Sirius. “And you know how prone they are to follow any of Dumbledore’s orders.”

Sirius's face lit up with a grin that reminded Harry strongly of the Weasley twins themselves. "Oh, those two. They're a proper menace, aren't they? Reminds me of James and me at that age." His expression turned thoughtful.

"You're right. The twins would be perfect. Already out of school, running their own business... and they've never been ones to blindly follow authority."

"They've also got their shop in Diagon Alley now," Harry added, his expression brightening. "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. They're probably doing well, which means they're in and out of Gringotts regularly."

Sirius nodded, his mind already calculating possibilities. "So we establish contact with Bill through the goblins, set up a secure communication channel with the twins, and they can relay information to your other friends without raising suspicion." He looked at Tony, who was following the conversation with rapt attention.

“Do you think you can have some kind of magic-proof communication device to send them?” He looked back at Harry, not waiting for Tony’s reply. “If you still have the mirror, I can replicate it, but since I’ve never used it between continents, I don’t know how effective it would be…”

Harry's eyes widened in realization. "The mirror! I completely forgot about it." He shifted, wincing slightly as he adjusted his position. As he settled, his expression fell. "It's in my trunk, with the rest of my things from Hogwarts..."

Tony's eyebrows shot up in interest. "Mirror? What mirror?"

"It's a two-way communication mirror," Sirius explained, excitement building in his voice. "James and I created them to talk to each other when we were in separate detentions. They're unique, magical artifacts—and completely secure."

"So it's like a magical video call?" Peter asked, his scientific curiosity piqued.

"Exactly," Harry nodded. "Sirius gave me the one that used to belong to my dad last Christmas, but I..." He trailed off, looking guilty. "I never used it. If I had, maybe things would have been different."

Sirius reached across the bed, squeezing Harry’s free hand. “It doesn’t matter now. I am here, with you. That’s all that matters.”

Harry gave him a soft smile and a swift nod, but his expression quickly turned regretful. “But I don’t have it. My trunk with all of my stuff, including the mirror and the map… it was left behind, at the Dursleys…” He finished in a whisper, already assuming that Vernon or Petunia would have destroyed it with all of its contents. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

"Don't apologize," Tony interrupted, waving away Harry's concerns with a dismissive hand. "Your trunk isn't a problem, kid. We already took care of it."

Harry's head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise. "What? How?"

Tony glanced at Sirius, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Remember when I told you about the little meeting Pepper had with your aunt and uncle?” At Harry’s nod, he continued. “Well, they were... cooperative. Pepper handed them some paperwork, they signed it, and Happy collected your belongings." He shrugged as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "Your trunk's been in your new room since it was finished."

"You have my trunk?" Harry repeated, disbelief coloring his voice. "All this time?"

"Not the whole time, but yeah. I wanted to make sure you were stable before bringing it up," Tony explained, his expression softening. "And then Pepper suggested that we add it to the room surprise. But that cat is also out of the bag…” He shrugged. “Since you didn’t ask about it, I didn’t think there was anything in there other than clothes and books.”

Harry stared at Tony, a mix of emotions flickering across his face. "The map and the mirror," he said softly, almost to himself. "I… Thank you, Tony."

Tony shrugged, looking slightly sheepish. "No problem, kiddo. I admit that I tried to open it and see what was inside, but it didn’t even bulge when I did. And I didn’t want to force it in case I could damage something important." He glanced at Sirius. "I guess I made the right choice."

"You did." Sirius conceded, though his eyes sparkled with amusement. "Pretty much all magical trunks are well protected magically, especially against muggles.”

"That explains why I couldn't open it," Tony said, shaking his head with a rueful smile. "I even had FRIDAY run a diagnostic scan—nothing. Just registered as an ordinary trunk."

"Magic and technology don't play nice," Sirius explained. "Especially older magical artifacts designed specifically to keep Muggles out."

Sirius's expression brightened considerably. "Your Firebolt should be in there too, right? And your photo album and cloak?" The hope in his voice was palpable, thinking of the items that were dear not just to Harry but to him as well.

Harry relaxed, a smile spreading across his face when Peter answered for him. "Actually, the broom and a few of Harry’s books are here, in that bookshelf under the TV.” He pointed behind Sirius, to his right. “The cloak and photo album are right here,” He moved off the bed, to the nightstand on the side. Pushing one of the drawers, it slid open, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside lay the shimmering invisibility cloak, carefully folded, and over it, the leather-bound photo album Harry treasured.

Sirius's eyes widened in surprise, then softened with emotion. "You keep them close."

Harry nodded, a lump forming in his throat. "Yeah."

There was a moment of charged silence, heavy with shared understanding of what those items represented—connection to family, to heritage, to a world Harry had been violently separated from.

"So," Tony said, clapping his hands together to dispel the heaviness in the room. "Since the trunk's in your new room, and you've got some magical communication devices that could help us reach out to your friends back in England, all we have to do is ask the goblins for an extra favor. And test the distance range of your mirrors."

"You should go check it out after breakfast," Peter suggested, his hand finding Harry's again. "I have to go back to the city, since I promised Ned to meet up, and I also have other errands to run… some patrolling and stuff. I’ll be back tomorrow evening. Unless you want me to stay?" Peter finished, looking at Harry with a question in his eyes.

Harry shook his head, though his expression betrayed a hint of reluctance. "No, go ahead. I'm sure Ned's missed you." He smiled, squeezing Peter's hand. "Besides, Spider-Man probably has responsibilities too."

"Things have been relatively quiet, but you never know," Peter said with a small shrug. "And May said that she needed some help."

"A bit of distance strengthens the love," Tony added, his tone light despite the teasing smirk.

Both Harry and Peter blushed hard, but Peter still leaned in and placed a swift kiss on Harry's cheek. "I'll make it up to you," he promised in a whisper only Harry could hear.

"I'll hold you to that," Harry replied softly, his eyes twinkling with affection.

Sirius watched the exchange with a warm smile, memories of James and Lily flickering through his mind. The same tenderness, the same unspoken understanding—it was all there in the way Harry and Peter looked at each other.

Peter stood up, still blushing as he gave a nod to Sirius and Tony before moving towards the bathroom. Sirius saw a flash of uncertainty cross Harry’s eyes he watched Peter disappear through the door. Tony and Sirius exchanged a glance.

"Right then," Tony said, clapping his hands together. "Breakfast first, then trunk exploration. I've got a new coffee blend I'm dying to try, and Pepper sent over those pastries from that French bakery you like, Harry."

Harry smiled softly at Tony. Closing his eyes for a brief moment, as if trying to rein himself in, Harry asked in a low voice,

“Umm… Can we have breakfast here?… I don’t think I can handle the journey to the common room right now."

The raw vulnerability in Harry's voice struck Sirius like a physical blow. He glanced at Tony, whose expression had shifted from jovial to understanding in an instant.

"Of course, kiddo," Tony replied without missing a beat. "FRIDAY, let the kitchen know we're dining in Harry's room this morning."

"Already done, boss," FRIDAY responded. "The Chef says breakfast will be up in ten minutes."

Sirius moved closer to Harry's side, his eyes filled with concern. "Are you in pain?" he asked softly.

Harry hesitated. "A bit... It’s my back… mostly. Some mornings are harder than others." Then he gestured vaguely toward his legs. "And the nerves sometimes send phantom signals. Dr. Cho says it's normal, but it can be exhausting..."

Understanding dawned on Sirius's face, along with a flash of pain that he quickly masked. It was another reminder of the harsh reality Harry now faced—pain that would likely never fully disappear, limitations that would shape the rest of his life.

"I'll get your pain potion," Tony said, already moving toward the small cabinet where Harry's medications were stored. His movements were practiced, suggesting this wasn't the first time he'd done this.

Peter emerged from the bathroom, freshly washed and dressed, though his hair was still damp. He immediately sensed the shift in mood, his eyes darting between Harry and the adults.

"Everything okay?" he asked, moving back to Harry's side.

"Just morning pain," Harry replied with a tight smile. "Nothing new."

Peter nodded, understanding immediately. "Do you want me to help you get ready before breakfast?" he asked softly, his expression tender and free of pity—a look that Harry had come to cherish.

Harry shook his head, denying the help but grateful for Peter's understanding. "It’s ok, one of the nurses can handle it."

Tony handed Harry the pain potion, a small vial of pearlescent blue liquid. "We can handle it, Pete. Go on and do your thing. The sooner you go, the sooner you can come back.”

Sirius nodded, his protective instinct full on display as he observed the silent conversation between the two teens.

“See? I’ll be fine,” Harry reassured a frowning Peter. “Go before Happy throws a fit because of waiting too long or something.”

Peter hesitated, clearly torn between his responsibilities and his desire to stay with Harry. "Are you sure?" he asked, his eyes searching Harry's face.

"I'm sure," Harry insisted, his smile growing more genuine. "Besides, I've got these two to keep me company." He gestured toward Tony and Sirius with a tilt of his head. "Go. Have fun with Ned. Tell him I said hi."

Peter nodded, reluctantly accepting Harry's decision. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Harry's forehead. "I'll call you later," he promised, his voice soft with affection. "And I'll be back tomorrow evening, no matter what."

"I'll be here," Harry replied, his eyes crinkling at the corners despite the pain evident in their depths.

Peter straightened, giving Sirius and Tony a small nod before heading toward the door. Harry stared as Peter exited the room, his smile slowly becoming a grimace. He unscrewed the potion vial and drank it in a swift motion.

“You can call one of the nurses,” Harry said, looking at Tony. “It’ll be easier and faster.” He finished, reluctant to look back at Sirius, who was watching him like an eagle.

Tony shook his head, his expression soft but firm. "No need for nurses today, kiddo. I’m already here." He moved toward the bathroom. "I'll get your things ready."

Harry's eyes widened slightly, a flash of vulnerability crossing his features before he masked it with a practiced calm. "Tony, you don't have to—"

"I know I don't have to," Tony interrupted gently, already gathering Harry's toiletries. "I want to."

Sirius stepped forward, his movements hesitant but determined. "I'd like to help too, if that's alright." His eyes met Harry's, filled with a tenderness that made Harry's chest tighten. "I've got a lot of time to make up for."

Harry swallowed hard, struggling to find words. The prospect of Sirius seeing him at his most vulnerable—dependent, limited by his broken body that didn’t answer to him anymore, was not very appealing to him. Sirius saw the strong emotions that Harry fought so hard to hide, the doubt, the pain, the apprehension.

"Harry," Sirius said softly, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, by Harry’s hips. "I was there when you were born. I changed your nappies. I've seen you at your worst and your best." His gray eyes held Harry's, filled with nothing but love and acceptance. "This is just another part of who you are now. Nothing to be embarrassed about."

Harry swallowed hard, emotion flickering across his face. "I just didn't want you to see me like this," he admitted quietly. "so... dependent." He looked at his numb lap. “It’s not pretty… and so complicated. Everything is just too complicated now.”

"Needing help doesn't make you weak. And as for complicated..." Sirius's voice was gentle. "I am not afraid of complicated." His hand found Harry's, squeezing gently. "You are still you. Some things may be harder than others now, but you are still my godson. It doesn’t matter if you can't run, walk, or whatever. You're Harry. My pup. James and Lily's son. Nothing will ever change that. If I have to take care of you down to the most basic level, I’ll do it. I am ready for complicated."

Harry's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I just wanted to be normal," he whispered. "Not... broken."

"You're not broken, Harry," Sirius said fiercely, his grip tightening on Harry's hand. "Never.”

Tony returned from the bathroom, carrying Harry's toiletries and a basin of warm water. His expression softened as he caught the tail end of their conversation.

"Your godfather's right," Tony said, setting the items down on the nightstand. "Normal is overrated anyway. Look at me—you know all the stuff I’ve been through. That's not normal. But it's who I am." He gestured toward Sirius. "And he turns into a dog at will. Also not normal."

A small, reluctant smile tugged at Harry's lips. "Fair point."

"Besides," Tony continued, his tone lightening, "normal people don't have their own AI, or a superhero for a boyfriend, or an entire medical team dedicated to their rehabilitation."

"Or a wizard for a dogfather," Sirius added with a wink, "who happens to be an escaped convict, technically back from the dead."

Harry's smile grew slightly as he squeezed Sirius's hand back. He looked back at Tony. “Ok," Harry whispered, giving in to the support being offered. There was something comforting about having both men here, ready to help without judgment or hesitation. "Just... tell me if it gets too much."

Sirius's expression softened further. "It won't," he promised, his voice steady and sure. "But I appreciate the concern."

Tony moved to the side of the bed, setting out Harry's clothes for the day—a soft gray t-shirt and comfortable sweatpants that would be easy to manage. "Ready when you are, kid."

Harry nodded, taking a deep breath as he steeled himself. "Let's get this over with."

Between the two of them, Tony and Sirius worked with surprising efficiency. It was obvious that Tony had done this before, his movements confident and practiced as he guided Sirius through the process. They helped Harry with his morning routine—catheter check, bowel routine, bathing, putting on the compression stockings, morning stretches, and dressing—with minimal fuss. Harry was quiet throughout most of it, his face occasionally flushing with embarrassment, but Sirius maintained a steady stream of light conversation, sharing stories about James and Lily that effectively distracted Harry from the more uncomfortable moments.

"...and then your father, the absolute madman, decided that the best way to impress your mother was to transfigure McGonagall's desk into a singing bouquet of flowers," Sirius recounted, carefully helping Harry adjust his position as they worked. "Only he got the spell wrong, and instead of roses, it turned into a swarm of flamingos. Pink, squawking, absolutely furious flamingos."

Harry giggled despite himself, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "What did McGonagall do?"

"What do you think?" Sirius grinned, passing Tony a fresh towel. "She was livid. Absolutely livid. Turned James into a flamingo to match. He spent three hours in the hospital wing while Madam Pomfrey figured out how to reverse it." Sirius chuckled, the memory brightening his eyes. "Your mother laughed so hard she had to sit down. I think that was the first time she truly smiled at something James did."

Harry's laugh was genuine, the kind that lit up his entire face. "Did she ever tell him that?"

"Years later, after they started dating," Sirius confirmed, handing Harry his shirt while Tony supported him from behind. "She said it was the moment she realized there might be more to James Potter than an arrogant toerag."

Tony snorted, gently easing Harry back against the pillows. Sirius saw Harry wince slightly at the movement. "Arrogant toerag. I'm stealing that."

"For yourself, right?”

Tony's eyes narrowed in mock offense. “I'll have you know I was voted 'Most Humble' in high school."

"By whom? You?" Harry retorted with a small smile that didn't quite hide his discomfort as he settled against the pillows.

Sirius caught the grimace that flashed across Harry's face and reached for the control of the heated pad Tony had placed behind Harry. "Here," he said gently, changing the number on the settings like he had been shown. "This should help."

Harry smiled gratefully at Sirius just as Tony adjusted the pillows behind Harry.

"JARVIS may have hacked the voting system," Tony admitted with a theatrical sigh, stepping back slightly. "But the sentiment was genuine."

Sirius barked out a laugh. "Sounds like something James would have done." He finished adjusting Harry's sweat pants, stepping back to survey their handiwork while stretching the thick socks he was about to put on Harry’s feet. "There. Looking rather dashing, if I do say so myself."

Harry rolled his eyes, but the smile lingering on his lips betrayed his improved mood. "If 'dashing' means 'comfortable enough for a day in bed,' then yes."

"Style isn't about what you wear," Tony said, as Harry leaned his head back on the pillow.

"It's about how you wear it," Sirius finished, causing Tony to point at him in agreement.

A gentle knock at the door announced the arrival of breakfast. FRIDAY opened it automatically, revealing a staff member pushing a cart laden with covered dishes that emitted enticing aromas of freshly baked pastries, eggs, bacon, and the rich scents of coffee and tea.

"Perfect timing," Tony declared, moving to help the attendant arrange the food on the rolling table at the end of the bed. "I'm starving."

The attendant efficiently set up three place settings, placing one tray directly in front of Harry. With a polite nod, they departed, leaving the three alone with the feast.

Harry inhaled deeply, his stomach growling in response to the delicious smells. "This looks amazing," he said, lifting the cover from his plate to reveal a full English breakfast. He glanced at Sirius’ plate to find the same, while Tony’s was a traditional American breakfast.

They ate in a comfortable silence, enjoying the food and company. Harry was the first to finish, still not finishing the whole meal, but leaving less than a quarter of it. He counted that as a success.

Both Sirius and Tony glanced at Harry’s plate but didn’t comment, seemingly satisfied with the amount Harry had eaten.

Sirius was the last to finish his plate, clearing it completely with the enthusiasm of someone who had spent too long without proper meals. As he set down his fork, he leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh.

"I'd forgotten what real food tastes like," he admitted, his eyes bright with contentment. "Azkaban isn't known for its cuisine, and while Molly's cooking was wonderful, there's something about..." He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the empty plate.

"Freedom?" Tony suggested, understanding in his voice as he sipped his coffee. "Food always tastes better when you're not on the run or imprisoned."

Sirius nodded, a shadow briefly crossing his face before he shook it off. "Exactly." He turned to Harry, his expression softening. "How are you feeling now? Better?"

Harry nodded. The pain potion had done its job, only leaving a slight drowsiness that made Harry blink slowly. "Much better. The pain potion is working."

"Good," Sirius said, relief evident in his voice. "Now, about that trunk of yours. Shall we have a look?"

Tony stood, collecting the empty dishes and placing them back on the cart. "I'll have someone take these away, and then I can bring the trunk here. You feeling up to it?"

Harry hesitated, considering his energy levels. He was relieved that he didn’t have a physical therapy session today. The heated pad had and the pain potion had dulled the worst of his discomfort, but it also made him slightly lethargic.

"I think I can handle it," Harry decided, his voice steady despite the slight drowsiness. "I'd like to see if the mirror's still there."

Tony nodded, reaching for his tablet on the nearby counter. "FRIDAY, have someone bring Harry's trunk from his new room, please."

"Right away, boss," the AI replied. "Security officer Martinez is already en route with it."

Sirius raised an eyebrow at Tony. "You have people just waiting around to fetch things?"

"Compound staff," Tony explained with a shrug. "Most of them are former SHIELD agents or military personnel who help keep this place running. Some of them are also dedicated to Harry's security detail."

Harry frowned slightly. "Security detail? I didn't know I had one."

"You didn't think those 'nurses' and 'physical therapists' were just medical staff, did you?"

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. "They're all security?"

"Not all of them," Tony clarified, his expression casual despite the weight of his revelation. "Dr. Cho and her core team are strictly medical. But the others, the ones who rotate shifts? That are always conveniently nearby? Trained security personnel with medical certifications."

Sirius nodded, looking impressed rather than concerned. "Smart. Constant vigilance, as Mad-Eye would say."

"Exactly," Tony agreed. "Happy handpicked them himself. Some of them have backgrounds you wouldn't believe. Martinez, who's bringing your trunk? Former Special Forces, then SHIELD. The nurse who usually helps you on Tuesdays? Ex-CIA."

Harry slumped back against his pillows, trying to process this information. "So all this time, I've been surrounded by... bodyguards?"

"Technically. I only added the protection detail after Saruman’s first visit—when I saw he wasn't gonna give up easily on taking you back." Tony's expression hardened momentarily before he shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Just a precaution."

Harry frowned, his brow furrowing as he processed this new information. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would it have changed anything?" Tony asked, his tone gentle despite the directness of the question. "You were already dealing with enough. I didn't want to add to your worries."

Before Harry could respond, there was another knock at the door. A tall, muscular man with close-cropped hair and observant eyes entered, carrying Harry's school trunk with surprising ease. He set it down at the foot of the bed.

"Here you go, Mr. Potter," he said with a professional nod. "Anything else you need, sir?"

Harry blinked, seeing the man in a new light. The professional demeanor, the watchful eyes that seemed to miss nothing—it was obvious now that this wasn't just a helpful staff member.

"No, thank you," Harry replied, still processing the revelation. As Martinez departed, Harry turned back to Tony. "I get why you did it, but I still wish you'd told me."

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You're right. I should have. I was trying to protect you without making you feel... confined." He met Harry's eyes directly. "I'm sorry."

The simple apology, devoid of excuses or deflection, caught Harry off guard. He nodded, accepting it with a small smile. "It's okay. Just... no more secrets?"

"No more secrets," Tony agreed, relief evident in his expression.

Sirius, who had been watching the exchange with interest, stepped forward to examine the trunk. "Well, let's see what treasures await us, shall we?" He ran his hands over the trunk's surface, a small smile playing on his lips. "Standard Hogwarts trunk. Excellent quality, though. Built to last generations."

Harry relaxed a bit, allowing Sirius to handle things. With a casual flick of his wand, Sirius murmured, "Alohomora." The trunk's lock clicked open, the lid rising slightly of its own accord.

Sirius lifted the lid fully, revealing the contents of Harry's school trunk. "Let's see what we've got," Sirius said gently, beginning to carefully remove items and place them on the bed beside Harry.

Harry watched silently as his previous life emerged piece by piece, the physical remnants of a world that now seemed impossibly distant. His school robes, folded haphazardly on top. Textbooks from previous years, their spines cracked from use. Quills, ink bottles, and rolls of parchment jumbled together. The chaotic collection of a teenager's life at Hogwarts.

"Merlin, you pack like James did," Sirius commented with a fond smile, carefully lifting out a layer of clothes. "No organization whatsoever."

Harry flushed slightly. "I was in a bit of a rush at the end of term."

Tony peered over Sirius's shoulder, eyebrows raised at the assortment of magical items. "Is that a cauldron? An actual cauldron?"

"Standard pewter cauldron, size 2," Harry confirmed with a small smile. "Essential for Potions class."

"Fascinating," Tony murmured, reaching out to touch it before pulling his hand back, suddenly wary. "Is it safe to touch?"

Sirius chuckled. "It's just a cauldron, Stark. Unless Harry's been brewing something nasty in it recently." He glanced at Harry with a raised eyebrow. "Have you?"

"Just the standard potions for class," Harry assured them. "Nothing that would melt Tony's fingers off."

"Reassuring," Tony deadpanned, cautiously picking up the cauldron to examine it. "Huh. Heavier than it looks." He turned it over in his hands, studying the craftsmanship with the eye of an engineer. "The metallurgy is interesting. Fascinating. So you actually brew potions in these? Like witches in fairy tales?"

"Exactly like that," Sirius said with a grin, "except the potions really work and the witches don't always have warts."

It was oddly endearing to see the billionaire so fascinated by something as commonplace as a school cauldron while Sirius continued to sort through the trunk's contents. His movements slowed as he reached deeper, handling each item with increasing care.

"Ah, here we are." From beneath a folded Quidditch jumper, he pulled a small square package wrapped in a Gryffindor scarf. He handed it to Harry with reverence. "This should be it."

Harry unwrapped the scarf with careful fingers, revealing the two-way mirror. It was exactly as he remembered—the same size as his hand, with an ornate silver frame that showed signs of age and frequent use. The surface was slightly dusty but otherwise intact.

"It's still in one piece," Harry said softly, relief evident in his voice as he brushed his fingers across the smooth surface. "I was afraid it might have broken during everything that happened."

"These mirrors are resilient," Sirius said, his voice warm with memories. "James and I made sure of that. They've survived detention scuffles, Quidditch falls, and more than a few angry tosses when we were cross with each other."

Harry smiled, imagining a teenage Sirius and his father communicating through the mirrors, planning pranks and adventures. "So, how do we figure out the maximum distance to communicate? Also, we only have one. Can you replicate it?”

Sirius took the mirror from Harry, turning it over in his hands with a fond expression. "Replicating it is possible, though tricky. These were created with very specific charms. James and I spent months perfecting them." His fingers traced the ornate pattern on the frame. "But I think I can do it. I'll need some new mirrors and time."

"How many could you make?" Tony asked, his mind already calculating possibilities. "One for each of Harry's friends?"

"I could probably manage three or four good copies," Sirius said thoughtfully. "The spell work is complex, and the enchantments need to be linked precisely." He handed the mirror back to Harry. "As for testing the distance… maybe, hopefully, Remus has my mirror. Last time I had it, it was in Buckbeak’s bedroom, in Grimmauld Place.”

He was silent for a moment, wondering what Remus and everyone else had done with the house and the items inside since they believed Sirius dead. Maybe he still needed to go, which was something he was not looking forward to.

Harry nodded, his expression contemplative. "So we have to try to contact Remus first, see if he has your mirror and if it works across the Atlantic."

"Exactly." Sirius's eyes lit up with hope. "If we can reach Remus, everything else becomes easier. He can be our conduit to the Order, to your friends..." He paused, his expression growing more serious. "Without alerting Dumbledore until we're ready."

Tony, who had been examining the mirror with undisguised curiosity, looked up. "And if Remus doesn't have the mirror? Or if it doesn't work at this distance?"

"Then we go with Plan B," Sirius said, his determination unwavering. "We create new mirrors, establish contact through Gringotts and Bill, then the twins, and build our communication network from there." He turned to Harry. "Either way, we'll find a way to reach your friends."

Harry smiled, grateful for Sirius's confidence. His fingers brushed over the mirror's surface, his reflection staring back at him. "Do I have to say your name, or do I call Remus directly?”

Sirius leaned closer, studying the mirror alongside Harry. "The activation is tied to the owner's name. Since this was my mirror originally, you'd say 'Sirius Black' to connect to mine. But if Remus has it now..." He trailed off, considering. "Try 'Remus Lupin' first. If that doesn't work, try 'Sirius Black' – he might not have reconfigured it."

Harry nodded, taking a deep breath. He held the mirror at eye level, his reflection staring back at him. "Remus Lupin," he said clearly, his voice wavering slightly with anticipation.

The mirror's surface remained unchanged, showing only Harry's reflection. After several seconds of silence, Harry glanced at Sirius with disappointment.

"It's worth a shot," Sirius nodded. "Try the other way," Sirius urged, his expression hopeful.

Harry nodded, focusing on the mirror once more. "Sirius Black," he said, his voice stronger this time.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the mirror's surface rippled like disturbed water, the glass clouding over before clearing again. Instead of Harry's reflection, the mirror now showed nothing but darkness and shadows. Harry's heart sank, disappointment washing over him.

"I don't think it's working," Harry said, his voice quiet with disappointment. "Maybe it's too far, or maybe Remus doesn't have it."

Just as he was about to lower the mirror, a flicker of movement caught his eye. The darkness shifted, and suddenly the mirror brightened, revealing a dimly lit room with worn furniture. A moment later, a familiar face appeared, but not the one any of them expected.

Mundungus Fletcher looked startled at the mirror for what felt like minutes, staring at Harry and Sirius before yelping and covering the mirror.

Sirius cursed and took the mirror from Harry.

“Fletcher! Answer you slimy bastard!”

Sirius was furious. If Mundungus had his mirror, then he had full access to his house. To the Black Ancestral House. Sirius could only imagine all the stuff Mundungus could have stolen from his family home when everyone thought him dead. The thought made his blood boil.

"I know you can hear me, you thief," Sirius growled into the mirror, his knuckles whitening around its frame. "Answer me, or I swear by Merlin's beard, I'll find a way back to England just to hex you into next week."

There was a moment of tense silence before the covering was reluctantly removed. Mundungus’ unshaven reappeared, his bloodshot eyes wide with disbelief.

"Sirius?" Mundungus whispered, his voice hoarse. "But you're... you're dead!. They saw you fall through the veil."

"Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated," Sirius replied dryly. "Where's Remus? And what are you doing with my mirror?"

Mundungus shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting around as if looking for an escape route. "I, er, was just... cleaning up a bit. Helping out, you know? After everything that happened."

"Cleaning up my personal belongings?" Sirius's voice was dangerously calm, the kind of quiet that preceded a storm. "Where did you find this mirror, Fletcher?"

Mundungus swallowed visibly, his eyes still darting nervously. "It was just lying there, in your old room. No one was using it, and with you gone..." He trailed off, clearly realizing his excuse was only making things worse.

Tony leaned into the frame, deliberately making his presence known. "Interesting situation you've got here," he commented, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp with assessment.

Mundungus startled at the unfamiliar face. "Who the bloody hell are you?"

"Someone you don't want to cross," Tony replied smoothly. "Now, I believe my friend asked you a question. Where's Remus Lupin?"

"Lupin? He's..." Mundungus hesitated, his eyes narrowing with sudden suspicion. "Wait a minute. How do I know you're really Sirius? Could be some Death Eater trick, couldn't it?"

Sirius groaned, annoyed. "The first time we met, Fletcher, you were trying to sell cursed toasters to muggles in Diagon Alley. I threatened to turn you to the Ministry, and you offered me a cut of your profits to keep quiet." His eyes narrowed dangerously. "I declined, but I also didn't report you. Now, where is Remus?"

Mundungus's eyes widened in recognition, and some of the tension left his shoulders. "It is you. Bloody hell, Black. You're supposed to be dead!"

"So you've mentioned," Sirius replied dryly. "Remus, Fletcher. Where is he?"

"Where's Remus?" Sirius interrupted, his patience clearly wearing thin. "And who else knows you've been looting my family home?"

"Remus is with the werewolf packs up north," Mundungus replied quickly, eager to shift the conversation away from his thievery. "Dumbledore's orders. Been gone nearly a fortnight now." He glanced nervously over his shoulder. "As for who knows... no one, really. The Order's been scattered since... well, since you and the Potter boy disappeared."

Harry leaned into view, his face appearing alongside Sirius's in the mirror. "What do you mean, disappeared? What's Dumbledore saying about me?"

Mundungus' eyes widened further at the sight of Harry. "Blimey! Potter!" Mundungus exclaimed, his face pressing closer to the mirror. "Dumbledore's been in a right state about you, boy. Got the whole Order searching high and low. Said you disappeared from your relatives' home without a trace."

Harry's jaw tightened. "And what exactly did he tell everyone about how I disappeared?"

Harry exchanged a quick glance with Sirius, who looked unsurprised by this information.

Mundungus shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting away from the mirror momentarily. "Well, that's the thing, ain't it? Story keeps changing. First, it was Death Eaters, then maybe you ran away, then something about accidental magic gone wrong." He scratched his stubbled chin. "Moody reckons someone inside the Order might've helped you, but Dumbledore shut that talk down quick."

"And my friends?" Harry pressed, leaning closer to the mirror. "Ron and Hermione? The Weasleys?"

"The Weasley kids and Granger girl are at the Burrow, far as I know. Under guard." Mundungus's expression soured. "Order members rotating shifts. Dumbledore's orders—says it's for their protection. But between you and me..." He lowered his voice conspiratorially, "I think he's keeping them close in case you try to contact them."

Harry's expression darkened. "What about the twins?"

"The twins don't stay at the Burrow," Mundungus hedged, glancing around nervously again. “They've got their shop. Dumbledore can't control them as much."

Tony leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "What about the Ministry? What's their stance on Harry's disappearance?"

Mundungus let out a harsh laugh. "Ministry's in chaos, ain't it? What with You-Know-Who's return now public. They've put out notices asking for information about Potter's whereabouts, but it's hardly their top priority." He scratched his nose thoughtfully. "Though Scrimgeour—he's Minister now, replaced Fudge—he seems keener than most to find the boy. Keeps talking about 'national morale' and such."

"Rufus Scrimgeour?" Sirius's eyebrows shot up. "That's... not unexpected. Considering he was already an Auror when I was arrested and how ambitious he is."

"Aye, and right pleased with himself for the promotion, too," Mundungus confirmed, his face twisting with distaste. "Been making all sorts of speeches about 'unity' and 'strength' against You-Know-Who. But word is, he's more interested in appearances than actual fighting."

Harry frowned, processing this information. The political landscape had shifted dramatically in his absence. "What about Voldemort? Has there been any Death Eater activity?"

Mundungus flinched at the name. "Keeping a low profile, ain't he? Making calculated moves. The Prophet reports disappearances every day now." He glanced over his shoulder again. "Word is he's furious about Potter vanishing. Put a massive bounty on any information leading to him."

Harry and Sirius exchanged a concerned look. Tony, who had been quietly assessing the situation, stepped closer to the mirror.

"What about Sirius’s house? Is it still in use?" Tony asked, his strategic mind already working through the implications.

Mundungus shook his head. "Not properly. Place went weird after Black here supposedly died. House recognized no master for a while. Then something shifted a few weeks back—wards strengthened suddenly." He lowered his voice further. "Dumbledore thinks it might be tied to Harry somehow, through Sirius's will. Been trying to figure it out."

"So you've been helping yourself to my possessions while the house was in flux," Sirius said, his voice dangerously calm. "How… entrepreneurial of you."

Mundungus squirmed under Sirius's withering gaze. "Now, see here, Black. I was just—"

"Save it," Sirius interrupted, his patience clearly exhausted. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to put that mirror somewhere safe—not on your person, somewhere in the house where it won't be disturbed. And you're going to leave it there."

Mundungus opened his mouth to protest, but Sirius continued, his voice cutting through any objection.

"When Remus returns, you will tell him—and only him—that the mirror is active again. No one else, Fletcher. Not Dumbledore, not Moody, not anyone. Just Remus." Sirius's eyes narrowed dangerously. "And if I find out you've mentioned this conversation to anyone else, or if you've continued to help yourself to my family's possessions..."

He left the threat hanging, but the implication was clear.

"Right, right," Mundungus nodded frantically, his eyes wide. "Just Lupin. No one else."

"Oh, and Dung," Sirius added, his voice softening to a dangerous purr that made Mundungus shiver visibly, "consider this your one and only warning. Touch anything else in my house, and I'll let the famous Black madness loose on you."

"Understood, perfectly clear," Mundungus stammered, perspiration beading on his forehead. "Just the mirror for Lupin, nothing else touched, right as rain."

"Good," Sirius said, his voice returning to normal. "Now, is there anything else we should know about the situation in Britain?"

Mundungus hesitated, glancing around nervously before leaning closer to the mirror. "There is one thing... Snape. He's been acting strange—stranger than usual, I mean."

Harry's interest piqued. "Strange how?"

"Arguing with Dumbledore, for one," Mundungus said in a hushed tone. "Behind closed doors, but loud enough that Molly heard bits of it when she was at Hogwarts. Something about 'promises' and 'limits'. And he's been meeting with Narcissa Malfoy and her sister, Bellatrix Lestrange. Lupin followed him once, said it looked like some kind of magical binding ceremony."

Harry and Sirius exchanged alarmed glances. "An Unbreakable Vow?" Sirius asked sharply.

Mundungus shrugged. "Dunno the specifics. Just passing along what I've heard." He glanced over his shoulder again, clearly growing more anxious by the second. "Look, I should go. Someone might come by, and if they catch me with this mirror..."

"Just one more thing," Harry said quickly. "The twins—Fred and George—are they being watched too?"

"Not as much," Mundungus replied. "They've got their shop in Diagon Alley. Dumbledore can't keep as close an eye on them without being obvious." His expression shifted to something like admiration. "Smart lads, those two. Got all sorts of security in their shop—some of their own invention. Even Moody was impressed."

Harry nodded, a plan already forming in his mind. "Right."

"Alright," Sirius said, his tone final. "Remember what I said. Put the mirror somewhere safe and tell only Remus when he returns."

"I will, I will," Mundungus assured hastily. "But Black... how are you alive? And where's Potter? Everyone's looking for—"

"That's not your concern," Sirius cut him off firmly. "Just do as I've asked, and we'll speak again soon."

With that, Sirius waved his hand over the mirror, and Mundungus' anxious face disappeared, replaced once more by their reflections.

A heavy silence fell over the room as the three processed the wealth of information they'd just received.

"Well," Tony said finally, breaking the silence with a low whistle. "That was... enlightening. And concerning. Your magical world has a serious security problem."

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, his expression troubled. "Fletcher's a criminal, but he's also a reliable source of information. If what he says is true..." He trailed off, glancing at Harry with concern.

Harry was staring at the mirror, his expression a complex mixture of emotions—relief at having established contact with England, concern for his friends, and a simmering anger at Dumbledore's actions.

"So Dumbledore's hasn’t told anyone about me, where I am, or my…" Harry said quietly, looking down at his legs, his fingers tightening around the edge of his blanket. "And they're telling different stories about my disappearance."

"Interesting containment strategy," Tony observed, pacing the length of the bed. "Claim ignorance, keep the people closest to you observed, and probably work from the shadows. Saruman was reluctant to openly give information when we met, which means he still wants to have a way to control Harry. Even if most of his dirty little secrets are out and his manipulations have been destroyed. I have to give it to the guy, he is persistent as heck."

He turned to Sirius. "What do you make of this Snape arguing with Dumbledore?"

Sirius's expression darkened. "It may have to do with the information Snape gave you during the meeting. Harry mentioned that Snape was not particularly happy with Dumbles." His tone made it clear he remained unconvinced.

"If they're arguing, the old goat may have done something that even Snivellus sees as wrong. And as for making Unbreakable Vows with my dear cousins Cissa and Bellatrix..." He shook his head grimly. “I am not sure. Bella is You-know-who’s most loyal death eater, but Cissa…” he shook his head again, not sure of what to think.

"What's an Unbreakable Vow?" Tony asked, his analytical mind cataloging every new piece of information.

"Exactly what it sounds like," Harry explained, his voice quiet. "A magical binding contract. If you break it, you die."

Tony's eyebrows shot up. "That's... extreme. And people voluntarily agree to these things?"

"Only when the stakes are high enough," Sirius replied, his expression grim. "The question is, what could be so important that Snape would risk his life over it, especially if it involves Bella.”

Harry's mind raced, trying to put the pieces together. "Maybe it has something to do with Draco?" he suggested. "Narcissa is his mother. Lucius is in Azkaban now, so she might be worried about Draco becoming Voldemort’s target out of spite for Lucius' failure."

Sirius nodded slowly, considering. "That's not a bad theory. Narcissa is fiercely protective of her family. It makes sense that Draco is her priority, even over Voldi. And with Lucius imprisoned, Draco would be vulnerable. The Dark Lord might expect him to take his father's place."

"A teenager recruited to replace his father?" Tony's expression darkened. "That's twisted, even by villain standards."

"That's Voldemort," Harry said quietly. "He doesn't care about age. He only cares about usefulness."

The three fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Harry absently traced the frame of the mirror with his fingers, his expression contemplative.

"We need to contact Bill and the twins," he finally said, looking up at Sirius and Tony. "They're our best chance at establishing reliable communication with Britain. They ar…"

“Boss, there is an urgent call from Colonel Rhodes. He is currently on his way to the compound, but needs to speak to you urgently.” FRIDAY’s voice interrupted Harry.

Tony looked up, frowning. “What is it about FRI, world-ending business or something like it?”

“Per Colonel Rhodes' words: ‘Ross knows about Rogers and Romanoff. Nothing about Maximoff or Vision yet, but it's a matter of time. May need to find a way to hide them or send them away. Pepper is running interference for now.’” FRIDAY relayed the message.

Tony's expression immediately hardened, his posture straightening as he shifted from relaxed to alert in seconds. "Tell Rhodey I'll be right there. Start security protocols Alpha-Six for the compound."

"Yes, boss," FRIDAY responded.

Sirius looked between Harry and Tony, picking up on the sudden tension. "Who's Ross? And what’s his problem with Rogers and Romanoff?"

"Secretary Thaddeus Ross," Tony explained tersely, already moving toward the door. "Former general, current Secretary of State, and perpetual pain in my ass. He's in charge of enforcing the Sokovia Accords—international regulations for enhanced individuals."

"Like Peter," Harry added softly, concern etching lines across his forehead. "And the rest of the Avengers."

Tony paused at the door, turning back to face them. "Ross doesn't know about Pete, and we're keeping it that way. Steve and Nat are... complicated." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the gesture. "They didn't sign the Accords. Technically, they're fugitives."

"But they're here," Sirius noted, his quick mind connecting the dots. "In this compound."

"They're here because I want them here," Tony said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. "The Accords are necessary, but Ross's interpretation of them is... extreme. He'd lock them up and throw away the key if he could." He glanced at his watch, anxiety evident in the gesture. "I need to handle this. You two stay here, keep brainstorming about the communications with Britain."

With that, Tony strode out of the room, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

Sirius turned to Harry, his expression contemplative. "There's a lot more going on here than I initially realized."

Harry nodded, his fingers still tracing the mirror's ornate frame. "Welcome to my life," he said with a wry smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Nothing's ever simple."

Chapter Text

Secretary Ross’s convoy of black Suburbans rolled up outside the Avengers compound at high noon. Dark-tinted windows slid down and out stepped Ross, flanked on either side by a four-man security detail in tailored suits and earpieces. Behind them fanned out three STRIKE operatives in tactical vests, weapons at the ready, scanning the manicured grounds. Ross’s windshield still caught glints of sunlight as he snapped the car door shut, eyes narrowed with the suspicion of a man convinced he’d already uncovered a conspiracy.

Tony and Rhodey emerged from the entrance just as Ross approached. Tony lounged against the doorway, feigning casual ease, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. Rhodey planted himself at Tony’s side, posture rigid and vigilant. Ross ignored their greeting altogether, striding forward like a bloodhound on a trail, his security detail and STRIKE agents fanning out behind him, weapons holstered but fingers brushing triggers.

“Stark! Where are they? Rogers and Romanoff! I know you have them here,” he barked. At his command, a STRIKE agent edged closer, sliding a tablet across the hood of Ross’s Suburban to the Secretary’s waiting hand.

Tony lifted an eyebrow. “Good morning to you too, Secretary. I see your bedside manner hasn’t improved since last time.”

Ross’s jaw clenched. He gestured at the tablet. “Cut the crap, Stark. I’ve got intel placing Rogers and Romanoff in this vicinity within seventy-two hours.”

Rhodey advanced smoothly. “Secretary Ross, with all due respect, we’ve complied with every Accords Committee oversight and inspection. If you have specific concerns, file them through the proper channels, rather than rolling in with an armed escort.”

Ross sneered and tapped the tablet. A satellite image filled the screen. “Ten days ago, unauthorized Quinjet activity was detected here.” He swiped. “And this heat-signature analysis shows at least four additional persons entering the compound last week. We even have reports of parties.” He glanced at his security detail. “This isn’t Stark Tower’s rooftop club, Stark.”

Tony exchanged a glance with Rhodey, then shrugged. “My private lawn. I’ll throw mugs-and-martinis fiestas if I want. As for your satellite images, that’s just trainees rotating in and out. Shocking, I know, for a facility that actually trains people.”

Ross’s face flushed. “Don’t play games. I want access to your logs, your security footage, and a full roster of every visitor in the last month.”

“And I want a pony,” Tony retorted, stepping off the wall. “You need a warrant and real proof that I’m harboring fugitives.”

One of the STRIKE agents shifted his rifle in a sign of impatience. Ross shot him a warning look, then turned back to Tony’s group, flanked by his security detail.

At that moment Pepper Potts appeared, folder in hand. The agents tensed, ready to step forward, but Ross raised a gloved hand to hold them back while he listened.

“Secretary Ross,” Pepper said, voice calm but firm, “the Accords are still under review. You can’t invade private property without evidence.”

Ross eyed the folder, then Pepper. “You can’t shield them forever. They’re criminals.”

Pepper slid a document forward. “This statement from the Accords Committee grants Stark Industries a ninety-day window for classified work—limited visitor-log disclosure only. You have no jurisdiction to enter without due process.”

Ross’s security detail drifted closer, eager for orders. Pepper produced another sheet. “This is a cease-and-desist under section 47B of the Accords. Unwarranted searches or surveillance of Avengers facilities are prohibited.”

Ross snatched the paper. One STRIKE agent cocked his head, reading over Ross’s shoulder. “This doesn’t—”

“Actually, it does,” Rhodey said, pointing to the signatures at the bottom. “Signed by seven committee members. It’s legally binding.”

Tony couldn’t hide his smirk. “Unless you want to explain to the President why you’re hassling one of the nation’s top defense contractors mid-classified development, I suggest you pack it up.”

Ross’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the document. The only sound was the distant hum of generators and the agents’ soft radio chatter over their earpieces.

“This isn’t over,” Ross growled, voice low. “You won’t keep me out forever.”

“Maybe not forever,” Tony replied, “but long enough.”

Ross glanced at his security detail and STRIKE operatives—no dissent flickered in their faces. With a last glare, he turned on his heel and strode back to his Suburban. The agents fell in around him as the convoy pulled away, tires crunching on gravel.

Tony watched the SUVs disappear down the drive, a triumphant gleam in his eye. “That went well,” he said to Pepper and Rhodey. “And amazing paperwork turnarounds—though I thought we had to bribe at least three interns to the bureaucracy gods for that kind of speed.”

Pepper smiled, a hint of smugness playing at her lips. "I've been preparing for this since the day you signed the Accords. Then I just… called in a few favors and reminded certain committee members about their own privacy concerns. Ross has been overstepping with everyone, not just us."

"That's our Pepper," Tony said with genuine admiration. "Always ten steps ahead."

"And the classified development excuse." Rhodey said, falling into step beside them as they headed back inside, his expression growing serious. "He's not wrong about one thing, Tones. This isn't over. Ross isn't the type to give up, especially when he thinks he's right."

"Not entirely an excuse," Tony replied, his voice dropping as the compound doors sealed behind them. "FRIDAY, we're still clear?"

"All clear, boss," the AI responded promptly. "Secretary Ross's vehicle has left the premises and is currently five miles south on the interstate. No surveillance devices were detected."

Tony nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Good. Now let's talk about our other problem. Did everyone do as told?"

"Natasha, Wanda, and Vision successfully hid in the common area for a while," FRIDAY noted. "But Harry and Mr. Black requested their presence in Harry’s med-bay room, Mr. Black assuring that he could hide them better if the need arose.”

Tony frowned at that. "Hmmm… And our star-spangled stowaway?"

"Captain Rogers is in the emergency bunker below the east wing," FRIDAY replied. "He has maintained radio silence as instructed and is currently reviewing tactical data on a secure tablet."

"At least someone follows orders around here," Tony muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"Funny, coming from you," Rhodey commented with a slight teasing tone. "Though I'm not sure how long we can keep playing this shell game. Ross isn't entirely wrong about the satellite imagery—we've had a lot of unusual activity lately." His voice became serious once again.

Tony rubbed his forehead, the brief triumph of outwitting Ross giving way to the weight of their precarious situation. He needed to be smarter about this. Ross is sniffing around more than ever, and he won’t be able to keep dodging him forever. “FRIDAY, initiate Protocol Houdini—recalibrate the compound's heat signatures to mask any unofficial presences. Concentrate on the med-bay and the common area, as well as mine, Harry’s, and Peter’s rooms.”

"Already implementing enhanced camouflage protocols, boss," FRIDAY responded. "I've also established randomized heat signature patterns throughout unoccupied areas to create background noise. Satellite imaging will detect normal fluctuations consistent with standard operations."

"Good girl," Tony murmured, his mind racing through contingencies.

As they stepped into the elevator, Pepper crossed her arms, her expression thoughtful. "We should consider a more permanent solution. Ross won't stop, and we can't keep Harry and the others hidden indefinitely."

"I know," Tony sighed, the weight of responsibility evident in his voice. "Right now, keeping Harry and Peter safe is priority one. If Ross finds out about Peter—about what he can do, and Harry—" He cut himself off, unwilling to imagine a situation where Harry or Peter could become Ross’s targets as well. He wouldn't let the secretary anywhere near his family.

"I agree," Rhodey said solemnly. "Especially since Harry's condition is still stabilizing. The last thing he needs is government scrutiny on top of everything else."

Pepper placed a reassuring hand on Tony's shoulder. "We'll figure it out. We always do."

Tony nodded, drawing strength from her touch. "FRIDAY, where are our guests now?"

"Mr. Black and Harry are currently in the med-bay with Ms. Romanoff, Ms. Maximoff, and Vision. They are discussing ideas to get in contact with some magicals in Britain while they wait for you.”

Tony nodded, his expression shifting from concerned to determined. "Let's join them. I want to hear what ideas they've come up with."

"Should I brief Captain Rogers on the situation with Ross?" FRIDAY inquired as they walked toward the medical wing.

"Yes," Tony replied after a moment's consideration. "Tell him to meet us in Harry’s med-bay room. Also, send a text to Peter. Tell him to keep his head low and the monkeying around to a minimum."

As they walked through the compound's corridors, Tony couldn't help but marvel at how quickly his life had changed. Just weeks ago, his biggest concern had been managing the fallout from the Accords. Now he was juggling fugitive Avengers, magical relatives, and Secretary Ross's suspicions—all while trying to protect a paralyzed teenage wizard and a teenage superhero from threats they never should have had to face.

"Boss," FRIDAY interrupted his thoughts. "Ms. Romanoff is requesting an update on the situation."

Tony exchanged glances with Pepper and Rhodey before quickening his pace. "Tell her we'll be there in three minutes."

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Sirius watched Harry from a chair beside the bed, his gaze pensive. “Pup, what do you know about this Ross guy and those Accords?”

Harry shifted in the bed, adjusting his position slightly to ease the discomfort that still bothered him. "Not much beyond what Peter, Tony, and Rhodey have told me. The Accords were meant to put the Avengers under government control after some mission went wrong. Captain Rogers—Steve—disagreed with them, and it split the team apart. There was a huge fight where Natasha and Vision teamed up with the three of them and another guy, called The Black Panther.” He frowned, fingers absently tracing the pattern on the blanket covering his lower half.

"Peter told me that Steve fought alongside Wanda and four more guys, two of them known Avengers…” Harry trailed, not knowing any other details about the disagreement.

Sirius grunted in contemplation, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “And yet, Tony still trusts them enough to be here, to help him protect you," Sirius observed. "That speaks volumes about the man."

Harry nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I think they're all still trying to figure things out. Tony mentioned something about 'finding middle ground' the other day, but I don’t think they’ve actually talked much about it."

"Politics," Sirius spat the word like a curse. "Magical or muggle, doesn't matter—always complicating things that should be simple."

"Like protecting people?" Harry asked with a wry smile.

"Exactly." Sirius stood up, stretching and running a hand through his hair. "The Ministry's the same way. So concerned with appearances and control that they forget what actually matters."

A comfortable silence fell between them, broken only by the distant hum of the compound's systems. Harry's gaze drifted to the window, where afternoon sunlight streamed in, casting long shadows across the floor.

"I'm worried about Tony," Harry finally admitted, his voice lower. "He's taking on so much risk just keeping me here. I don't want to cause more problems for him and the Avengers. They're already fugitives because of those Accords, and now they're risking even more by helping me."

Sirius crossed back to Harry's side, his expression softening. "That's not on you, pup. Family doesn't work that way. James would have moved mountains for you after knowing you for five minutes. Some bonds just... are." He leaned in to carefully wrap his arms around Harry, holding him close. "Besides, Tony Stark strikes me as a man who knows exactly what risks he's taking."

"Still," Harry persisted, "I can't just sit here while everyone else puts themselves in danger. There must be something I can do to help, more than just being here. I feel so useless."

"You're healing," Sirius reminded him firmly. "That's your job right now. And I'd say you're doing brilliantly at it."

Harry let out a soft scoff of skepticism, tucking his face into Sirius’s neck. “Most of the time it doesn’t feel like it…”

Sirius pulled back slightly and looked Harry in the eye. "You know, feeling useless when you're sidelined is something I understand too well." His face clouded briefly. "Twelve years in Azkaban, then another year trapped in that cave, and then... Grimmauld Place." His mouth twisted in distaste at the memory. "But you're different, Harry. Even now, you're thinking of others before yourself."

Harry lowered his gaze, slightly embarrassed and still disbelieving. “I just… I don’t want to repeat the mistakes from before. I don’t want to lose anyone else, I don’t want others to be in danger because of me. But one way or the other, it just… “ Harry frowned, not meeting Sirius’s eyes as Sirius studied him closely.

“Sometimes, I’ve dreamed of Peter… in the Veil’s chamber. I don’t…”

Harry bit his lower lip as he tried to find the words that seemed to get stuck in his throat, while Sirius waited patiently.

“If something were to happen to anyone else I care about, especially you, Tony… or Peter…"

"Harry," Sirius said softly, his arms pulling Harry close again, "listen to me. I understand that fear—I do. But you can't let it control you." He squeezed gently.

"What happened at the Department of Mysteries—that wasn't your fault. Bellatrix made her choice. Moldiwarts made his. And I made mine." His voice grew fierce with conviction. "Just as Tony and Peter and the others are making theirs now. People choose to stand with you because they see the good in you, not because you've manipulated or endangered them."

Harry's eyes glistened slightly. "But—"

"No buts," Sirius said firmly. "Your parents didn't die because of you—they died because Voldemort was a murderous bastard. I didn't end up in Azkaban because of you—I got myself there by being reckless. And Tony? From what I can see, that man's been finding trouble long before he knew you existed."

A reluctant smile tugged at Harry's lips. "He does seem to have a talent for it," Harry admitted.

"Exactly. So stop worrying about being a burden, and focus on getting better." Sirius ruffled Harry's hair affectionately, earning a mock scowl that quickly melted into a genuine smile.

Harry leaned back against his pillows, a comfortable warmth spreading through him at the mention of his parents. Sirius sat next to Harry on the bed, getting comfortable and wrapping an arm behind Harry, making sure he was still holding him close.

"Natasha, " Harry said suddenly, "She knows about the magical community. Tony told me that she was the one to get them in contact with the goblins from Gringotts in New York City, and when I met her, she admitted that she knew about magic, me, and the war."

He looked at Sirius with an eager expression. “Maybe… Do you think she can also get in contact with the goblins from Gringotts in London?”

Sirius frowned thoughtfully. "Really? Did she say how she knew about the magical community and Gringotts?. That's not supposed to be common knowledge, not for a muggle, anyway." Sirius said, his curiosity piqued.

Harry shook his head. "She didn't say much to me. Tony said that she’d just had been 'trained' with information about our world before. I got the impression she wasn’t telling Tony everything, but I haven’t had the chance to talk to her properly, so…"

"Interesting," Sirius mused, his expression calculating. "If she knows about the goblins, that means she's had more than just ‘training’."

"Do you think it would help if she goes to London? Getting in touch with Gringotts through her, and also Bill and the twins?" Harry asked, hope evident in his voice.

Sirius nodded slowly. "It might. Gringotts maintains independence from wizarding governments—that's why they're trusted with everyone's gold. They wouldn't necessarily report to the Ministry if someone made inquiries or special requests. For a fee, of course." His eyes were bright with a spark of mischief. "If she can get to London and talk to a goblin directly… or better yet, she might be able to make direct contact with Bill without alerting the Ministry."

"And if we can talk to Bill, he might be able to help us get in contact with Fred, George, Ron, and Hermione." Harry added, his excitement growing. "Plus, I have a feeling that Natasha would be able to handle Mundungus without a problem. She can get the other mirror from him."

Sirius nodded, his expression thoughtful. "She certainly has that look about her," Sirius agreed with a smirk.

"The kind that says she could get information out of a stone wall if she needed to." He paused, considering the possibilities. "A direct line to Bill would be invaluable. As a curse-breaker, he has access to resources most wizards don't, and the twins..." His expression brightened. "Those two could smuggle a dragon through Diagon Alley without anyone noticing."

Harry nodded, resting his head in Sirius’s shoulder. “It may also help to keep her safe from that Secretary Ross…”

Harry looked up to talk to FRIDAY. “FRIDAY, if it’s safe for Natasha… and maybe Wanda, Vision and Steve, could you ask them to come to my room?”

"Of course, Harry," FRIDAY replied smoothly. "Ms. Romanoff, Ms. Maximoff, and Vision are currently maintaining position in the common area. I'll relay your request immediately."

"What about Captain Rogers?" Harry asked.

"Captain Rogers is currently in a secure location within the compound," FRIDAY answered. "Per Mr. Stark's security protocols, he's maintaining minimal movement and radio silence until Secretary Ross is well out of range. Would you like me to include him in your request?"

Harry glanced at Sirius, who nodded encouragingly. "No, it’s ok. We can catch him and Tony later."

"Very well. Message delivered," FRIDAY confirmed after a moment. "Ms. Romanoff, Ms. Maximoff, and Vision are on their way."

Sirius shifted on the bed beside Harry, more sitting than reclining, but still close. "If she agrees to do this, we need to be smart about it. The Ministry will have eyes everywhere in magical London—especially after what happened at the Department of Mysteries— and if things with Voldi have worsened, the Death Eaters will also be much more active. She’ll be walking right into the serpent’s mouth.”

Harry's brow furrowed. "Do you think they would recognize her as a muggle? I don’t think purebloods keep up with muggle news, do they?"

"Not sure," Sirius conceded, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against his knee. "But even if they do…" He paused, then continued. "I doubt they'd be looking specifically for an Avenger."

Before Harry could respond, there was a soft knock at the door. It opened to reveal Natasha, with Wanda and Vision close behind her.

"Good morning. You called for us?" Natasha asked, her expression curious but her eyes alert, scanning the room as she entered.

"Oh. Hi. Good morning." Harry said, a bit nervously, as he gestured for them to come in.

Natasha entered first, her movements fluid and controlled as she approached the end of Harry's bed. Wanda followed, her eyes warm with affection as she sat at the end of the bed, while Vision remained near the doorway, his tall form somehow managing to look both imposing and gentle at the same time.

"How are you feeling today, miláčik?" Wanda asked, her Sokovian accent softening her words.

"Ok. Just the usual growing pains," Harry replied with a small, sarcastic smile. "Are you guys ok?"

"We're fine," Natasha replied, her eyes never quite losing their vigilance even as she offered Harry a reassuring smile. "Just playing a game of hide-and-seek with Secretary Ross."

"Which we won, thankfully," Wanda reassured him, patting his blanket-covered knee.

Vision nodded, his synthetic features arranged in what Harry had come to recognize as his version of concern. "Secretary Ross's visit does present certain... complications to our current arrangements."

"That's actually why I asked to talk to you," Harry said, straightening up slightly. "We—Sirius and I—were thinking about something that might help with both the Ross situation and our magical communications problem."

Natasha's eyebrow quirked up with interest. "I'm listening."

Sirius leaned forward, his grey eyes intense. "Harry tells me you have some knowledge of the magical world—enough to get Tony in contact with Gringotts. I was wondering if you could tell us how or why you happened to have that kind of information and contacts, Miss Romanoff.” He glanced at Wanda and Vision before returning his gaze to Natasha and continuing.

“I am all for playing dream team and becoming buddies in arms, but I hope you understand that I can’t trust you just yet.” Sirius leaned back, arms crossed with a hint of challenge. "Just as I'm sure you understand that Harry is not just my godson, but also the most important person in my life."

Natasha's lips curved in an enigmatic smile as she met Sirius's steady gaze. "Fair enough," she said, moving to take a seat on the sofa close to the bed but positioned in a way that she was able to keep the whole room in sight.

"I wasn't born into the magical world, but there is magical blood running through my veins. Not enough to do actual magic, but enough that I can see through all the spells and magical protections that keep the magical areas hidden from muggle eyes.” She paused, choosing her words carefully while enjoying the surprised expressions on all their faces, including Vision’s.

“As for my... training...” She continued, "It involved exposure to many secret societies and organizations. The magical community was one of them. I was sent to gather intelligence on certain high-profile wizards in Eastern Europe during the fall of the Soviet Union. The organization I worked for at the time believed that magical individuals might be influencing political events."

"So, you are a Squib?" Harry asked, curiosity and surprise clear in his voice, while Sirius just stared.

"I guess I am," Natasha admitted with a half smile. "But not many people know that, and I'd like to keep it that way," she added with a meaningful look.

"That explains a lot," Sirius nodded slowly, his posture relaxing slightly, clearly reassessing the woman before him. "Squibs often get the worst of both worlds—no magic, but enough magical blood to see everything they can't have. It’s why you've been so comfortable around all this."

Natasha nodded. "I've been to Gringotts branches in several countries. The goblins are remarkably consistent across borders—they care about gold, contracts, and their independence, in that order."

"So, what is this plan you mentioned?" Wanda asked, looking between Harry and Sirius.

Harry exchanged a glance with Sirius before explaining.

"Umm… Well, I need to contact our friends in Britain, but we don’t have an established way of contact from here, and the Ministry and the Death Eaters are probably watching them…” Harry paused, his face blushing slightly as embarrassment ran through him. “We were thinking that maybe Natasha might be able to travel to London and make contact with Gringotts there. We have a friend who works there, and through him, we can contact his brothers, who are also my friends." Harry finished fast and almost in a whisper.

Natasha leaned forward slightly, her interest visibly piqued as she studied Harry. "Bill Weasley," she said with quiet certainty. "The curse-breaker."

Harry's eyes widened. "How did you—"

"Intelligence gathering is what I do," she replied with a small shrug. "The Weasley family features prominently in your file, which I was privy to before you even met Tony, remember?"

Sirius’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. "That's... scary." He said, while Harry stared at Natasha with his mouth slightly open at this reminder.

"But potentially useful," Vision said, stepping closer to the group. "If I understand correctly, you believe Ms. Romanoff could travel to London without raising suspicion, contact this person through Gringotts, and thus, have a secure communication channel."

"Umm, yes," Harry confirmed, his voice slightly shaky and soft. "I am not sure about the part of traveling without suspicion… But Bill is trustworthy and has connections in the magical world. With his help,” Harry glanced at Sirius again, who was watching Natasha intently, “you should be able to recover an item that can help us communicate easily and securely with them…”

Vision synthetic features looked thoughtful at Natasha. "Such a mission would carry significant risk. Especially if you go alone."

"That's putting it mildly," Sirius grimaced. "Voldemort's followers will be watching for anything unusual, especially around Harry's known acquaintances and friends."

"Which is why I'd need to be careful," Natasha said, already considering the logistics. "What is this item you are talking about?”

Sirius and Harry exchanged glances before Sirius spoke. "It's a two-way communication mirror. There's a pair of them—I gave one to Harry before he went back to Hogwarts after Christmas, which we have here, but the other one…" He trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

Natasha nodded, processing the information with practiced efficiency and prompting them to continue. "I see. Where is that mirror now?"

"A man named Mundungus Fletcher has it," Sirius explained, his expression darkening. "A petty thief who was supposedly helping guard Harry last summer. After I... fell through the Veil, he likely raided my house, and one of the items he took was the mirror.”

Natasha nodded and leaned back in her chair, considering the situation. "And you believe this Fletcher, is still in London?"

"Most likely," Sirius confirmed. "He's not the type to stray far from familiar territory. He operates primarily around Knockturn Alley—that's the shadier side of magical London. Another reason why you may need Bill and the twins’ help."

Natasha's eyes narrowed slightly, her mind already cataloging the challenges and advantages of such a mission. "I can handle thieves," She said with quiet confidence. "And I can handle Knockturn. It’s not my first time."

"I see," Sirius said, trying to hide the surprise at Natasha’s words. "He is supposed to leave the mirror back inside the house, but I don’t trust him too much. He's slippery. Not particularly dangerous, but more opportunistic than malicious. The bigger concern is that he sometimes works as an informant for the Order of the Phoenix—that's Dumbledore's resistance group against Voldemort—and now he knows that I am alive and with Harry."

"So he might report your reappearance to them," Natasha concluded, "which we don’t want."

Sirius nodded.

Wanda shifted on the bed, her expression thoughtful. "I could go with you," she offered. "My abilities might be useful, especially if there's trouble."

Natasha considered this for a moment before nodding her head. "Your powers could definitely help. Especially against Death Eaters. But we’ll still need to concentrate on stealth. Only to be seen when and by whom we want.” She paused, looking at Vision. “If Ross is watching for us, having reported sightings of two Avengers simultaneously on the other side of the Atlantic would divert his attention from the compound and buy Tony more time." She turned back to Harry and Sirius.

"I assume this Fletcher doesn't know the mirror's true value?"

"Well, we talked to him through the mirror, so he might know it's valuable, but he probably doesn't realize its full potential," Sirius finished, running a hand through his hair. "Dung isn't the sharpest wand in the shop, but he knows enough to recognize magical artifacts when he sees them."

Natasha nodded, her mind already calculating approaches. "That might play in our favor," She noted.

Harry moved sideways slightly, wincing as he adjusted his position while Wanda interjected, her brow furrowed. "If we are trying to contact Harry's friends, why not go directly to them? Why go to this thief? Just for the mirror?"

Harry was about to reply when a knock on the door startled most of them.

Tony opened the door slightly and peeked his head in. "Room for a few more in this impromptu war council?" he asked with forced lightness, stepping inside with Pepper, Rhodey, and Steve close behind.

"Yes," Harry replied with a small smile, visibly relaxing at Tony's arrival.

Tony's eyes swept the room, taking in the gathering before fixing on Natasha. "I see you've all been busy while we were dealing with our unwelcome visitor."

“We had complete faith in your powers of persuasion.” Natasha teased as she moved to allow Pepper to take a seat next to her.

"Harry was just explaining a potential plan," Vision offered. "It appears Ms. Romanoff and Wanda might be undertaking a mission to London."

Tony rolled his eyes at Natasha’s words, then his eyebrows shot up as he moved further into the room, processing Vision’s words.

"London? As in across-the-pond, fish-and-chips, home of murderous wizards, London? When exactly was this decided?"

"It's just an idea we were discussing," Harry said quickly, looking between Tony and Sirius nervously. "We haven't decided anything yet."

Sirius nodded. "Harry and I kept brainstorming ways to contact our allies in Britain safely after you left to deal with your sour friend, and Harry realized Natasha might be able to help, given her knowledge of the magical ways and what we learned are her... unique qualifications."

Tony's brow furrowed as he stopped next to Harry's bed, his protective stance unconscious but obvious to everyone in the room as he brushed Harry’s hair with his fingers. "And what qualifications would those be?"

"I'm a Squib," Natasha stated matter-of-factly, watching Tony's face cycle through surprise, confusion, and understanding in rapid succession.

"Seriously?" Rhodey asked, glancing between Tony and Natasha.

"Yes," Natasha replied. "Born with just enough magic to see through magical concealment and enter magical spaces, but not enough to cast spells."

Tony stared at her for a long moment. "So all those times I thought you were just being cryptic about your contacts, you were actually—"

"Being cryptic about my contacts," Natasha finished with a slight smirk. "Just for different reasons than you assumed. Need-to-know basis, Tony. Old habits."

"This is..." Tony started, then stopped, shaking his head. "It explains a lot. Like how you knew exactly which goblin to talk to at Gringotts. And all the information about MACUSA and magic in general."

Steve moved closer to the group, his presence commanding even in casual clothes. "I think we're getting sidetracked. What exactly is this plan? And how dangerous is it?"

Harry glanced at Sirius, who nodded encouragingly. "Well, I’ve been…”

Harry and Sirius quickly caught Tony, Rhodey, Pepper, and Steve on the previous conversation.

Tony frowned, processing the new information. "So the new plan is to send Natasha and Wanda to London to track down the thief and get the magic mirror back instead of going through the goblins? All while avoiding both the magical authorities who are after Harry and Sirius, and the not-so-magical authorities who are after you two?" He gestured between Natasha and Wanda.

"When you put it like that, it sounds absurd," Sirius acknowledged with a wry smile. "But yes, partially."

"It's not just about the mirror," Natasha interjected. “It may be a good idea to let Ross get a whiff of us somewhere far from the compound. He would be forced to set his eyes elsewhere, wasting search resources, which gives us more breathing room here." She looked directly at Tony. "Plus, we need intel on what's happening in magical Britain. The goblins might know, but they won't freely share that information. Harry's friends would. This accomplishes both objectives."

"Right now,” Sirius added, “we have partial information about what Voldemort is doing, what the Ministry is saying about Harry's disappearance, and how the Order is responding, but we need more without compromising anyone’s safety."

Steve nodded, his tactical mind already analyzing the situation. "It's not a bad strategy. Draw attention away from the compound while gathering necessary intelligence." He looked at Natasha with respect. "But it's still risky."

"When has that ever stopped us?" Wanda said with a small smile, her fingers weaving patterns of scarlet energy unconsciously as she spoke.

Tony paced a few steps, his mind racing through scenarios. "Okay, let's say we do this. This Bill Weasley, you’ve been mentioning him a lot. Is he trustworthy? He won't report to Dumbledore or the Ministry?"

"Bill's loyalty is to his family first," Harry affirmed with a soft smile. "And he considers me basically part of his family. Also, I don’t think he's blindly loyal to Dumbledore—he respects him, but he's also smart and independent enough to make his own decisions. If we talk to him, I am fairly certain that he will help." Harry's voice grew more confident as he spoke about the eldest Weasley brother. "Plus, as a Curse Breaker for Gringotts, that gives him a certain amount of freedom from Ministry oversight."

Sirius nodded in agreement. "The Weasleys have always been protective of Harry. You should meet Molly. She can get on your nerves, but her love and protectiveness of Harry and her children are indisputable. What’s more, as a Curse Breaker, Bill deals with dangerous magic for a living and knows how to be discreet."

"And these twins you mentioned?" Rhodey asked, leaning against the wall with arms crossed.

Harry's expression lit up right away. "Fred and George are amazing. They left school last year to open a joke shop filled with magical pranks and inventions. They're also members of the Order, but like Bill, they prefer to trust their instincts rather than follow Dumbledore's or anyone else's commands if they don't agree with them."

Tony nodded, his expression thoughtful as he reclined against the bed next to Harry. "So we'd be trusting three Weasleys with knowledge of your whereabouts and safety."

"Yes," Harry confirmed, his voice steady. "I'd trust them with my life. I already have, multiple times."

"For what it's worth," Steve interjected, "I've realized that sometimes the people you trust with your life are the ones who make all the difference." His eyes briefly met Tony's with a hint of apology in his eyes before returning to the group. "If Harry believes in these Weasleys, that counts for something."

Tony caught the look but chose not to address it, instead tightening his jaw momentarily, before he nodded. "Fine. But we need contingencies." He turned to Natasha. "If you're going, you need more than just Wanda for backup."

"Vision could accompany us," Wanda suggested, her accent thickening slightly with excitement. "His abilities would make it extremely difficult for wizards to detect or counter, since his powers aren't magical in nature. Much like my own."

Vision nodded. "I could remain undetectable while providing surveillance and emergency assistance if needed."

"That's... actually not a terrible idea," Tony admitted, looking at Vision with pensive eyes. Turning to Sirius, he added. "How soon can you get those extra mirrors that we talked about earlier?”

"That depends," Sirius replied, shifting his position to face Tony more directly while running a hand through his dark hair. "It's not exactly simple magic, but it's doable. I'd need to cast a modified Geminio charm first. Not the standard duplication spell they teach at Hogwarts, but a more permanent version that James and I developed."

Harry watched with interest as Sirius's expression shifted to that of a professor explaining a particularly intricate concept.

"After the duplication, I'd need to work through a combination of enchantments and runic arrays to make the changes permanent." Sirius continued, gesturing with his hands to illustrate. "Then, we will have to decide who will get the mirrors, as I will need to link them to the specific individuals they will belong to. That part's relatively straightforward. In total, I’ll require about half a day to work."

"It doesn’t sound too complicated," Natasha said, her eyes sharp with interest.

Sirius leaned forward, “ The problem is the runes. The first set, to set the changes and anchor the magic. The second set is to link them to each user. I need to carve the sigils carefully and with intent. It’s not complicated per se, but I need time.”

"I can help with the runes," Wanda offered unexpectedly, drawing surprised looks from everyone. "It will also help me to learn a bit more about your magic." She produced some of her signature red energy.

Sirius tilted his head, considering the witch with newfound interest. "Sure, why not. Thank you.”

"Great," Tony clapped his hands together decisively. "So we have a decent plan. Natasha, Wanda, and Vision will head to London after Wanda and Sirius work on the extra mirrors." He turned to Sirius. “Aside from Gringotts, is there anywhere else they may need to go?”

"You could go directly to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes—that's Fred and George's shop in Diagon Alley," Harry added eagerly. "If you think it’ll be easier or if, for some reason you can’t make it to Gringotts directly." He looked at Sirius, then at Wanda and Natasha. “If you go to the twins first, you can say this to them: ‘I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.’”

Sirius suddenly burst into laughter, taking most of them by surprise, while Harry carried on with a mischievous grin that was unfamiliar to many of them.

“And if they asked how you know that, tell them that the son of a marauder sent you. They’ll understand.”

Natasha's lips curved into a small smile as she nodded. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," she repeated, committing the phrase to memory. "The son of a marauder. Got it."

"They'll probably still test you," Sirius warned, his eyes still dancing with amusement. "The twins are brilliant, but cautious. They might ask you questions only Harry would know the answers to."

"Like what?" Wanda asked, leaning forward with interest.

Harry thought for a moment. "The statue of the one-eyed witch on the third-floor corridor hides the secret passage to Honeydukes." He paused, looking down at his lap, thinking.

"They gave me the Marauder’s Map when I was banned from going to Hogsmeade in my third year…” He looked up at Wanda.

“My winnings from the Tri-Wizard Tournament. I gave it to them.” Turning to Natasha, he added. “You can tell them that as their first and main investor, I am cashing in on the offer for free joke supplies.”

Natasha nodded, the smile growing on her lips. "I'll make sure to mention that. It should be enough to convince them."

"And what about this Fletcher character?" Steve asked, "If he's as slippery as you say, you’ll need a plan to deal with him."

"Don’t worry about Fletcher," Natasha said with quiet confidence as she glanced at Wanda. "We’ll have him cooperating in no time."

"What about Ross?" Rhodey interjected.

"The paperwork Pepper gave him will keep him occupied for at least a few days,” Tony replied, waving his hand dismissively. “He'll be too busy trying to find legal loopholes to notice anything immediately."

He glanced at Natasha. "A couple of sightings of you two in London should be enough to keep him busy and off our necks for a while."

NATASHA, Wanda, and Vision nodded.

Tony pulled his phone from his pocket, tapping rapidly. "I can have the jet ready by tomorrow morning. That gives you," he nodded at Sirius and Wanda, "plenty of time to work on those mirrors."

"Actually," Natasha interjected, "we should consider a more... inconspicuous arrival. Private jets tend to leave paper trails, and Ross likely has alerts set for any Stark Industries aircraft movements." She looked at Sirius intently.

“Any chance you can get in touch with your friends from yesterday. The sorcerers?”

Sirius's eyebrows shot up. "The Ancient One? I suppose I could try. Wong gave me a way to contact them in case of emergency." He patted his pockets, eventually producing a small piece of old-looking paper with a phone number written on it. "Though I'm not sure if international magical travel is what they had in mind when they gave me this."

"They have the ability to create portals," Natasha explained to the others. "That would allow us to bypass conventional travel methods entirely. No passports, no customs, no flight plans."

"And no chance for Ross to track our movements," Wanda added with a nod of approval.

Tony snapped his fingers, pointing at Natasha. "Nice one! Completely off the grid."

Vision stepped forward, his synthetic features arranged in thoughtful concentration. "The energy signatures from such portals would be distinctly different from anything Secretary Ross's monitoring systems would be calibrated to detect. It is indeed an elegant solution."

"It would also allow for a quick extraction if things go sideways," Steve added, his tactical mind clearly approving of the strategy.

Sirius nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "I think we can reach out to them. They said they'd help if needed.” He stretched his arm, handing the piece of paper to Tony, who took it immediately. “And I believe they meant it. But since I don’t happen to have a phone…" He glanced at Harry with a soft smile.

"The Ancient One seemed quite taken with you, pup." He fake whispered as Tony laughed and pulled out his phone, dialing the number on the paper.

Harry flushed slightly, remembering the serene woman's penetrating gaze. "She was...interesting," Harry finished diplomatically. "Though a bit unsettling with all the things that she shouldn't have known."

"She does have that effect," Sirius agreed with a wry smile.

Tony held up a finger as the line connected. "Hello? Wong? It's Tony Stark." He paused, listening. "Yes, the one with the metal suits. Listen, we have a situation and could use some magical assistance..." He stepped away from the bed, moving toward the window as he explained their needs.

While Tony spoke on the phone, Natasha and Wanda moved closer to Harry's bed.

"I’ll go get ready." Natasha said quietly. "Once we make contact with your friends in London, they may want to come and see you."

Harry nodded, his expression resolute despite the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “I know. We’ll figure that one out while you are there. And thanks again, for agreeing to do this.”

Natasha's expression softened slightly. "It's what teammates do. We look out for each other." She glanced at Wanda, who nodded in agreement. "Besides, I've been wanting to revisit London's magical district. It's been a while."

Wanda placed a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder. "We'll be careful, and we'll make sure your friends know you're safe."

Tony returned to the group, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "Well, that was surprisingly easy. Wong says they can help, but they need a few hours to prepare. Something about 'dealing with some inter dimensional naughty being’ jumbo numbs." He shrugged. "The bottom line is they'll be ready by tomorrow morning."

"That gives us time to prepare properly," Steve said, nodding with approval. "Natasha, since you’re familiar with the area, you'll need to be briefed Wanda and Vision on magical London's layout and any potential threats."

"I’ll star working on the mirrors. Wanda, you can join me one you are done with Natasha and Vision, if you are still interested in helping,” Sirius said before turning to Harry, “ how about you, pup. Are you feeling up to getting out of bed and giving me a hand?”
Harry smiled and nodded. "Yeah. It will actually give me the chance to practice a bit with my magic."

"Perfect," Sirius said, ruffling Harry's hair affectionately. "We’ll get you started in runes theory.”

Tony stepped forward, his protective instincts clearly visible. "Just don't overdo it, kiddo. Dr. Cho will have my head if you exhaust yourself."

"I'll be careful," Harry promised, though the excitement in his voice betrayed just how eager he was to participate in something magical again. He glanced at Sirius. "Would you mind helping me into my chair?"

Sirius moved forward immediately. "Sure thing."

As Sirius carefully assisted Harry into his wheelchair, Tony turned to Natasha, his expression serious. "We need to discuss contingencies. If things go sideways, I want you three to have multiple exit strategies."

"Already thinking about it," Natasha assured him. "We'll need to establish safe houses and emergency protocols."

"I can help with that," Rhodey offered. "I still have some contacts in British intelligence who owe me a few favors."

"Perfect. I'll meet you in the conference room in twenty," Natasha said with a nod to Rhodey. She turned to Wanda and Vision. "Let's go over what you both need to know about magical Britain. The politics, the key players, and especially the dangers."

As the group began to disperse, Harry wheeled himself toward the door with Sirius and Tony at his side. "Let's get this done and over with.”

Tony and Sirius laughed at Harry’s matter-of-fact tone.

Tony walked with them to a smaller workshop he'd set up specifically for magical experiments, its tables cluttered with an eclectic mix of technological components and magical artifacts.

"So," Tony said, glancing around the space, "what exactly do we need for these magical FaceTime mirrors? I'm guessing not just standard glass and some circuit boards."

Sirius surveyed the room with appreciation. "Silver-backed mirrors would be ideal—the purer the silver, the better. We'll also need carving tools for the runes, preferably something that won't interfere with the magical properties."

"I think I can manage that," Tony replied, already mentally cataloging what he had available. "Anything else?"

"Some space to work without technological interference," Sirius added. "The enchantments can be temperamental around too much electricity."

Tony nodded, tapping his watch to make a note. "FRIDAY, order the purest silver-backed mirrors you can find. Express delivery."

"Already ordered, boss," the AI replied. "Estimated delivery in forty-five minutes."

"Efficient," Sirius remarked with an appreciative nod.

"She keeps me functioning," Tony admitted with a small grin. "Anything else you need while I'm playing errand boy?"

"Just a few more things," Sirius replied, listing off several obscure magical ingredients that Tony had never heard of. "Though I suspect you might need to reach out to MACUSA for those."

Tony nodded, making mental notes. "I'll see what I can do. FRIDAY, add those to the list and contact President Quahog's office. Tell them it's for Harry."

"Will do, boss."

"I'll be back in about an hour," Tony said, heading toward the door. "Try not to blow anything up while I'm gone. The insurance paperwork is a nightmare." He winked at Harry before disappearing down the hallway, leaving godfather and godson alone in the workshop.

Harry wheeled himself to one of the tables, examining the various tools Tony had left scattered across its surface. "So, how exactly does this mirror-making process work?"

Sirius pulled up a chair beside Harry, his expression becoming more serious than it had been moments before. "Before we get into that, there's something I wanted to discuss with you." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Something important about your position in magical Britain."

Harry looked up, surprised by the sudden change of subject. "What is it?"

Sirius ran a hand through his dark hair, a habit Harry had noticed emerged when his godfather was gathering his thoughts. "When I claimed my title as Lord Black after Christmas, it wasn't just about access to the family vaults or properties." He leaned forward, his gray eyes intense. "It was about power—political power that we're going to need."

"Political power?" Harry repeated, confusion evident in his voice.

"The old families—particularly the Sacred Twenty-Eight—hold significant influence in wizarding Britain," Sirius explained. "The Blacks have three hereditary seats on the Wizengamot, plus voting rights in the International Confederation of Wizards. That's power that Dumbledore and the Ministry can't simply ignore."

Harry's eyes widened as understanding dawned. "And that's why you claimed the lordship for?”

Sirius nodded. "Before my supposed 'death,' I hadn't officially claimed the lordship since I was a fugitive. However, the goblins are clever. They permitted me to claim my title once I demonstrated my innocence with veritaserum and pensive memories. The condition was that I immediately designate an heir, ensuring that even if the ministry captured me and the dementors executed their kiss, there would still be an heir named and able to claim the seats and lordship.”

Harry blinked and stared at Sirius. He had an inkling of what he was going on about, but was not ready to voice his suspicions.

Sirius's expression softened as he noticed Harry's bewildered look. "Harry, I named you as my heir. The moment I claimed the Black lordship, I filed the paperwork to make you my legal and magical heir. The heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black."
Harry's mouth fell open in shock. "Me? But I'm not—I mean, I'm not a Black by blood. Wouldn't Draco or someone else have a stronger claim?"

"Blood isn't everything," Sirius said with a dismissive wave. "Magic recognizes intent and bonds. As Lord Black, I have the right to name my heir, and I chose you." He explained, his eyes warm with affection. "Besides, you do have Black blood through your grandmother Dorea Potter, née Black. It's distant, but it's there. The Black family magic accepted you with open arms."

Harry sat in stunned silence, processing this new information. It was one more connection to the wizarding world, one more responsibility he hadn't asked for.

"So, what does this mean exactly?" he finally asked.

"It means that right now, as my heir, you have certain protections under magical law that even Dumbledore can't circumvent." Sirius gave a wry smile. “It also means that should anything happen to me—again—you would become Lord Black. All the family's assets, properties, and political power would be yours." He paused, watching Harry carefully.

“Although, technically, to everyone else who doesn’t know I am alive, you should be able to claim the Black lordship at the same time you would claim the Potter lordship. You’ll be known as Lord Potter-Black, since Potter is your paternal house, it takes precedence over house Black.”

Harry’s eyebrows went up to his hairline then down in a deep frown as he processed all the information, while his fingers nervously drummed against the arm of his wheelchair. "So I'm not just the Boy-Who-Lived and the Chosen One, but also the heir to not one, but two ancient wizarding houses?"

"I'm afraid so, pup," Sirius confirmed with a sympathetic grimace. "But this is different. This is power you can actually use—political leverage that Dumbledore can't take away from you."

"I don't know the first thing about being a lord of anything. I don't know if I can do it, Sirius. Represent both houses, help with the war." Harry admitted, looking down at his limp legs with a bitter twist to his mouth. "Especially now."

Sirius reached out, placing a warm hand on Harry's shoulder. "Your disability doesn't change your magical status, Harry. If anything, it makes these protections even more important. As the Potter heir and future lord, you're entitled to certain accommodations, protection and power under magical law. And all of those multiply with the Black heirship and potential lordship.”

The revelation hit Harry like a tidal wave, leaving him breathless. Sirius moved closer, his eyes filled with understanding. "It's a lot to take in, I know.”

"It's not that," Harry said, his voice quiet. "It's just... another thing that sets me apart. Another way I'm not normal. Another weight."

Sirius gave Harry's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I know that feeling all too well. But this power—it’s different from the prophecy or the Boy-Who-Lived stuff. It's something real you can use to defend yourself and your loved ones. This isn't a burden, Harry. It's a shield." He then touched Harry's cheek, soothingly. "And if Dumbledore continues his manipulative tactics or the Ministry tries to meddle with you, you now have the power to fight back."

Harry nodded slowly, his mind racing with the implications. He met Sirius’s gaze. “What about you?”

Sirius tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. "What about me?"

"I mean, you're still Lord Black," Harry clarified, gesturing vaguely with his hand. "You're not... you're not planning on disappearing again, are you?"

The question hung in the air, revealing Harry's deepest fear—that Sirius might once again be torn from his life, leaving him alone to shoulder these new responsibilities.

Sirius's expression softened immediately. "No, pup. I'm not going anywhere." He moved to kneel beside Harry's wheelchair, taking his godson's hands in his own. "The Ancient One helped me understand something important about the Veil. It’s just a doorway, and it just wasn't my time—not really. The magic recognized that and... well, let's just say I've been given a second chance. One I don't intend to waste."

Relief flooded Harry's features. "Good," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Because I don't think I could handle losing you again."

"You won't," Sirius promised, his voice steady with conviction. "I'm here to stay, Harry.”

Harry blinked and released a shaky breath he was holding. "What does that mean for the lordship?"

Sirius's expression cleared, and he leaned back in his chair. "Well, my will hasn't been officially read at Gringotts. Dumbledore's likely been trying to prevent that from happening, since he'd lose some control over you once you claim the Black lordship."

Harry nodded, processing this information. "So, the goblins don’t know you're alive, and the wizarding world thinks you're dead, and I'm your secret heir and the goblins expect me to become Lord Potter as well as Lord Black."

"Precisely." Sirius ran a hand through his hair again. "It's complicated, but it works in our favor for now.”

"And what about when people find out you're alive?" Harry asked, his brow furrowed with concern. "What happens then? I stay as your heir?"

Sirius smiled, a hint of the old mischief dancing in his eyes. "The Black family magic has already accepted you, Harry. That can't be undone. You will be my heir even after everyone knows I’m alive. Besides, you were always my only choice. All I did was formalize it.” Sirius leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly even though they were alone.

"And we can use that to our advantage. Once I publicly reclaim my title—which will cause quite the stir, I might add—I will officially recognize you as my heir in front of the Wizengamot.” Sirius grinned as if he had just pulled the greatest prank ever. “I can imagine the look on their faces as they realized that you not only claimed your birthright heirship, but also have a secret one up your sleeve.”

Harry sat back in his wheelchair, feeling the weight of this new information settle over him. It was strange to think of himself as the heir to not just one, but two ancient houses. A potential lord with political power and responsibilities he'd never been prepared for.

"When I go back to England—if I go back—I'll have more than just Voldemort to worry about," Harry said softly. "I'll have politics too."

"If and when you go back," Sirius sobered up and emphasized, "you'll have me by your side. And Tony, and Peter, and everyone else who cares about you." He squeezed Harry's hand. "You won't face any of it alone."

Harry nodded, trying to maintain a strong front. “I need to work on my magic. I won’t be able to go back if I don’t regain control.” Seeing the confused look Sirius was giving him, Harry explained. "Lately, my wand's not responding properly. I've tried wandless magic, and that works sometimes, but—"

"But?" Sirius prompted gently.

Harry admitted, "As my wandless magic gets better and more powerful, using my wand has become a nightmare. Everything is too intense, as if the wand refuses to listen to me anymore."

Sirius furrowed his brow and nodded, contemplating the new obstacle. "I understand," he replied. "Let's see what you've got."

Harry paused momentarily before concentrating on the glass of water on the nearby table. Without reaching for his wand, he flicked his wrist, and the glass lifted shakily into the air.

Sirius watched, his eyes wide in amazement. "Harry, that's remarkable! Wandless magic at your age is rare."

Harry kept his focus on the hovering glass, his brow furrowed in concentration. The glass trembled slightly, water sloshing against its sides, before he gently guided it back down to the table.

"It's inconsistent," Harry said, flexing his fingers. "Sometimes it works perfectly, other times..." He gestured toward the glass. "And it's exhausting."

"Wandless magic requires more concentration and raw power," Sirius explained, leaning forward to examine Harry more closely. "But if you're managing this level of control already, that's extraordinary." He paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "May I see your wand?"

Harry extended his hand to retrieve his Holly wand, tucked into the pocket of his right pant leg. Sirius observed a brief wince flicker across Harry's face as his fingers wrapped around it.

"It feels... wrong," Harry explained, holding the wand out. "Like it's fighting me."

Sirius took the wand carefully, turning it over in his hands. The moment his fingers touched the wood, he felt a strange vibration.

"Interesting," Sirius murmured, examining the wand closely. "It's almost as if the wand is... agitated."

"Agitated?" Harry frowned, watching as Sirius carefully turned the wand in his hands.

"Wands are semi-sentient magical objects, Harry. They form bonds with their wizards." Sirius held the wand up to eye level, studying it with the intensity of a jeweler examining a rare gem.

"Your magic has altered a lot since your injury. The paralysis, the trauma you've gone through, and the impact of the bindings—although I’m not an expert, I believe it hasn’t just released your magical core, but also transformed it," he concluded gently.

"Is that why it feels like it's resisting me?" Harry asked, worry etched on his face.

Sirius nodded slowly. "It's possible. Your wand chose you based on who you were at eleven. People change naturally as they grow older, but usually gradually enough that their wands adapt with them." He handed the wand back carefully. "Your change was much too sudden and profound."

Harry took the wand reluctantly, feeling that uncomfortable vibration against his palm once more. "So what do I do? Get a new wand?"

"Perhaps," Sirius said thoughtfully. "Though that might not be the full solution." He leaned forward, eyes intent on Harry's wand. "Your magic is changing, evolving. The trauma to your body forced your magic to adapt in ways most wizards never experience. Your wand just wasn’t ready for the change. Maybe it just needs some time to adjust to your magic."

Harry stared at his wand with a mix of frustration and loss. This wand had been with him through everything—his first spell, his duel with Voldemort, saving Sirius. It felt like losing an old friend. "What if it doesn’t adapt? My wand, I mean."

"Then we’ll get you a new wand," Sirius said with certainty. "We'll find someone who can craft you something unique, something specifically attuned to who you are now." Sirius placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "In the meantime, we should focus on developing your wandless abilities. It seems your magic has naturally begun shifting in that direction anyway."

Harry nodded, placing his wand back in his pocket. "I've been practicing when I can. Usually when I'm alone, so I don't accidentally set anything on fire." He gave a small, self-deprecating smile. "It's happened a few times."

"That's normal," Sirius assured him with a chuckle. "Your wandless magic will stabilize with practice." He glanced around the workshop. "This is the perfect place to work on control. Plenty of small objects to manipulate, and Tony's probably fireproofed everything anyway."

Harry laughed, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders. "Probably. After the first couple of incidents with my magic, he reinforced everything in my room and the med bay."

"Smart man," Sirius laughed approvingly. "Now, lets—”

Their conversation was cut short by a sudden gasp from Harry when he twisted his torso slightly to one side to reach for something on the table. Pain radiated through his back, sharp and relentless, leaving him struggling for breath.

"Harry!" Sirius exclaimed, panic threading his voice. He rushed to Harry's side, crouching next to the wheelchair. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Can't—" he gasped. "Can't breathe—" Harry managed through gritted teeth, his face pale and drawn, his back seizing with spasms.

"Hang on, I've got you," Sirius said, desperation in his tone as he carefully gathered Harry into his arms. "FRIDAY, get help! Medical emergency!"

"Already alerted Dr. Cho and Mr. Stark," FRIDAY responded immediately. "They're on their way. ETA two minutes."

Sirius cradled Harry against his chest, feeling helpless as his godson's body trembled with pain. "Easy, pup, easy," he murmured, trying to hold Harry steady without causing more discomfort. "Just breathe with me. In and out, that's it."

Harry struggled to follow Sirius's instructions, each breath shallow and labored. The pain was white-hot, radiating from somewhere in the middle of his back in waves that threatened to pull him under. His fingers clutched at Sirius's shirt, knuckles white with tension.

"It's okay, pup, I've got you," Sirius murmured, his own heart hammering against his ribs as he held Harry steady.

The door burst open as Tony rushed in, Dr. Cho right behind him. Their faces registered matching expressions of alarm as they took in the scene.

"What happened?" Dr. Cho demanded, already moving to Harry's side, her medical expertise already taking over.

"S-sorry," Harry gasped, frustrated tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "Moved…wrong."

"Let's get him back to the med bay," Dr. Cho instructed calmly, though her eyes betrayed her concern. "Carefully now."

Sirius rose smoothly with Harry still cradled in his arms, the teen's body rigid with pain. Tony hovered anxiously beside them, his hand reaching out to steady Harry's head as they moved.

"FRIDAY, tell the med team we're coming," Tony ordered, his voice tight with worry. "And check if any of Harry's meds are in this room—pain potions, anything."

“A new batch of medications is on its way,” FRIDAY reported.

"Thanks, FRIDAY," Tony acknowledged, his eyes never leaving Harry's face as they quickly moved through the corridor.

Sirius adjusted his grip, trying to minimize any jostling as Harry's breaths came in sharp, shallow gasps. "Hold on, pup," he murmured. "Almost there."

The med bay doors slid open automatically as they approached. A medical team stood ready, quickly directing Sirius to place Harry back on his bed. Dr. Cho moved with practiced efficiency, her hands gentle but sure as she helped position Harry.

"On his side," she instructed. "Carefully now."

Sirius eased Harry onto the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. Harry's face was ashen, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead as his breathing came in short, pained gasps.

"It's a muscle spasm," Dr. Cho explained, her fingers gently probing Harry's back. "Likely triggered by the twist. The muscles above his injury are overcompensating for the paralyzed ones below."

Tony hovered at the foot of the bed, his knuckles white as he gripped the railing. "What can we do?"

"I need the muscle relaxant," Dr. Cho instructed one of her staff, who quickly retrieved a syringe from a nearby medical cabinet. "And his pain potion."

A nurse appeared with a familiar vial of pearlescent blue liquid. Dr. Cho uncapped the syringe and administered the muscle relaxant first, her movements precise despite Harry's rigid trembling.

"This will help the spasm," she assured him softly. "The pain potion will take effect shortly after."

Sirius maintained his position at Harry's side, one hand gently resting on his godson's hair.

"Deep breaths," Sirius encouraged softly. "The medicine will kick in soon."

True to Dr. Cho's word, the muscle relaxant began to take effect within minutes. Harry's rigid posture gradually softened, his breathing becoming less labored as the medication circulated through his system. Dr. Cho carefully administered the pain potion next, holding the vial to Harry's lips.

"Small sips," she instructed gently. "That's it."

Harry managed to swallow the potion, grimacing at the taste despite its familiarity. The effect was almost immediate – a cooling sensation that seemed to spread from his core outward, dulling the sharp edges of his pain.

"Better?" Tony asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he watched Harry's face for signs of relief.

Harry nodded weakly, the combination of medications making his eyelids heavy. "Sorry," he murmured, embarrassment coloring his voice. "I didn't think... just tried to reach for that tool," Harry finished, his voice heavy with fatigue and frustration.

"Don't apologize," Sirius said firmly, brushing Harry's damp hair from his forehead. "This isn't your fault."

Dr. Cho checked Harry's vitals on the monitor beside the bed, her expression professional but kind. "The medication combination will make you drowsy. That's normal and actually beneficial—your muscles need to relax completely to reset."

Tony moved closer, his usual confident demeanor replaced by genuine concern. "You scared us there, kiddo."

"Didn't mean to," Harry mumbled, his eyes already drooping as the medications took fuller effect. "The mirrors..."

"Can be done here," Sirius finished gently. "Rest now. We'll handle everything else."

Harry wanted to protest, but the combination of pain potions and muscle relaxants made it hard to talk and fight the urge to sleep at the same time.

"Go to sleep, pup. I'm not going anywhere," Sirius promised, brushing a strand of hair from Harry's forehead. Harry's eyes fluttered shut, comforted by the warmth of Sirius's and Tony’s presence. He drifted into sleep, his breathing slow and steady.

Dr. Cho checked Harry's vital signs one last time, her expression relaxing as the readings stabilized. "The medications are working as expected. He'll sleep for a while, and the pain should be manageable now."

Tony exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. "What triggered this? He seemed fine earlier."

"Likely a combination of factors," Dr. Cho explained, making notes on her tablet. "Overexertion, since he has been working extra during therapy, and the awkward twisting motion. The muscles in his upper back are working overtime to compensate for the paralyzed lower region. He really needs to slow down and be more careful with his movements." Dr. Cho finished, closing her tablet with a gentle snap.

"Does this happen often?" Sirius asked, his voice tight with concern, eyes never leaving Harry's sleeping form.

Tony and Dr. Cho exchanged a quick glance before she answered.

"More often than he admits," Dr. Cho said softly. "The spasms vary in intensity. So far, he's had minor ones during and after physical therapy, but he usually tries to work through them rather than complain."

"Stubborn," Tony said, though his tone held more affection than criticism. "So far, Peter is the one Harry listens to the most.”

Sirius gave a half-hearted smile, still too shaken by Harry's sudden pain to fully appreciate the implication. "I bet he gets him distracted with other stuff. I should have been more careful with him. I didn’t know he was pushing himself too hard."

"This isn't on you, you just got here." Tony said firmly, moving to stand beside Sirius. "Harry's just learning how to deal with all these changes. The kid's determined to get stronger, sometimes at his own expense."

Dr. Cho nodded in agreement. "His determination is admirable, but he often pushes past his body's natural warning signals." She checked the IV line delivering the medication into Harry’s system. “He has been healing and improving fairly fast—due to his magic, I believe— and that may have been giving him the wrong idea. See, usually, a person with his kind of injury, would take weeks to recover from the initial shock and the surgeries performed to fix the spine and stabilize the injury. Harry did that in a matter of days. Although he was still weak, and had a couple of setbacks, he was progressing at an impressive rate. Then we got the potion regiment from the goblins and his energy levels improved exponentially.” She paused for a moment to let the information sink in.

“All in all, Harry’s accelerated recovery is good, but it can also be misleading. He still needs to learn to pace himself better and understand the limitations of his body. "

Sirius's face fell at her words, grief washing over him as he struggled to accept the finality of Harry's condition. "He'll always be in pain like this?"

"We're not sure yet," Dr. Cho replied swiftly, her voice gentler than before. "Injuries like his often lead to side effects such as neuropathic pain, muscle spasms, and fatigue. However, Harry's magical nature adds a layer of complexity that we're still trying to understand. With the right approach—medication, physical therapy, and understanding his limits—these episodes should become less frequent and intense. He must be cautious with sudden movements, particularly twisting ones. At the moment, his body is clearly signaling the need for rest."

Sirius nodded, his gaze fixed on Harry's peaceful face. The medications had eased the lines of pain, making him look younger, more vulnerable in sleep. "I should have been there for him from the beginning," he whispered with sorrow. "All those years..."

"You're here now," Tony said firmly. "That's what matters."

Dr. Cho checked Harry's vitals one more time before getting ready to leave the room just as Natasha, Steve, Wanda, and Vision silently walked back in, silent worry clear in their faces.

"Mr. Black, for Harry, this is a matter of patience and learning from his own mistakes. You should try to encourage him to communicate when he's experiencing discomfort rather than pushing through it." Dr. Cho finished her explanation to Sirius before nodding to the others entering the room. "He'll be sleeping for several hours. The muscle relaxant is quite strong, and he will still need to take it easy at least until tomorrow."

Natasha moved closer to Tony and Sirius, speaking in a soft tone. “We have everything ready, but we can postpone if necessary.”

Sirius shook his head. “No. I can work from here. It will give me something to distract myself with while Harry sleeps.” He looked up at Tony. “Can you get the materials here instead?”

"Absolutely," Tony replied, already reaching for his phone. "FRIDAY, have the mirror supplies redirected to the med bay. Set up a workspace in the south corner of the room."

"Already rerouting, boss," FRIDAY confirmed. "The mirrors and materials will arrive in thirty minutes. I'm also configuring the med bay's electromagnetic shielding to minimize interference with the magical work."

Wanda moved to the other side of Harry's bed, her eyes soft with concern as she watched his peaceful face. "Oh, miláčik," she murmured, her accent thickening with emotion. “What happened?” She asked looking at Tony and Sirius. “He was fine just a while ago.”

"Just a muscle spasm," Tony explained quietly, his voice carrying the weight of his concern. "He twisted wrong while reaching for something and his back seized up."

Wanda's expression darkened with sympathy. "The pain must have been terrible."

"It was," Sirius confirmed, his fingers unconsciously smoothing Harry's hair. "I've never felt so helpless."

Steve moved closer to the group, his tactical mind already shifting to practical concerns. "I agree with Nat. If Harry's going to be recovering, we should delay the London mission."

"No," Sirius said again, more firmly this time. “That would only make him feel guilty about wasting precious time, we can…”

Sirius was interrupted by FRIDAY’s urgent voice. “Boss, there is a Spider situation in progress. Suit integrity is compromised, the contact with KAREN is breaking, and I am unable to contact Peter directly.”

Tony’s body tensed while everyone else was immediately on alert. “What?! Why? What happened? Peter was not supposed to be on patrol!” Tony exclaimed as quietly as he could.

“KAREN was able to relay some information before the communications became spotty. Apparently, Peter detected something off while he was at home. As a precaution, he put on the suit and left the apartment, hoping to lure whatever was around away from May and young Mr. Ned Leeds, who were in the apartment with him. Peter was attacked two minutes after leaving the apartment. From the brief descriptions I was able to piece together, the two attackers were using wands. It seems that Peter was able to fend them off and incapacitate them, but he is injured. Due to the damage to the suit, I am unable to determine the extent of his injuries or his exact location."

Tony's face went white, his protective instincts flaring as he processed the information. "Wizards attacked Peter?" His voice was dangerously quiet, the kind of calm that preceded a storm.

Sirius's face had gone ashen. "It can’t be…" he whispered, his hand instinctively moving to where his wand was concealed. He looked up at Tony as he stood up. "Harry said that Peter was with him the two times Dumbledore and Snape showed up."

"They cant be targeting Peter to get to Harry." Natasha said sharply, though her expression betrayed her own concern. “Or leaking the information about him to other wizards,” Steve added. "Tony…” Natasha nodded in agreement with Steve as Tony moved to exit the room.

“I am going. Sirius, get working on those mirrors. We need to get in contact with your friends as soon as possible. Natasha, get in contact with Quahog and update him on the situation. Get information about Saruman’s contacts in the US and see if Quahog is willing to intervene. Helen, get everything ready for Peter. The usual mumbo-jumbo. I’ll get FRIDAY to get you up to speed with everything as soon as I have Pete.”

Tony was already halfway to the door when FRIDAY's voice crackled through the speakers again, her usual calm demeanor replaced by urgency.

"Boss, I've pinpointed Peter's location. He's approximately four miles northeast of his apartment, moving erratically through Queens. Heart rate is elevated beyond normal post-combat levels."

"Keep tracking him and guide me there," Tony commanded, his voice tight with barely controlled panic. "And prep the Mark 52 for immediate deployment."

Steve stepped forward, his expression grim but determined. "I'm coming with you."

"No," Tony spat, turning around. “Ross is on high alert looking for you. The last thing I need is having to deal with him while I am trying to get to my kid. I am going in and out. We’ll worry about the attackers later. I just need to get Peter back.”

With that, Tony left, not giving Steve or anyone else time to say or do anything more.

Steve clenched his jaw, frustration evident in his posture, but he nodded, understanding the logic even if he didn't like it. "Be careful, Tony."

The room fell into tense silence after Tony's departure, broken only by the steady beeping of Harry's monitors and the distant hum of the compound's systems. Sirius stood frozen for a moment, staring at the door through which Tony had disappeared, his mind racing with implications.