**Two Weeks After the Expo Incident**
Harry sat at a sidewalk café in Greenwich Village, phone in hand, watching Tony Stark systematically destroy Justin Hammer's credibility in front of Congress. The hearing had happened yesterday, but the internet was still gleefully dissecting every moment.
"—if you could sign this into evidence—" Hammer was saying, gesturing to screens showing what was clearly stolen Stark technology exploding spectacularly.
"I'd say most countries are five to ten years away," Tony interrupted, looking bored. "Hammer Industries, twenty."
The committee erupted. Hammer's face went through several interesting shades of red. And Tony Stark sat there looking like he'd just won a game no one else realized they were playing.
Harry couldn't help but smile. The man was insufferable, arrogant, and absolutely correct. Watching him run circles around politicians who wanted to weaponize his technology was oddly satisfying.
"That's the Congressional hearing?"
Harry looked up. Jenna slid into the seat across from him, coffee already in hand, sketchbook under her arm. They'd done this four times now—casual coffee, easy conversation, nothing heavy. She still thought he was just a British guy exploring the city. He hadn't corrected that assumption.
"Yeah. Stark basically told the government they can't have his tech because they're not smart enough to use it." Harry pocketed his phone. "Went about as well as you'd expect."
"He's kind of an ass," Jenna observed.
"Completely. But he's not wrong."
"Those things aren't mutually exclusive." She pulled out her sketchbook, flipping to a page covered in gesture drawings—people in motion, captured in quick, confident lines. "So, I have a favor to ask."
"Ominous start."
"My roommate bailed on this art exhibition opening tonight. Gallery in Chelsea, free wine, pretentious people discussing the 'profound symbolism' of paint splatters. Want to come? As my platonic buffer against awkward small talk?"
Harry hesitated. The Ancient One's mission was to engage with the world, and he'd been doing that. Coffee, conversations, wandering the city like a normal person. But an art gallery opening felt like a step further. More public. More exposed.
The armor stirred against his back—not warning, but encouragement. It liked when he pushed his boundaries.
"Sure," Harry heard himself say. "Why not?"
"Excellent. Seven PM, I'll text you the address. Dress nice but not *too* nice. We're going for 'I appreciate art' not 'I'm here to buy the gallery.'" Jenna grinned. "This is going to be either amazing or a complete disaster."
"I'm familiar with both."
They talked for another hour—about her art, about New York, about nothing consequential. Easy, comfortable conversation that required no magic, no explanations, no weight.
When Jenna left to meet her professor, Harry stayed, finishing his coffee and watching people pass. The city had become familiar now. Not home—Kamar-Taj was closer to home than anywhere had been in years—but comfortable. Known.
His phone buzzed. Master Daniel: *Ancient One wants a check-in. Nothing urgent. When you're free.*
Harry paid his tab and walked back to the Sanctum, the armor adjusting his appearance subtly to make him forgettable. One of its more useful tricks—not invisibility, but the magical equivalent of "don't look at me."
The Sanctum was quiet. Daniel was in the library, cataloging texts that looked older than most countries. He looked up as Harry entered.
"Good coffee?"
"Excellent coffee. This city has ruined me for British tea." Harry collapsed into a chair. "What does the Ancient One want?"
"Just confirmation you're still alive and haven't accidentally exposed magic to the masses." Daniel set down the text he'd been examining—something in Sanskrit that made Harry's eyes water just looking at the script. "How's the civilian integration going?"
"Better than expected. Made a friend. Going to an art gallery tonight. Living the dream of being completely normal."
"And Tony Stark?"
Harry's stomach dropped. "What about him?"
"JARVIS—his AI—has been running facial recognition searches across the city. Flagging every camera, every database, looking for you specifically." Daniel's expression was carefully neutral. "The Ancient One's shielding is holding, but Stark's persistent. If you keep appearing in public, eventually he'll find you."
"So what, I'm supposed to hide? Isn't that the opposite of what I'm here to do?"
"I'm saying be aware. Stark's not malicious, but he's dangerously curious. If he figures out you're not normal—if he connects you to the Expo incident—he'll dig until he finds answers. And some answers shouldn't be found by civilians, no matter how brilliant they are."
Harry thought about that. About Tony Stark's Congressional testimony, his absolute conviction that he alone should control his technology because he alone could be trusted with it.
"He thinks he's the only one who can protect people," Harry said slowly.
"He does. Because from his perspective, he *is*. He doesn't know about Kamar-Taj, about the mystical threats we face, about everything happening outside his worldview." Daniel leaned forward. "The Ancient One's monitoring him. He's important—will be more important soon. But he's not ready to know about us. Not yet. So if you encounter him—"
"Deny everything and run away very fast?"
"I was going to say 'be diplomatic,' but yours works too."
Harry left the library, heading to his room to change for the gallery opening. The armor helped, shifting into dark slacks and a button-down that looked expensive but not ostentatious. Gallery-appropriate.
He was adjusting his collar when his phone buzzed. Jenna: *Change of plans. Gallery got flooded. Pipe burst. Very dramatic. Rain check?*
Harry typed back: *No problem. Next week?*
*Definitely. Sorry for the last-minute cancellation!*
Harry set his phone down, oddly disappointed. He'd been looking forward to it—to pretending to understand modern art, to people-watching, to being normal for a few more hours.
The armor hummed with what felt like sympathy.
"Don't start," Harry muttered. "You're supposed to be ancient and wise, not emotionally invested in my social calendar."
The armor's amusement was palpable.
Harry was considering whether to spend the evening training or reading when his phone rang. Unknown number.
He answered cautiously. "Hello?"
"Harry Potter?" The voice was American, male, slightly mechanical like it was being filtered through something. "This is JARVIS, Mr. Stark's AI assistant. Mr. Stark would very much like to speak with you. He's currently outside your building, if you're available."
Harry's blood turned to ice. "How did you get this number?"
"Mr. Stark is very resourceful. Also, your phone's security could use improvement. He suggests upgrading to Stark-level encryption, which he's happy to provide free of charge if you agree to a conversation."
Harry moved to the window. Looked down.
Sure enough, a sleek black car was parked outside the Sanctum. And leaning against it, wearing sunglasses despite the fading light and looking exactly as arrogant as he had on television, was Tony Stark.
*Shit.*
"Tell him I'm not interested," Harry said.
"He anticipated that response. He's asked me to inform you that he'll simply wait outside until you agree to talk, and he's brought snacks so he can wait for quite some time. Also, he's aware you caught an EMP device at his Expo, and he'd like to say thank you in person. With coffee. Or alcohol. Your choice."
Harry closed his eyes. This was a disaster. Stark wasn't supposed to find him. The Ancient One's shielding was supposed to hold. But apparently, determination and an AI powerful enough to crack mystical protections (or circumvent them through sheer technological stubbornness) trumped magical security.
"Fine," Harry said. "One conversation. Then he leaves me alone."
"Mr. Stark doesn't have an excellent track record with 'leaving people alone,' but I'll convey your terms."
The line went dead.
Harry looked at his reflection in the window. The armor had already adjusted his appearance—subtle, understated, nothing that screamed "magical warrior from another dimension."
*This is going to go badly,* he thought.
The armor pulsed with something that felt like *finally* and *about time* and possibly *this will be entertaining.*
"You're the worst," Harry told it.
He descended the stairs. Master Daniel intercepted him in the foyer, looking concerned.
"Stark's outside," Harry said.
"I'm aware. The Sanctum's wards are very chatty about unauthorized billionaire presences." Daniel studied Harry. "You don't have to talk to him."
"If I don't, he'll just keep looking. At least this way I can control the conversation." Harry paused at the door. "If this goes wrong—"
"I'll handle it. But Harry? Try not to expose magic to the man who built a functional arc reactor in a cave. He'll either worship you or try to reverse-engineer you, and I'm not sure which would be worse."
Harry stepped outside.
Tony Stark straightened immediately, pulling off his sunglasses with a flourish that was probably calculated to look casual. Up close, he looked tired—shadows under his eyes, slight tremor in his hands that he was clearly trying to hide.
"Harry Potter," Stark said, and his tone was friendly but his eyes were assessing, calculating, taking in every detail. "The man who moves like lightning and dresses like he shops at thrift stores run by minimalist monks. Thanks for agreeing to talk. I brought coffee." He gestured to the car. "Unless you prefer tea? British, right? I can do tea. JARVIS, where's the nearest place that does actual British tea, not the American approximation?"
"There's a tea house three blocks east, sir."
"Perfect. Walk with me?" Stark gestured down the street, already moving like Harry's agreement was a foregone conclusion. "Nice building, by the way. Historical property, interesting architecture, can't be photographed properly for some reason. You know anything about that?"
"It's old," Harry said, falling into step because standing there would be more conspicuous. "Old buildings do weird things sometimes."
"Weird like 'pre-war plumbing' or weird like 'something is actively preventing satellite imaging'? Because JARVIS ran seventeen different scans and got seventeen different results. That's not old building weird. That's something else."
Harry kept his expression neutral. "Maybe your scans were malfunctioning."
"My scans don't malfunction. I built them. They're perfect." Stark glanced at him. "You're good at this. The deflection, the casual misdirection. Very 'I'm just a normal guy' energy. But see, here's the thing—normal guys don't have reaction times that suggest they know where an EMP device will be before it's thrown. Normal guys don't wear jackets that shimmer with energy when hit with electromagnetic pulses. And normal guys definitely don't just vanish from security footage like they stepped through a door that doesn't exist."
They reached the tea house. Stark held the door open, gesturing Harry inside with exaggerated courtesy.
The place was small, quiet, decorated like someone's grandmother had been given unlimited budget and a passion for floral patterns. An elderly woman behind the counter looked up, recognized Stark immediately, and her expression suggested she was thrilled and terrified in equal measure.
"Two teas," Stark said, already pulling out a credit card that was probably made of platinum or something equally ridiculous. "Whatever's most British. Also, do you have scones? He looks like he'd appreciate scones."
"I don't need scones," Harry said.
"Everyone needs scones. It's in the Geneva Convention." Stark paid, overtipped by what looked like several hundred dollars, and steered Harry to a corner table away from the few other customers. "So. Let's be honest with each other, because I've got limited time and unlimited curiosity. You're not normal. You did something at my Expo that shouldn't be possible. And you're living in a building that my technology can't properly observe. I want to know why."
Harry met his gaze directly. "And if I say it's none of your business?"
"Then I'll respect that for approximately forty-eight hours before resuming my investigation, because I'm pathologically incapable of letting mysteries go." Stark leaned back, studying Harry like a particularly interesting equation. "But here's the thing—I'm not trying to expose you. I'm not going to put you on blast, report you to anyone, or make your life difficult. I just want to understand. Call it professional curiosity from one person with abilities people don't understand to another."
"I don't have abilities," Harry said carefully.
"Really? Because either you're enhanced—genetically, technologically, or some other way I haven't figured out yet—or you're the luckiest son of a bitch in New York. And I don't believe in luck." The tea arrived. Stark didn't touch his. "Look, I get it. You want privacy. You want to be left alone. Trust me, I understand the appeal. But you saved lives at my Expo. You put yourself at risk to protect people. That's not nothing. That's actually kind of a big deal. So as one person trying to do the right thing to another—help me understand. What are you?"
Harry picked up his tea, buying time. The armor was quiet, watchful, waiting to see how he'd handle this.
He could lie. Could deflect further. Could probably portal away before Stark realized what happened and leave him standing in a tea house looking confused.
But Daniel's words echoed: *Stark's important. Will be more important soon.*
And the Ancient One had sent Harry here to engage with the world. To be part of it. Maybe that meant trusting someone, even if that someone was an arrogant genius who'd weaponized curiosity.
"I'm trained," Harry said finally. "In things that aren't common. Things that most people don't know exist. And the building I'm staying in—it's protected. By people who prefer privacy. That's all I can tell you."
Stark's eyes lit up. "Oh, that's *fascinating*. So there's an organization. Multiple people with training in 'things that aren't common.' Are we talking espionage? Because you've got the look. Or military? Private security? Experimental government program that went off-book?"
"None of those."
"Then what?"
Harry sipped his tea, searching for words that would satisfy Stark's curiosity without revealing magic. "Have you ever considered that the world might be bigger than what you can see with technology? That there might be threats that don't show up on sensors or satellites?"
"You mean like magic?" Stark said it like a joke, but his expression was sharp, watching Harry's reaction.
Harry kept his face carefully neutral. "I mean like things that science hasn't explained yet. Things that operate on different rules."
"Science explains everything eventually. That's kind of the point of science."
"Does it?" Harry set down his tea. "You built an arc reactor in a cave. Something that shouldn't work according to conventional physics. Something that powers a suit that lets you fly, that makes you nearly invincible. How is that different from what you're calling impossible?"
"Because I can explain how it works. I can break it down, replicate it, improve it. That's technology, not magic."
"And if I told you I could do things that *look* like magic but follow rules you just haven't discovered yet? Would that satisfy your scientific worldview?"
Stark was quiet for a moment, processing. "You're saying you're using some kind of advanced science that appears magical to observers. Clarke's Third Law—sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic."
"Something like that." Close enough to the truth to be believable, far enough from it to maintain secrecy.
"Show me."
"What?"
"Show me something. Prove you're not just a really fast guy with good instincts." Stark leaned forward. "Come on. I showed you my arc reactor—" he tapped his chest, where the glow was visible even through his shirt "—so show me yours. Whatever makes you special. Quid pro quo."
Harry shouldn't. Knew he shouldn't. This was exactly what the Ancient One would tell him not to do.
But Stark was dying.
The armor had been quietly feeding him data since they sat down, analyzing, and now it was showing Harry what it had found: palladium poisoning, blood toxicity, the arc reactor slowly killing the man it was keeping alive.
Stark was dying, and he didn't care. Was still out here investigating mysteries, still trying to understand, still reaching for answers even as his own body betrayed him.
That kind of courage—reckless, stupid courage—deserved something.
Harry glanced around. The tea house was nearly empty. The elderly owner was in the back. No cameras that he could sense.
He raised his hand, palm up.
Golden light bloomed in his palm. Not dramatic—just a soft glow, intricate geometric patterns forming and reforming. A basic mandala, something students learned in their first month. Beautiful, impossible, and undeniably real.
Stark's eyes went wide. He reached out instinctively, then stopped, hand hovering near the light but not touching. "What... how..."
"Like I said. Things that science hasn't explained yet." Harry closed his hand, and the light vanished. "Satisfied?"
"Absolutely not. I have about a thousand questions. Starting with 'what was that,' moving through 'how does it work,' and ending somewhere around 'can I study you in a lab environment.'" Stark's grin was manic, delighted. "You're some kind of wizard."
"I really hate that word."
"But accurate?"
"Complicated." Harry stood. "I showed you because you saved my people once—the arc reactor technology you refused to give Congress? It keeps weapons away from people who'd misuse them. That's worth respect. But this conversation ends here. I'm not your science project, and I'm not interested in being studied."
"Okay, but consider: what if I'm really nice about it? What if I say please? I can say please. It'll be painful and awkward, but I'll do it."
Despite everything, Harry smiled. "Goodbye, Mr. Stark."
"Tony. Mr. Stark is my father, and we don't talk about him because daddy issues are boring." Stark stood too, something intense in his expression. "Look, I get it. You want privacy. But Harry—can I call you Harry?—you're something incredible. Something that suggests the world is bigger and stranger than I thought. And I've thought the world was pretty strange. So here's my offer: I won't tell anyone about you. Won't investigate further. Won't make your life complicated. But if you ever need something—technology, resources, a really expensive lawyer—call me."
He pulled out a card—actual business card, not holographic or high-tech, just embossed paper—and held it out.
Harry took it. "Why would I need your help?"
"Because people like us—people with power that makes us different—we attract trouble. It's like a law of nature. And when trouble comes, it helps to have friends with resources." Stark's expression turned serious. "You saved lives at my Expo. You're clearly trying to help people. So if you ever need backup, or tech support, or just someone who understands what it's like to be something other than normal—I'm here."
Harry pocketed the card, oddly touched despite himself. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it. Actually, do mention it. Tell all your mysterious wizard friends that Tony Stark is a great guy who respects boundaries and definitely doesn't have JARVIS monitoring this entire conversation for data analysis."
"You're doing that, aren't you?"
"One hundred percent. But respectfully! With good intentions!" Stark held up his hands. "Okay, I'm leaving. Going back to California, dealing with my impending mortality, the usual. But seriously—call if you need anything. Or if you just want to chat about impossible things over coffee. I'm an excellent conversationalist once you get past the defensive arrogance."
He left, walking with the kind of casual confidence that suggested he owned the city. Harry watched him go, then looked down at the business card.
Simple. Elegant. Just a name, a number, and the Stark Industries logo.
*Tony Stark: Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist.*
"Subtle," Harry muttered.
He returned to the Sanctum to find Master Daniel waiting with an expression of profound resignation.
"You showed him magic."
"Just a mandala. Nothing big."
"Harry. You showed *Tony Stark* magic. The man who reverse-engineers alien technology for fun. The man who built a particle accelerator in his basement." Daniel rubbed his temples. "The Ancient One is going to have opinions about this."
"She wanted me to engage with the world. I engaged. Very engagingly."
"That's not—" Daniel stopped, sighed. "Fine. What's done is done. How did he react?"
"Like someone who just discovered physics has a cheat code he didn't know about. Excited. Curious. Definitely going to think about it obsessively." Harry paused. "He's dying, by the way. Palladium poisoning from his arc reactor. Probably has months at most."
Daniel's expression shifted to something more serious. "The Ancient One knows. She's monitoring his timeline. There's a solution, but he has to find it himself. Part of his journey."
"That's awfully cold."
"That's necessity. Stark becomes something important, but only if he walks his own path. If we intervene—if we hand him answers—the future changes. Not for the better." Daniel studied Harry. "Did he ask for help?"
"No. He doesn't even know I know. The armor read his biometrics." Harry looked at the business card again. "He offered to help me, actually. If I ever need resources or backup."
"And will you? Take him up on that offer?"
Harry thought about it. About Tony Stark, dying and defiant. About someone else who understood what it meant to be marked by power you didn't fully choose.
"Maybe," Harry said. "If the need arises."
He went to his room, tucked the business card into a drawer, and tried not to think about the fact that he'd just broken the Ancient One's careful plans by befriending someone he was supposed to observe from a distance.
The armor hummed with satisfaction.
"You're a terrible influence," Harry told it.
The armor didn't disagree.
---
**Three Days Later**
Harry's phone rang at 6 AM, which was universally recognized as an unreasonable time for anything except emergencies or revenge.
"Hello?" he mumbled, half-asleep.
"Harry! Buddy! Friend! Person I definitely didn't just meet days ago!" Tony Stark's voice was far too energetic for this hour. "How do you feel about Monaco?"
Harry sat up, suddenly awake. "What?"
"Monaco. Tiny country, big casinos, formula racing. I'm flying out for the Grand Prix, and I've got an extra seat on my private jet because Rhodey bailed—something about 'Air Force responsibilities' and 'not enabling your self-destructive behavior.' Very judgmental. Anyway, you should come. We'll watch fast cars, drink expensive champagne, I'll almost certainly make questionable decisions. It'll be great."
"Why would you invite me to Monaco?"
"Because you're interesting, and I collect interesting people. Also, you did that glowy hand thing and I have questions. So many questions. Did you know JARVIS has been modeling the energy patterns and we can't replicate them? It's driving me crazy. Crazy in a good way, but still." Stark paused. "Also, I may have realized that dying alone surrounded by yes-men and corporate lawyers sounds depressing, and you seem like someone who'd tell me if I'm being an idiot. So. Monaco. Private jet leaves in four hours. You in?"
Harry should say no. Should maintain distance. Should remember all of Master Daniel's warnings about getting involved with Stark's trajectory.
"I need to check with someone first," Harry said.
"Great! Check fast. Also, pack light. We'll be there two days max, and Monaco has excellent shopping if you forget anything. Text me your answer!" The line went dead.
Harry stared at his phone, then went to find Master Daniel.
The librarian was in the kitchen, making breakfast with the kind of precision that suggested either meditation or barely suppressed frustration.
"Tony Stark just invited me to Monaco," Harry said.
"Of course he did." Daniel didn't look up from his eggs. "The man makes impulsive decisions like breathing. What did you say?"
"That I'd check with you first. So... can I go to Monaco with a dying billionaire to watch car racing?"
Daniel was quiet for a long moment. "The Ancient One's been monitoring Stark's timeline. There's an incident coming in Monaco. An attack. Someone from his past with a grudge and technology that shouldn't exist." He finally looked at Harry. "If you're there, you might interfere. Change things that are supposed to happen."
"Or I might save lives."
"Or that." Daniel served himself eggs, then pushed the pan toward Harry. "The Ancient One gave me discretion on your activities. She said—and I quote—'let him make his own choices. We can adjust the timeline if needed.'" He smiled slightly. "I think she knew Stark would do something like this. She usually does."
"So I can go?"
"You can go. But Harry—if things get dangerous, if Stark's in genuine trouble—use your judgment. The armor chose you for your instincts. Trust them."
Four hours later, Harry found himself in a private jet that probably cost more than most countries' GDP, sitting across from Tony Stark who was simultaneously piloting the plane and arguing with someone on the phone.
"—I don't care what the lawyers say, Pepper. It's my company, my plane, my extremely questionable life choices—" Stark glanced at Harry, mouthing 'sorry' while continuing his conversation. "No, I'm not bringing backup. I have backup. He's British. Very stoic. Probably knows martial arts. What more could you want?"
Harry raised an eyebrow. Stark grinned.
"Fine, yes, I'll check in daily. Yes, I'll try not to die. Yes, I'm aware you're the only thing keeping Stark Industries functional while I'm off having my existential crisis. You're a saint, Pepper. An incredibly frustrated saint with excellent organizational skills." He ended the call. "My assistant. She's convinced I'm going to die in Monaco doing something stupid."
"Are you?"
"Statistically possible? Sure. But I'm also dying slowly from palladium poisoning, so at least if I die in Monaco it'll be dramatic instead of sad." Stark's tone was light, but there was something brittle underneath. "You don't have to look so concerned. I'm making peace with it. Sort of. In my own emotionally unhealthy way."
"Have you looked for a cure?" Harry asked carefully.
"Looked? I've *exhausted* every option. New elements, filtration systems, alternative power sources. Nothing works. The arc reactor needs palladium, and palladium is killing me. It's very poetic and I hate it." Stark engaged the autopilot, leaning back. "But enough about my impending mortality. Tell me about the glowy hand thing. What was that? Energy manipulation? Bioelectric phenomenon? Something quantum?"
"It's complicated."
"Complicated is my favorite flavor. Come on, give me *something*. I've been good. Haven't stalked you, haven't run background checks—okay, I ran one background check, but it came back surprisingly boring so I assumed it was fake. Which means you're either very good at creating false identities, or you're protected by someone with serious resources." Stark studied him. "It's the second one, isn't it? The building you're staying in—that's not just your place. It's a... what, safehouse? Base of operations? Headquarters for your mysterious organization of people who do impossible things?"
"You're very persistent."
"I prefer 'intellectually curious to the point of social inappropriateness.'" Stark's expression turned more serious. "Look, I get it. Secrets, need-to-know basis, can't tell the weapons manufacturer about your supernatural abilities. But Harry—and I'm saying this as someone who's about to die and has limited patience for bullshit—the world's getting strange. Stranger. I've seen things that don't fit conventional science. Built things that shouldn't work. Met people who are more than they appear. And I have this feeling—this deeply annoying gut instinct—that something's coming. Something big. And people like us? We're going to be right in the middle of it."
Harry thought about Kaecilius. About Dormammu. About threats that Stark couldn't even begin to imagine.
"You're not wrong," Harry said quietly.
"I knew it! JARVIS, note that I was right. Time stamp it. I want credit for this prophetic moment." Stark leaned forward. "So what's coming? Aliens? Because I've got designs for anti-alien weapons. Interdimensional beings? More magic stuff? A plague of locusts with above-average intelligence?"
"I can't tell you. Not because I don't trust you—" though that was part of it "—but because some knowledge is dangerous. Some threats, you're better off not knowing about until you have to face them."
"That's deeply unsatisfying as an answer."
"I know. But it's the truth." Harry met his gaze. "What I can tell you is that there are people—an organization, like you guessed—who protect against threats that conventional military and science can't handle. We operate quietly. Keep things contained. And we're good at it."
"How good?"
"The world's still here, isn't it?"
Stark laughed—sharp, delighted. "Okay, that's actually a good point. Fine. Keep your secrets. For now. But when this mysterious threat arrives, when shit inevitably hits the fan—and it will, because that's how my life works—I want in. Whatever you're protecting against, I can help. I've got resources, tech, and an ego large enough to think I can fight gods."
"You might actually be able to," Harry said, because the armor was showing him potential futures—Stark in upgraded armor, fighting alongside heroes, standing against impossible odds. "But let's hope it doesn't come to that."
They flew in comfortable silence after that. Stark piloted with casual expertise while JARVIS handled the actual work, and Harry watched the Atlantic Ocean pass beneath them, thinking about choices and consequences and the fact that he was absolutely not following the Ancient One's plan anymore.
The armor hummed with approval.
---
Monaco was exactly as ridiculous as Harry expected: supercars, expensive hotels, and people who wore wealth like armor. Stark had booked suites at the Hotel de Paris—plural, because apparently one suite wasn't enough—and introduced Harry to the rest of his entourage with chaotic energy.
"This is Pepper Potts, my assistant who is frankly too good for me and will probably realize it any day now—"
"Already realized it, just haven't found a replacement who tolerates you yet," Pepper said, shaking Harry's hand with a smile that was professional but genuinely warm. She was beautiful in a way that was more about competence than conventional attractiveness—sharp, precise, and clearly the only reason Stark Industries functioned.
"—and this is Happy Hogan, head of security, terrible driver despite the name—"
"That was *one time* and there were extenuating circumstances!" Happy was built like a boxer, friendly face, handshake that tested Harry's grip strength. The armor reinforced automatically, and Happy's eyes widened slightly. "Strong grip."
"Boxing training," Harry lied smoothly.
"—and this is Natalie Rushman, our new notary public and assistant—"
"Legal liaison," the woman corrected, extending her hand. "Mr. Potter."
Harry shook her hand and felt something *shift*.
She was beautiful—strikingly so, red hair and sharp features and the kind of presence that suggested she was far more dangerous than her title implied. But that wasn't what made the armor go alert.
There was something in her. Not magic—not exactly—but something *else*. Something that resonated with the Resurrection Stone's power, something that tasted like alchemy, like life extended beyond natural limits.
Like Nicholas Flamel's Elixir of Life.
*Interesting,* the armor observed. *She's been altered. Enhanced. Not Hallows-level, but close.*
Harry kept his expression neutral, but Natalie's eyes narrowed slightly, like she'd noticed his reaction even though he'd barely shown one.
"Nice to meet you," Harry said.
"Likewise." Her accent was American, but there was something underneath—Russian, maybe? Her English was perfect, but she spoke like someone who'd learned multiple languages and could switch between them fluently. "Tony mentioned you're visiting from New York. First time in Monaco?"
"First time anywhere this... excessive."
She smiled. "It grows on you. Like mold, but expensive."
"Okay!" Stark clapped his hands. "Now that everyone's met Harry, who is definitely not a supernatural bodyguard but absolutely could be if needed, let's talk schedule. Grand Prix is tomorrow. Until then, we're sightseeing, gambling, and pretending I'm not slowly dying from heavy metal poisoning. Pepper's handling the boring corporate stuff—"
"The *important* corporate stuff—"
"—Happy's coordinating with the racing team, Natalie's doing whatever legal liaisons do—"
"Ensuring you don't accidentally sign away your company while intoxicated—"
"—and Harry's going to follow me around making sure I don't do anything too stupid. It's a good system. Very organized." Stark was already walking toward the casino entrance. "Come on! Time to lose money in French!"
The evening was surreal. Stark gambled with the kind of reckless confidence that suggested money was a theoretical concept rather than a real constraint. Pepper managed his chaos with practiced ease, intercepting journalists and business associates with diplomatic precision. Happy watched the crowd with professional paranoia. And Natalie...
Natalie watched Harry.
Not obviously. Not threateningly. But every time Harry glanced her direction, she was aware of him in a way that suggested training. Professional training. The kind that came from agencies that did things governments didn't officially acknowledge.
*She's intelligence,* Harry realized. *Spy. Probably sent to watch Stark. But by who?*
The armor was tracking her automatically, showing him her movement patterns, her micro-expressions, the way she positioned herself to maintain sight lines and exit routes.
She was good. Very good.
Which meant she was probably dangerous.
"So," Natalie said, appearing beside him at the bar while Stark was distracted by a group of admirers. "You're an interesting addition to Tony's entourage. He doesn't usually bring unknown quantities to international events."
"I'm a recent friend. Very boring, actually. No interesting qualities whatsoever." Harry sipped his drink—something expensive the bartender had recommended that tasted like regret and citrus.
"Hmm." Natalie's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Boring people don't move the way you do. You've got training. Military, maybe? Or something more specialized."
"Self-defense classes. Very thorough instructor. Lots of repetition."
"Right. Self-defense." She switched to Russian without missing a beat. "*You're not American. British passport, but something about you feels... elsewhere. Like you don't quite belong to any country.*"
Harry responded in the same language—two years at Kamar-Taj had included linguistic education because apparently mystical warriors needed to read ancient texts in seventeen languages. "*You're very perceptive. Also not really a legal liaison, I'm guessing.*"
Her expression flickered—surprise, quickly masked. "*You speak Russian.*"
"*I speak several languages. Comes with extensive travel.*" Harry switched back to English. "You're protective of Stark. That's good. He needs people who actually care instead of just managing him."
"I'm paid to manage him."
"You're paid to do something. Not sure it's just management." Harry met her gaze directly. "But as long as you're not planning to hurt him, we don't have a problem."
"Are you planning to hurt him?"
"I saved lives at his Expo. So no, hurting him isn't on my agenda."
Natalie's eyes widened microscopically. "That was you? The EMP incident?" She studied him with new intensity. "Security footage was corrupted. Witnesses gave contradictory statements. But Stark's been obsessed with finding whoever intercepted that device. He thinks they're enhanced."
"He thinks a lot of things. Most of them are correct, which must be exhausting for everyone around him."
"You're deflecting."
"I'm being appropriately mysterious. There's a difference." Harry finished his drink. "Look, I'm not a threat to Stark. Or to you, or anyone else in this building. I'm just someone trying to help where I can. That's all you need to know."
"That's nowhere near all I need to know. But I can work with it. For now." Natalie's expression softened slightly—still guarded, but less hostile. "He likes you. Tony. He doesn't trust easily, but he's decided you're worth trusting. Try not to abuse that."
"I won't. I promise."
She nodded and drifted away, back to watching the crowd with professional attentiveness.
Happy appeared at Harry's other side, looking concerned. "She give you the shovel talk?"
"Something like that. She's protective."
"She's something." Happy lowered his voice. "Between you and me, there's something off about her. Too perfect, you know? Like she's performing 'normal person' instead of being one. But Tony likes her, and Pepper trusts her, so I'm trying not to be paranoid."
"Your instincts are probably right," Harry said carefully. "But I don't think she means Stark harm. I think she's here to protect him. Just... not in an official capacity."
"You mean like a spy."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to. I was a boxer, not stupid. I know how to read people." Happy sighed. "As long as she keeps him alive, I don't care who she's reporting to. He's..." Happy trailed off, expression troubled. "He's dying, isn't he? The arc reactor thing. I've noticed the symptoms. The shaking, the exhaustion, the way he pushes himself like he's running out of time."
"Yeah," Harry said quietly. "He is."
"Can you help him? With your... whatever you are?"
Harry thought about that. The armor could probably stabilize Stark temporarily—extend his timeline, buy him more time. But the Ancient One's words echoed: *He has to find his own solution. That's part of his journey.*
"Not in the way you're hoping," Harry said. "But I can keep him alive long enough to find his own answer. That's all I can promise."
Happy studied him for a long moment. "You're one of those super people, aren't you? Like Captain America, but current. Tony won't admit it, but he's desperate for proof he's not the only one. That Iron Man isn't just a one-off. That there are others."
"I'm not a superhero."
"Yeah, you are. You just haven't accepted it yet." Happy clapped him on the shoulder—this time Harry let the impact happen normally, and Happy didn't seem to notice the difference. "Thanks for being here. For caring. Most people just want things from him. It's nice having someone around who doesn't."
The evening continued. Stark won money, lost money, made dramatic declarations about probability theory, and eventually Pepper insisted they return to the hotel before he did "something that ends up on YouTube."
Harry's suite was absurdly luxurious—bigger than his entire flat had been in Britain, before he'd left everything behind. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Mediterranean, marble bathroom, bed that probably cost more than a car.
He stood at the window, still dressed, armor humming contentedly in its civilian configuration.
*You like them,* the armor observed. *The people around Stark. You're forming attachments.*
"I'm not supposed to," Harry said aloud. "I'm supposed to observe. Stay detached. Not get involved in their lives."
*The Ancient One sent you here to reconnect with humanity. You're doing exactly what she wanted.*
"She wanted me to reconnect. Not to befriend a dying billionaire who's going to revolutionize superhero culture and probably get me involved in world-ending crises."
*You've been involved in world-ending crises since you were eleven. This is just a different flavor.*
Harry couldn't argue with that.
His phone buzzed. Text from Jenna: *Saw you're in Monaco with TONY STARK. How??? When did you become an international socialite?? Details immediately!*
Harry smiled, typing back: *Long story. He basically kidnapped me. Back in a few days.*
*Living your best life. Meanwhile I'm in Brooklyn painting still life arrangements of fruit. The glamour is overwhelming.*
*Fruit paintings are dignified. Monaco is ridiculous.*
*Ridiculous looks good on you. Have fun!*
Harry set his phone down, feeling something warm settle in his chest. Friends. Actual friends, who knew him (or a version of him) and didn't treat him like a weapon or a symbol or a problem to solve.
When had that happened?
When had he stopped being alone?
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
Harry opened it to find Tony Stark, still in his suit but tie loosened, looking exhausted and slightly drunk.
"Can't sleep," Stark announced. "Blood toxicity's at forty-three percent, which is apparently the threshold where my body decides sleep is for people who aren't slowly dying. Can I come in?"
Harry stepped aside. "Of course."
Stark entered, immediately gravitating to the window. "Hell of a view. You ever think about how ridiculous this all is? We're in Monaco. I'm dying. You're some kind of wizard-soldier-thing. And tomorrow I'm going to watch cars go in circles really fast like that's a normal thing humans do for entertainment."
"Are you drunk?"
"Moderately. But I'm always more honest drunk, so this is actually ideal for deep conversations." Stark turned to face him. "I want to ask you something. And I want a real answer, not the mysterious deflection thing you've been doing."
"I can't promise I can answer."
"Fair. But try." Stark's expression was serious, vulnerable in a way Harry hadn't seen before. "The thing you showed me. The golden light. Is that how you're going to die? In some fight against impossible odds, using powers that make you a target, burning yourself out to protect people who don't even know you exist?"
Harry froze. "What?"
"It's what I'd do. If I had powers like that. I'd use them until they killed me, because the alternative is living with the knowledge that I could have helped and didn't. And you've got that same look—that 'I'll sacrifice myself if it saves others' energy that's either heroic or deeply concerning depending on perspective." Stark moved closer. "So I'm asking: are you going to die fighting something you can't beat? Because if so, I want to know. Want to understand what I'm watching happen."
The armor showed Harry futures—not the Ancient One's structured calculations, but possibilities. Outcomes where he stood against Dormammu, against Thanos, against threats that would come. Outcomes where he fell protecting others.
Outcomes where he didn't fall, but lost pieces of himself anyway.
"I can't die," Harry said quietly. "That's part of what I am. What was done to me. I'm immortal. Cursed with it, depending on how you look at it."
Stark's eyes widened. "You're... what?"
"Immortal. I don't age. Can't be killed. Will watch everyone I care about grow old and die while I stay exactly as I am, forever." Harry looked away. "It's why I've been avoiding connections. Why I ran from everyone I loved. Because immortality isn't a gift. It's watching the world move on without you while you stay frozen."
"Holy shit." Stark sat down heavily on the nearest chair. "That's... okay, that's worse than dying from palladium poisoning. At least I get an ending. You're stuck forever?"
"Forever. Or until the universe ends. Whichever comes first."
"And the organization you work for—they know?"
"They're the ones who helped me accept it. Who gave me purpose beyond just existing." Harry sat across from him. "I came to them seeking a cure. Seeking mortality. They taught me that maybe the curse could be a gift, if I used it right. If I protected people who can't protect themselves. If I stood in places that would kill anyone else."
Stark was quiet for a long moment, processing. "So when I asked if you were going to die fighting impossible odds, the answer is 'no, because I physically can't die, but I'm absolutely going to fight impossible odds anyway.'"
"Essentially."
"That's both better and worse than I expected." Stark leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "Here I am, desperate for more time. And there you are, stuck with infinite time you don't want. The universe has a really fucked up sense of irony."
"It really does."
"Can I ask..." Stark hesitated, which was unusual for him. "Does it get better? The immortality thing? Do you adjust?"
"I'm still adjusting. It's been ten years. Some days are better than others." Harry met his gaze. "Why are you asking?"
"Because the arc reactor is keeping me alive. And if I figure out how to fix the palladium problem—if I find a solution that doesn't involve dying—there's a chance it keeps me alive for a very long time. Longer than normal. And I'm trying to decide if that's something I want." Stark's voice was raw. "If being the last man standing is worth it. If watching everyone else age while I stay the same sounds like a gift or a nightmare."
Harry thought about Ron's last letter, about Hermione's daughter asking why Uncle Harry never changed, about all the connections he'd severed because the pain of permanence was too much.
"It's both," he said honestly. "It's a gift because you get to do more, protect more, matter more. And it's a nightmare because everyone you love becomes temporary. Every friendship has an expiration date. Every connection comes with the knowledge that you'll outlive it." He paused. "But I'm learning—slowly—that temporary doesn't mean meaningless. That loving people who'll die is still worth it. That being part of the world, even knowing you'll watch it change without you, is better than hiding from it."
"That's very philosophical for someone who looks twenty."
"I've had a lot of time to think. And good teachers who don't let me wallow."
Stark nodded slowly. "Okay. Okay. So if I fix this—if I solve my dying problem and end up living longer than I should—you'll help me not lose my mind? Friend-to-immortal-friend guidance?"
"If you want it, yeah. I will."
"Good. Because JARVIS is great, but he's terrible at emotional support. Very logical, very British, completely useless when I'm having existential crises." Stark stood, some of his usual energy returning. "I should let you sleep. Big day tomorrow. Fast cars, champagne, probably someone trying to kill me because that's how my life works now."
"You think someone's going to attack?"
"I think I'm dying, wearing technology that people want, and about to be in a very public space with limited security. So yeah, statistically speaking, something's going to go wrong." Stark grinned. "But that's fine. I've got Iron Man armor in a briefcase, Happy's got the reflexes of a professional boxer, and I've got you—mysterious immortal wizard with powers you won't explain. We'll be fine."
He left, and Harry sat alone in the dark, thinking about temporary connections and immortal burdens and the fact that he'd just promised to help Tony Stark navigate a future neither of them was sure he'd survive to see.
The armor pulsed with warmth.
*You did well,* it said. *Honesty suits you.*
"He's going to die tomorrow, isn't he?" Harry said. "The attack you've been sensing. That's tomorrow."
*Possibly. The future is fluid. But yes—there's danger coming. And you'll have to choose whether to intervene visibly, risking exposure, or let events unfold as they should.*
"I'm not letting him die."
*I didn't think you would. That's why I chose you.*
Harry lay down, still dressed, and tried to sleep.
Tomorrow, the Grand Prix.
Tomorrow, danger.
Tomorrow, choosing—again—to stand and protect, even if it meant revealing himself.
Even if it meant changing everything the Ancient One had planned.
*Sorry,* he thought to her, wherever she was watching futures unfold. *But I'm done watching good people die when I can stop it.*
*That's just who I am now.*
The armor hummed with pride.
---
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