As much as Harry missed England, he had to hand it to the Yanks. New York was fantastic. He loved the skyline; vividly different to that of Hogwarts, and if he never saw the Forest of Dean again it wouldn’t have been long enough. He loved the anonymity. No one knew who he was, and those that recognised the name dismissed it. Voldemort hadn’t scared them into submission, and thus he’d never been their saviour. And he loved the fall. It was his third autumn in America, and he never failed to appreciate the beauty of slowly browning trees.
Mostly, he loved his job. He worked for W.A.N.D., Wizarding Association of National Defence, and had finally made it into high profile protection and infiltration. He was sat in Central Park as the sun crept above the horizon, book in one hand, Starbucks in the other, a wand up his sleeve and a gun in his holster. While he sat, he waited for his target. Surveillance suggested the target ran through the park early morning, avoiding even the most eager of commuters, before returning to his home and working for the rest of the day.
He was part of a team of six that ran in eight hour shifts, one day on, one day off, on call on the days he had shifts, and sleeping and researching the days he didn’t. He liked this shift the best. The target spent most of his time between 4am and 12pm either asleep, or working indoors, or on his infrequent run. He checked the book. The tracking spell flashed against the map. Target approaching.
Harry sipped his coffee, and watched the target out the corner of his eye, while pretending to read his book (Pride and Prejudice). He didn’t have to fake his look of surprise when the target plonked himself in the seat next to him. He looked up, an eyebrow raised.
Usually, when engaged by a target, it meant you weren’t doing a very good job of hiding in plain sight. Harry hoped his cover hadn’t been blown. He thought he was rather unobtrusive. He could have disillusioned himself, but that led to awkward situations if you ever had to appear from nowhere to save your target.
Usually, one completed the social niceties, pretended to know nothing about the target, and excused oneself.
Unfortunately, Harry’s target was anything but usual. Tony Stark likely had the most recognisable face in the world, so Harry couldn’t exactly pretend not to know him.
“Mr Stark,” he greeted him. The other man grinned.
“You know who I am?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Who doesn’t know who you are?”
Stark grimaced. “Point.” Harry didn’t reply. “I’ve seen you here a few times,” Stark said.
“Yup. Thought you looked lonely. Could do with a friend.”
Harry snorted. “Are you offering?”
Stark looked surprised.
“I suppose I am,” he said, his brows furrowing.
“You don’t seem to be particularly sure,” Harry replied, finishing his coffee. He stood, binned the object in question, and nodded at Stark.
“Have a good day.” He walked away, withdrawing his mobile and sending a text to Angela to let her know she needed to take over. When he received a confirmation he strode to the nearest apparition point, and apparated into Headquarters.
“Potter. What the bloody hell was that?” Peterson growled, and glared at him. Harry stared back. He’d lied to Severus Snape’s face. Peterson simply wasn’t intimidating. He removed his glasses, and replaced them with his own pair. The first were charmed to record everything they saw, so he knew Peterson knew exactly what ‘that’ was.
“Target approached and engaged me in conversation. I disengaged when it was appropriate.”
Peterson huffed. “Get home, and brush up on your disillusionment charms. And next time use a bloody polyjuice, so he doesn’t get suspicious.” Harry nodded and left.
The following week was uneventful. He spent it polyjuiced and surveilling the target, and researching the terrorist group that wanted Stark. They were an offshoot of the Death Eaters, fled to America, and wanted to combine Stark’s weapons with their magic to blow up the magical world and prove that integration between muggles and magicals wasn’t possible. Same old, same old.
It was his day off and he was sitting in his third favourite coffee shop, just down the road from his flat. He wasn’t sure why, but muggle coffee was much better than wizarding. Someone sat down at his table, opposite from him. He looked up, and sighed. Stark. How the bloody hell had he found him? More to the point; why?
“Very rude, leaving like you did,” Stark said. Harry closed his eyes, in the hope that when he reopened them Stark would be gone.
“Didn’t even turn down my offer of friendship, just left it there, left it hanging.”
No such luck.
“How did you find me?”
Stark grinned, and Harry knew he wasn’t going to like the answer.
“I got your coffee cup finger printed, then JARVIS accessed the national database to find out who you are and where you lived. You showed up on that camera.” Stark turned and pointed at a camera across the street.
“JARVIS let me know and so I thought I’d come to say hello.”
Harry stared at him. Was he for real?
“I know what you’re thinking, you’re thinking I’m a crazy stalker, but I have an answer to that, and that answer is that I Am Iron Man.”
“And thus excludes you from being a crazy stalker?” Harry asked, resigned to enduring Stark’s company.
“Exactly.” Stark grinned.
Stark spun and gazed toward the woman who’d called his name. His face fell.
“Oh shit. Hide me.” He dropped to his knees and crawled under the table, sitting on one of Harry’s feet. A very tall, very beautiful woman walked toward him, and he like to imagine she looked how his mother might have looked if she was an extremely successful muggle business woman.
“Tony,” the woman hissed as she came to a stop at their table. “Get up, and stop harassing this man immediately.” She turned to Harry, her face transformed by her smile.
“I am so sorry about this. I don’t know what’s come over him.”
Stark got to his feet, a pathetic expression upon his face. “I was just making friends. He’s lonely, he needs friends!”
“And you know this how? Because he likes to sit quietly in Central Park and read a book? Because he likes to go to cafes?” Pepper Potts, because it was surely her, snapped.
“Well yes, and he also emails only one person, someone called Hermione, what sort of name is that, married to his school friend, and he has three numbers in his mobile, and JARVIS said that he’s the only person who’s entered his flat in a month.” Harry and Potts stared at him in horror. The reason Harry had so few electronic contacts was because most of the wizarding world still lived in the middle ages, not that he was going to tell Stark that. He was now so very grateful for both Hermione and his works’ insistence at keeping any trackable communication purposefully vague.
“He’s obviously lonely,” Stark concluded. Harry saw red. He stood, carefully placing his coffee cup down.
“If I ever see you again, or learn that you have invaded my privacy in such a manner, I will get a restraining order.”
Stark recoiled, likely used to getting his own way. Harry stomped out of the café, and toward his flat. He could hear, distantly, the sound of Potts scolding Stark. Good. Bloody interfering bastard. He called Peterson, informing him of the new development, although he likely already knew.
Once he got back to his flat, he gathered his magic, and apparated to England. Not exactly legal, but no one expected it to be possible, so they hadn’t made it illegal. He knocked at Hermione and Ron’s door. It was early evening, so they were likely to be in.
“Harry!” Ron clapped him on the back. “We weren’t expecting you. Good to see you mate.”
“Uncle Harry!” He could hear a chorus of children call his name. He grinned and scooped up Rose and Hugo, one in each arm as they ran into the hall.
“How are my little trouble makers?” He swung them round and set them down to embrace Hermione. She greeted him warmly, and he was led into the kitchen for dinner.
“What’s up then?” Ron asked as he scoffed his food. Hermione smacked him, and Ron made a face while the kids laughed. The picture of domestic bliss.
“Remember I told you about my new assignment?” They nodded.
“The man’s somehow taken an interest in me, and has gone through all my emails and text messages.” Hermione’s eyes widened, while Ron nodded like he knew what they were talking about.
“Ah. The tellnet,” he said sagely. Rose and Hugo screeched with laughter, while Harry twisted his face into a wry smile.
“Something like that. Nothing sensitive, thank merlin, but it could have been. He claimed he’d done it because I was lonely, for all reasons.” Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance.
“Oh, shut up the two of you.” They wisely didn’t mention the fact that he was lonely. He liked being a miserable old bugger. “I just needed to vent.”
Hermione served dessert. He picked at the cake, glaring at it as if it was the cake’s fault Tony Stark was a total stalker.
“Do you want to stay the night? We’ll get the guest room ready,” she offered. Harry stretched, and shook his head.
“Nah. I better get back. Work tomorrow. Thanks for dinner though, it was delicious.”
“Stay for a bit. The kids love it when you come by. Only George is more popular, and that because he brings them fireworks.” Hermione grimaced, showing exactly what she thought of that. Harry laughed, and followed them into the lounge. He could stay for a little while, he supposed.
When he got back he had an owl from Peterson.
If Stark’s so determined to be your friend, let him be. You can protect him just as easily from his side, and he might know something about the association our budding Death Eaters are working with. Anya is covering your usual shifts. –P
Harry threw his wand at the wall. It clattered to the floor. He lit the note on fire with a wave of his hand. Bloody fucking hell.
The next morning found him with another letter, this one from Stark. He contemplated ignoring Peterson’s orders, but instead sighed heavily and opened the envelope.
I would like to extend you my sincere apologies for such a gross invasion of your privacy. This is the last you will hear from me.
Lawyer speak for ‘please don’t sue me or sell your story to the press’. He showered, got dressed in his best muggle suit, and apparated to a point close to Stark Tower. He walked in, eyed the most expensively dressed and competent looking receptionist, and went to speak to her.
“Mr Stark wants to see me,” he said. She looked at him, fake smile upon her face, one that matched her fake eyelashes and fake nails.
“Do you have an appointment?”
He rolled his eyes.
“I don’t need one. Don’t you know who I am?” He slapped the letter on her desk, and gave her his best Snape glare. He’d spent hours perfecting it. It was a work of art. He was impressed. She barely flinched. She inspected the letter, and made a few calls.
“Mr Stark will see you in his office. Please take elevator three, and wear this.” She handed him a security badge.
He took the elevator up, and stepped out into a waiting area obviously decorated to impress and intimidate. The door to Starks office was closed, but he ignored the receptionist and walked in. Stark was building aeroplanes with his paperwork, and looked astonished at his audacity. The receptionist flailed, but he waved her out.
“Mr Potter. I didn’t know you had it in you.” Stark looked at him from him head to toe. Harry shivered.
“You brush up well,” he said, as if he hadn’t expected it. Harry didn’t know whether to be pleased or offended. Harry sank into a chair, and flicked the note on the desk.
“You’re a prick, but I overreacted,” Harry said. “And I bet I can make a better paper aeroplane than you can.”
“You do know I’m literally an engineering genius,” he stated.
Harry smirked. “Wanna bet?”
Stark's grin was wicked. “Always.”
The commandeered a large meeting room, and sat on either side, constructing their perfect plane from a sheet of A4 paper. Harry folded it the only way he knew how: in half, then each side down at an angle, and then again. Then he cheated. He imbued it with a little bit of broom making magic, an area he thought he’d go into until he realised how boring it was. Stark’s plane was a work of art, and was likely the most aerodynamic paper plane that ever existed.
“If I win, I get to come over to your flat and we can binge watch Lord of the Rings,” Stark said.
“You won’t. When I win, you tell me why you decided to stalk me, without using the excuse that I’m ‘lonely’.”
“Fair’s fair.” They stood, elbow to elbow, and launched their planes. They both flew beautifully. Harry’s flew further. Stark stared at it incredulously.
“Not possible,” he said. Harry grinned.
“Everything is possible. Including you losing.” Stark walked over to his aeroplane. He picked it up, inspected it.
“How?” he mouthed.
“I guess I just have a stronger throwing arm.” Harry smirked. Stark collected both their planes, and prowled over to him. His gaze met Harry’s and he brushed one finger over Harry’s suited bicep. Fucking hell. Tony Stark was flirting with him. Explained a lot.
“You owe me the truth,” Harry said. Stark winced.
“You looked friendly, and I wanted a friend. Plus, you didn’t seem to care who I was. And you totally are lonely,” Stark said in a garbled rush as they walked into his office again. Harry was so glad he hadn’t worn his charmed glasses. He leaned against the wall inspecting Stark. He cut a good figure.
Harry pulled a business card out of his pocket, and wrote his personal mobile on the back.
“My phonebook of three has been extended to four.” Stark took the card with a grin.
“I already have your number,” he said.
“I'm not surprised. But now I’m giving you permission to use it.”
Stark nodded gravely.
“My number’s in your phone,” he said. Harry closed his eyes and counted to ten.
“Someone needs to teach you the meaning of boundaries.”
“Rhodey says that all the time. I’ll have to introduce you.”
Harry hummed, not really agreeing, but not disagreeing either.
“Next time you want to hang out, give me call. Don’t just turn up. I do have a job.”
Stark looked as the card. “As a consultant for the NYPD.”
“That’s the one. I’ll see myself out.”
In the elevator down, Harry checked his phone. Stark had added himself under ‘Crazy Stalker Dude’. Harry chuckled, and pocketed the phone. That had been tolerable, he supposed.
Stark did text him, rather than just turning up. Sort of. Harry wasn’t sure if it counted when the text read:
T: I’m on your doorstep.
Harry was in the training room at work. Each certified trainer took a class once a week. Harry taught Defence and Duelling. (What else would he teach?) It kept him on his toes.
H: I’m stuck at work for another three hours. Let yourself in, if you haven’t already.
After he’d returned from Stark’s Tower he’d cleared the place of anything magical, and thoroughly tidied it. Petunia would have been proud.
Harry put his trainees through their paces. Every so often he’d receive a text.
TS: Where’s your skybox?
HP: Don’t have one.
TS: That’s a travesty.
TS: I ordered you one.
TS: I’ve installed it.
TS: I’ve taken apart your microwave.
TS: I’ve put it back together. It talks now.
TS: Do you want a new toaster.
TS: I’m hungry.
TS: Bring take out.
TS: Hurry up.
Harry walked into his flat, a bag of Indian in one hand, his duffle in the other. Stark bounded into the hall, snatched the take out, and bounded out.
“Just showering,” Harry called through before heading into his bathroom. He showered quickly, pulling on his jeans and drying his hair with a towel as he wandered into the kitchen.
“Beer?” he asked Stark, opening one for himself. Stark stared at him. He passed it across when Stark nodded, and opened another. He grabbed a polo shirt from his room, and ambled back into the kitchen as he pulled it on. Stark seemed to have recovered from his temporary madness, because he’d served the food onto two plates, and started chattering.
“How was your day? Mine was good. Board meetings are boring. What did you do? Yesterday I conducted experiments on both of our aeroplanes. I had JARVIS draw up the specs and run the numbers, and mine is superior. But yours still flies further. A physical impossibility.” He ate a mouthful of food.
“Oh that’s good,” he said. It was good. Harry could safely say he’d found the best Indian in New York.
“My day was fine,” Harry said, not really wanting to elaborate. Amusing as it was that Stark had run experiments on their planes, he was beginning to regret spelling it to fly further. Really, if anyone was going to discover the magical world off their own back it would be Stark.
Somehow, Stark coerced him into watching the Fellowship of the Ring. Harry quite liked the movie, but it did drag on. He blinked, and closed his eyes for a moment.
“Harry! Harry! Harry, wake up!” Harry tensed. He stared down at Stark. He’d pinned him to the sofa, his hand circling Stark's neck, the other already reaching for his wand. He rolled off him onto the floor, and put his head in his hands.
“Fuck. Mother fucking bugger.” He took a few deep breaths. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry,” he muttered to Stark. There was a purpling bruise on the side of Stark’s neck.
“I’m fine. God. Are you?” Stark asked. Harry ignored him. He staggered to the bathroom and withdrew an unmarked tub of bruise salve, and thrust it into Stark’s hand.
“Put this on the bruise. It’ll fade quickly.” Stark stared at the tub, then at Harry. He touched Harry’s shoulder. He flinched.
“Do you want to talk?”
“Get out,” Harry said. Stark stood without a word, and walked to the door. He turned back.
“No.” Harry closed his eyes, and sank into the sofa. He couldn’t deal with this right now. “Please. I’ll text you. I promise. I just need to be left alone.”
“You better,” Stark retorted. The door shut behind him.
The movie was still playing. Harry turned it off. He’d not had a dream that bad in a while. Must have been triggered by the sound of war.
That was why Ginny had left. One of the reasons, at least.
He apparated himself into bed, banished his clothes, curled up, and tried to sleep. It was a long time coming.
He was woken by an insistently ringing door bell. He put some pants on, and wrenched open the door.
“Mother fucking Stark! What do you want?” he exclaimed. Stark waved a paper bag at him. Harry realised he was standing there in his boxers.
“I brought donuts,” he pushed past Harry. Harry put some clothes on, and joined Stark at his table.
“Moved in, have you?” he asked snidely. He ate a donut. They were really good. He forgave Stark, just a little.
“Are you working today?” Stark asked. Harry checked the calendar and shook his head.
“Not unless they call me in.”
“Excellent. Fancy seeing the Iron Man suit, up close and personal?” he said, obviously determined to ignore yesterday evenings events. Harry perked up. He was only human. Stark grinned.
They were picked up and driven to the tower by Stark’s personal driver. Harry was painfully aware of all the different ways someone could assassinate or kidnap a person of interest with either magical or mundane means. Normally that knowledge sat in the back of his head, the possibilities lining up, endless but ignored. Today they crowded the front of his mind. It was personal, he realised. He actually gave a damn about the tosser.
They took an elevator up to Stark’s workshop. Stark chattered about mechanics and percentages and Harry ummed and aahed in all the right places, but the specifics were more Hermione’s speciality. She’d gone into integration of magical and muggle technology, and would be fascinated by Stark’s gear. He’d even been under investigation for while; they thought he’d used magic to create his suit. That had been years ago. Ever since Sokovia and the revelation of super humans the International Wizarding Community had bigger fish to fry.
As he stood on the landing pad watching Stark light up the sky, he was joined by Pepper Potts.
“Hello Mr Potter. Thought you never wanted to see him again.”
Harry huffed. “Call me Harry. And yeah, but it turns out he was right.”
She smiled. “Annoying when that happens, isn’t it. Unfortunately, he almost always is.” He had the strange sensation of being given approval by the ex, and realised that he probably was. Tragic.
“I care very much about him, and would be very sad to see him hurt,” Potts said.
“I shall try my best to prevent that from happening then, Ms Potts.”
She smiled, revealing perfect white teeth.
“Please, call me Pepper. Have a good afternoon.” With that she turned, and left.
“You too, Pepper,” Harry said to the sound of her heels clicking away.
In the elevator, as Stark walked him out, Harry stroked Stark’s jaw, turning it to the side to inspect his throat. The bruising had almost completely faded.
“I am sorry about that,” he said. Stark interlocked their fingers.
“I forgive you.”
Harry took a step forward and placed his other hand on the wall next to Stark’s head, boxing him in. He met Stark’s gaze, and held it as he moved forward, giving him ample opportunity to back out. He brushed their lips together and Stark sighed. The elevator dinged, the moment ruined. They pulled apart. Harry stepped out, and turned around to smile sheepishly at Stark.
“I suppose I better start calling you Tony then.”
“I suppose you better," he said, and Harry left.
Whatever they had developed slowly, with chaste kisses and stolen touches. He didn’t tell his superiors. It wasn’t their business. He reported on anything he deemed a threat to Tony, but quite happily left it at that. They’d likely figured it out anyway, as he was still under surveillance.
It was lovely, until Harry turned on the news and saw Iron Man brawling it out with some enormous steel contraption. He apparated to the site immediately. He didn’t break the Statute of Secrecy, but he considered it. If he’d thought Tony was in danger, he would have done it in a heartbeat. The rest of the Avengers arrived, and Harry watched them subdue the creature. He apparated back to New York, and JARVIS let him into the penthouse. There he waited for Tony to return.
Tony walked in, grin wide upon his face.
“Harry! JARVIS told me you were here.” He was sweaty, with tousled hair and sparkling eyes. He was perfect. Harry slammed him into the penthouse wall, running his hands all over Tony’s limbs, across his chest, stroking his cheeks, checking for damages, checking all was well.
“I had to see it on the TV,” he said breathlessly, attacking Tony with his lips. Tony melted against him. Harry pulled Tony’s shirt off, and pressed their hips together, grinding his erection against Tony’s, pressing one leg up against it for Tony to ride.
Someone wolf whistled. He froze with Tony still pinned to the wall. Tony peered up at him with a sheepish smirk upon his face.
“Oops,” Tony said. Harry raised an eyebrow and gave them both a moment to calm down, before withdrawing from Tony. He turned to face the Avengers, battle worn and weary, all with matching expressions of amusement on their faces. He kept a firm grip on Tony’s hand.
“Guys, meet Harry. Harry, meet the Avengers.” Harry nodded at them, inspecting each of them. They stared right back at him. He cleared his throat.
“Nice to meet you. Um. Me and Tony have some business to attend to, then we’ll be right out.” He tugged Tony’s arm toward the bedroom. The archer snorted with laughter. Tony smirked.
“Toodles,” he said.
“Where were we?” Harry asked as the door shut behind them. He crowded Tony toward the bed, tripping him onto it.
“Well, I believe you were trying to fuck me into the wall,” Tony remarked as he pulled Harry with him.
“I suppose we can try it with a mattress as well,” Harry mumbled into the crook of Tony’s neck, hands exploring every inch of exposed flesh.
“I’d like that,” Tony said.
They remerged sometime later, freshly showered, both covered in far too many bite marks to be decent. The rest of the Avengers were sitting, waiting for them in the lounge in a manner too casual to be natural. Tony collapsed onto a sofa, and Harry slid in next to him, shoulders brushing.
“Clint Barton at your service. Want a drink?” Harry nodded, and they were both passed a beer.
“This feels like meet the parents, but infinitely more terrifying,” Harry joked. They laughed, and the tension eased away.
“What do you do Harry?” Just like meeting the parents. He was just glad he’d met Molly Weasley before he started dating her daughter.
“I’m a consultant for the NYPD.” And so the interrogation began.
When Harry finally arrived home he was grateful to have survived. Then he closed his eyes, and thought about the noises Tony made when he came, and realised he’d do it all again.
His phone beeped.
TS: Come round for dinner tomorrow, just you and me?
HP: Sounds like a date.
In fairness, Harry should have expected the attack when it came. With his luck he’d been amazed it hadn’t happened already. Dinner had been wonderful. Tony had spent the entire evening making suggestive comments about dessert, and Harry was about three seconds away from fucking him on the table when the lights went out. The view from Tony’s penthouse was spectacular, and so they could see that the entire city’s grid had been knocked out.
“JARIVS?” Tony called. No reply. Harry grit his teeth. This wasn’t going to end well.
“Lumos.” Light filled the room. Tony stared at him.
“I’m a wizard. Can you access your suit from here?”
“I, what? Wizard? The fuck?”
“Yes, wizard, I can do magic, your suit, Tony?”
Tony blinked, and shook himself.
“My suit automatically finds me.” Tony pressed a button on the bracelets on his wrist. Moments later a red and gold bullet smashed through the floor. Tony stepped into the suit, and flipped the face plate up.
“Wizard?" he said again. Harry didn’t have time to decipher his tone of voice.
“Yes. There are more. They’re coming for you.”
“There’s no way they could have knocked JARVIS offline without being in the building,” Tony informed him. It proved unnecessary when Tony’s elevator began flashing, moving up faster than should have been possible.
“Will you run?” Harry begged. Tony snorted.
“And leave you undefended? I don’t think so.”
“I can defend myself. Please Tony.” There was no reply. Harry cast a hurriedly enacted shield around him, and turned to face the wizards. They poured out the elevator, spells flashing.
Harry danced, casting slashing spells and shields and stupefys and curses, one eye on Tony the entire time. Tony blasted wizards, only for them to shield themselves and take to their feet again.
The drone of a plane signalled the arrival of the Avengers. For each new distraction Harry could cast a permanent containment curse upon an attacker, while watching even more wizards emerge from the elevator. The last wizard through had blindingly white hair, and Harry first thought of Malfoy, before he saw the wizard’s face and realised who it was. Theodore Nott. Nott moved with arrogance the others didn’t possess, and narrowed his eyes at Iron Man.
“Avada kedavara,” Nott said and Harry screamed. The curse glanced over Tony’s shoulder but Harry turned on Nott, magic swirling around him.
“That’s my boyfriend you bastard,” he growled.
“Potter,” Nott scoffed, oblivious to the danger. “Surely these muggles aren’t worth your time.” Harry flicked his wand, casting a silent Sectumsempra. Nott dodged, an edge of panic in his eyes. Harry advanced, wand twitching as he cast spell after spell. Nott twisted away, swearing and cursing at him, the spells never quite enough. Harry dropped his wand and drew his gun in one movement, and shot Nott twice in the head. The other wizards were subdued, or dead. Harry could care less. He apparated to Tony, and pulled the faceplate off. The rest of Tony’s suit melted away. He placed a hand on each of Tony’s cheeks, reassuring himself that the other man was safe and well.
“You’re okay,” Harry said, the tension flowing out of him. He noticed the other Avengers standing warily, each of them unsure of the danger he possessed. Tony copied the gesture, his hands on Harry’s face, his eyes wide.
“Holy fuck. You’re a wizard,” he said with a choked laugh. Harry shrugged helplessly.
“I would have told you.”
“I don’t care.” Tony grinned. “Fuck. A wizard!” He narrowed his eyes.
“Oh my god. That’s why your paper plane flew further than mine.” Harry laughed until he cried, clutching onto Tony.
“You’re absolutely right.”
A cough interrupted them. Harry turned and stared.
“Kingsley?” he said uncertainly. The man was Kingsley’s spitting imagine, except the eyepatch and the leather jacket. The man sighed.
“That’s my brother. I suppose you’re one of that lot.” Harry bristled.
“Fury has a brother?” Natasha muttered.
“Fury’s brother’s name is Kingsley?” Clint added.
“Fury’s brother is wizard?” Tony crowed.
“Kingsley Shacklebolt,” Harry added. Fury sighed.
“I’m Director Fury. And who are you?”
“Harry Potter.” Fury’s eye widened.
“The Harry Potter? Boy Who Lived, Saviour of the Wizarding World, defeater of the Dark Lord Voldemort’s Harry Potter?” Harry winced. Tony’s head snapped around, brows raised.
“Hi,” Harry said, with a sheepish smile. He turned back to Tony. “I’m a little bit famous.”
“Somehow, I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Tony murmured.
“Good,” Harry replied, and entwined their fingers together.
All was well.