The Muggle world had always held a deep fascination for Harry, especially after he began to see more than what was beyond his family's house. Most of his friends hadn't really gotten this need of his, but he didn't expect them to understand. The only one who came close was Hermione, but she was too busy with the numerous projects she started in the Ministry. It was an after-affect of the war, he knew, but he didn't have to like it. They both needed distractions from lives lost, Ron's included, and they both had different ways of coping.
Harry's just happened to be walking along the loneliest street he could find in London.
He had been down this particular street more times than he cared to remember. Each and every time, he saw, at most, three cars pass him. This day was turning out to be the same as any other day, at least at the start. Just as the third car passed him, the tire blew out and he watched, horrified, as it screeched across the road, hit a downed tree branch, and flipped into the air.
Secrecy laws be damned; Harry pulled out his wand and ran to the car. The driver was dead, he knew that before he got a closer look. Blood steadily came from that window and the head tilted unnaturally. He blasted open the backdoor and knelt to look inside.
He had seen death during the war, but that didn't mean he was immune to it. The kid he faced was no older than sixteen, but obviously no longer alive as well. Swearing, Harry moved to the other side of the car and took that door off as well. The man on this side groaned and Harry was grateful that someone was alive.
"Hold on, I'm going to get you out of here." Or he would try. The only reason the man hadn't been on the hood of the car was the seatbelt pressing into his chest and his legs pinned under the passenger seat; it had pushed back during the roll.
"Fuck, don't…" The man coughed, holding a shaking hand out to Harry. "Won't make it."
"Don't talk nonsense." Harry lifted his wand, his confidence wavering.
"No, please." The man groaned again, blood escaping between his lips. "I'm… The company…"
"Don't try to talk, just hold on."
"Please… don't let him…" The man coughed, blood spattering onto the seat in front of him. "Stane can't…"
Harry looked into the dying man's eyes and knew that he wasn't going to make it either. The sudden urge to know the man took over and Harry reached forward with his hand, pressing it against the blood on the man's temple. A whispered spelled later and everything the man knew poured into his mind.
The power behind that much knowledge made Harry hiss, but he held on. His first invention. His first kiss. World War II. Steve Rogers. Captain America. Maria. Tony. Death. Mourning. Pride. Genius. Betrayal. Homesickness. Fear, pain, sorrow. Death. Pleading.
Harry jerked his wand away, staring at the now dead body of Howard Stark, his prodigy son next to him. Tony wasn't supposed to be here, but he had begged, begged his father to be allowed to come. It would prove he was ready to help with the company despite his age. Today was his birthday; Tony was seventeen.
Something was wrong at the company, someone was betraying them. Howard had suspicions, but he didn't know for sure. He was about to tell Tony and get his opinion. Tony, his greatest creation. Tony would take the company to a new level.
His friends had always told Harry that he had a "saving issue." Harry saw no problem in taking full advantage of that issue as he went to the other side of the car and put his wand to Tony Stark's head. They looked similar, he could do this. He'd need some place to bury the body before the authorities arrived.
Tony Stark would live and he would make his father proud.