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Chapter Text

Four days after Remus said goodbye to him on platform 9¾, Harry Potter disappeared. There was no trace of Dark Arts in his disappearance, no suspicious activity. The members of the Order guarding the teenager didn’t even realize he was gone at first, it took the Dursleys going on vacation and seeing no one in the house for them to click on that something might be wrong. Remus was afraid, Harry had just witnessed the death of his godfather and he feared that he might be suicidal. Remus himself had fallen into a deep case of grief, guilt and depression with the death of the last of his true friends.

This wasn’t the matter that really concerned the werewolf, however. The matter that had him worried and suspicious was the lack of concern from almost everyone else. Harry was supposedly their prophesized ‘Savior’, the one fated to defeat Voldemort once and for all. Yet Albus Dumbledore, Harry’s headmaster and magical guardian, appeared less than worried. A token force had been sent out to look for Harry on the streets of London, more to appease Remus’ protests. It was clear nobody expected them to find Harry.

Nymphadora Tonks, Mad-Eye Moody and Sturgis Podmore seemed impatient to have the search over with. Remus could feel his wolf’s hackles rising at their lack of worry over his ‘pup’. Something was off about the whole situation, but he was failing to put his finger on what it was. All he knew was, there was a distinct lackluster effort and annoyance at their work.

“We’re not going to find the boy,” Tonks finally snapped, irritation visible on her face. “London is enormous, if he just ran off than he could be on the other side of the city for all we know.”

“Maybe it would help if you gave a damn about him,” Remus muttered, bringing up the hood on his jacket against the drizzling rain.

It was late June, so at least the weather was warm, if saturating them in the atypical misting rain. It was a physical indicator of the presence of Dementors, that and the general air of glum that pervaded the atmosphere. Dumbledore had told Fudge that the Dementors would eagerly join Voldemort, but the Minister had buried his head in the sand and claimed both Dumbledore and Harry were nutters. Look how well that had turned out.

The tips of Tonks’ hair turned red with anger, her eyes flashing. “Well, I don’t,” she snaps. “Albus told him to stay put, but he goes galivanting off and putting people in danger. It’s his fault my cousin is dead!”

Remus growls, the sound a subvocal noise that vibrates in his throat and chest. It’s still audible, rumbling in the quiet air between himself and the others. His wolf is furious, wanting to come out and attack her for her words against pack. Tonks’ eyes widen minutely, her breathing more rapid. He can smell the fear on her, hear her elevated heartbeat as her body pours on adrenaline, a subconscious reaction to what the noise he made represents.

“Enough,” Alastor orders, smacking his wooden walking stick on the concrete in between the two of them. “We’re not going to find the boy, that’s the fact of the matter. Let’s go.” Looking specifically at Remus he adds, “Arguing between us is not going to solve the problem.”

Remus looks down as if contrite, willing his angry Alpha to calm down. They would keep looking, he reassures, but on their own. Without the helpful comments of their current companions.

Since his gaze is directed at the ground, he misses the eyeroll Tonks gives Alastor and the glare she gets in return.

It’s not just Albus whose behavior fills Remus with unease. Molly Weasley, the worried mother hen, is less than concerned about Harry’s disappearance. It’s odd, especially considering how much she smothered the boy before. Even clashing with Sirius on what was in his best interest. Ron and Hermione, his so-called best friends, are mute on the subject. It’s as if he’s not even missing. But then Remus realized that both of them held Harry responsible for their injuries in the Department of Mysteries.

Ron has scars on his arms from his encounter with the brains, Hermione is still taking potions for Dolohov’s Curse. She’s lucky to still be alive considering the dangerous cutting hex slashed through her abdomen and intestines. Both are sullen and angry, blaming Harry for everything. His ‘hero personality’, his need for drama, his lack of preparation and intelligence, his mediocre spellwork… On and on they whine, both happy to vilify the teen behind his back. Remus is sick and angry at their words, disgusted at their falsehoods.

He keeps looking for clues or his errant cub on his own, desperate to find the remainder of his ‘family’.

In the meantime, summer slides by and a new term starts at Hogwarts. Harry’s O.W.L. results and book list get returned to Hogwarts by a confused post owl.

Desperate for leads, Remus goes to Gringotts. Aside from learning his cub isn’t dead, the goblins are less than helpful. They won’t let him access the Potter accounts, nor will they pull his transactions since June. Remus leaves, defeated and disheartened.

Remus continues looking.

Christmas holidays come and go. The Order is merry and cheerful, as if one of their number isn’t still missing. Remus continues to look for Harry, disgust on his face every time they try and draw him into the festivities.

After an Order meeting, Remus flags down Kingsley. He’s been busy at the Ministry. Ever since Fudge was forced to acknowledge that Voldemort was back, the Death Eaters have been crawling out of the woodwork. This is his first Order meeting since the Department of Mysteries.

“Are you aware that Harry has been missing? He disappeared four days after going to the Dursleys,” he asks the man.

Kingsley’s dark eyes widen in shock. “No,” he answers. Remus is monitoring his scent and voice with his own enhanced senses, having become more reliant on his wolf to discern truth. Desperation and desire to find Harry forcing him to come to terms with what he is.

To his relief, Kingsley’s scent and voice support his shocked reaction. He’s telling the truth.

“The Order is aware,” he says, voice quivering. Now that he’s found a sympathetic ear, the emotions of the past few months are catching up to him. “They’re aware and doing nothing. They don’t even seem worried.”

Kingsley’s face is stunned, angry. “A sixteen-year-old boy is missing and they aren’t doing anything? I take it you’ve been looking on your own?”

Remus swallows and nods. “Ever since I went out with Dumbledore’s token search party and they gave up on finding Harry.”

Kingsley thinks for a long moment. Finally, he locks eyes with Remus and says, “I can’t take off time from work, I won’t do that to Amelia with Death Eaters on the move again. But I’ll work weekends with you and try to take some vacation. I have skills and access to things that you may not.”

Remus practically sags against the wall in the hallway of Grimmauld. His eyes film with tears and he chokes, “Thank you.”

The relief of finally being believed by someone is overwhelming. Deep in his chest, the hope that had almost died out unfurls, given new life.

Yet even with Kingsley’s help, Harry remains missing.

Andromeda gets a hold of Remus in March of 2013, requesting to meet him. It’s a couple of weeks before he can go see her, Sirius’ beloved cousin or no.

“Harry’s missing,” she states.

“Yes,” Remus answers wearily. His appearance is thin and ragged, there are deep bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep and a scraggly beard adorns his chin because he hasn’t bothered to shave. He’s wary, talking to her about this situation. She’s Nymphadora’s mother, he’s not sure if she shares her daughter’s opinions.

She purses her lips, looks at him. “There’s information you’re missing, information that may help you find him. It’s locked in your mind behind shields.”

“Who put them there?” Remus answers, puzzled.

“Albus Dumbledore,” she replies, which rocks him to his core. He staggers, slumping down into the chair she nudges him towards.

“Why?”

“It’ll make sense once you remember,” she promises. “I had blocks too, but I’m a Black and a Healer. If he wanted them to stick, he would have needed to try harder.”

Remus snorts, hearing the lilt of Black arrogance in her voice. Andromeda just stares at him, arching a brow. He nods, tries to relax as she removes the blocks. Remus passes out during the procedure. Initially he doesn’t feel any different. Andromeda shrugs when he says so.

“Sleep on it,” she advises, giving him the spare room.

That night, instead of dreaming, Remus remembers.

The following morning he’s full of grief and rage. Things are beginning to make a horrible sort of sense, but he still doesn’t know how to find Harry. Hermione and Ron finish their sixth year, Ginny her fifth. It’s June, a year from the date Harry disappeared.

He’s still missing.

Term begins at Hogwarts for the year 2013-2014, what would be Harry’s seventh and final year. September and October pass with dull routine. Remus becomes despondent on Halloween, visiting the graveyard of his friends at Godric’s Hollow. He falls to his knees before their shared tombstone, weeping.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, over and over. His gaze is not on their names, nor the wreath he places there. Instead, it’s fixed on the small star in the corner, rough to the touch as if hand-carved. Eventually he leaves, returning to Grimmauld for an attempt at sleep. Instead, he’s plagued by the worst nightmares he’s had in decades.

Tired and feeling ill, Remus stares at the table during the Order meeting the following evening. He listens with listless disinterest, thoroughly finished with the group of hypocrites and liars around him. He stays in the Order only because he knows they would be suspicious otherwise. He’s content with the knowledge that he can lie straight to Dumbledore’s face and not be found out. It’s the same protections his wolf offers him that made the Order think he could have been the spy in the first place.

“You’re looking even more bedraggled than usual, Lupin,” Severus Snape drawls, making Remus jerk in surprise. He looks up to find the Order gone, meeting finished. It’s him and Snape in the kitchen, black eyes staring at him with the usual disdainful loathing.

“I mean,” the man continues, a nasty smirk on his face, “you usually look like something the cat dragged in, but it’s even more pronounced with the Potter brat gone.”

Remus’ eyes flash golden in anger, stirred into response by the mention of Harry. Severus actually takes a half-step backward, caught by surprise. “Do not mention my cub to me,” he growls. “You don’t give a damn, but he’s important to me!”

Severus slams a small glass bottle onto the table, which vibrates under Remus’ fingers. He’s surprised the bottle doesn’t break under the force.

“Dreamless Sleep,” he snaps curtly, sliding it across the table. “Consider it a gift for the approaching Yule.”

Remus picks up the bottle. He has to exert every ounce of control he has not to react when his fingers brush parchment. He manages it, barely. Severus leaves, cloak billowing behind him. Remus listens, senses hyperaware. He hears the front door open and then click shut. Pulling out his wand, he casts a spell, checking to make sure he’s alone.

Not satisfied, he locks and wards the front door and then retreats to his bedroom, right next to Sirius’. He closes and locks the door, checking again for the presence of other people. Then, for good measure, he checks for listening spells and devices. Alastor would be impressed at his paranoia, he thinks with grim amusement.

He grasps the parchment with shaking fingers, tugging at it to cancel the light Sticking Charm adhering it to the bottle. It’s just a scrap of paper, torn off a longer roll. It’s small enough to fit into his palm. He unfolds it, trembling. Despite his best attempts to curb his response, he can’t help but think that this is going to be the breakthrough he needs to finally find Harry.

The only thing written on the paper, in Severus’ distinctive spiky handwriting, is a set of coordinates. Remus knows these coordinates, or at least ones very similar. They’re in Godric’s Hollow, not far from the Potter cottage. Not far at all from the graveyard where his friends were buried. He was just there, not even 24 hours ago.

He squashes the urge to Apparate there immediately, knowing it’s a foolish idea. He can’t go into this blindly, no matter how much he wants his pup in his arms. Instead, he focuses on that image, of holding Harry in his arms, finally knowing where he is, and casts.

“Expecto Patronum.” It’s almost a whisper, yet the wolf bursts from his wand with a glow that exceeds anything he’s cast up to now. It takes him aback; how bright the ethereal guardian is.

“I have coordinates that I think will lead us to Harry,” he says aloud, voice hoarse. “Please come when you’re able.”

He sends the messenger to Kingsley, feeling bereft when the Patronus leaves, taking his light and hope with it.

It’s another week before they approach Godric’s Hollow, nearly midnight in early December. The air is bitingly cold, crisp new frost making leaves crunch under their feet. There’s no snow this year yet, an unusual circumstance that works in their favor. Snow makes it easier to track someone. Remus is wearing a heavy Aran sweater and thick winter coat, but the cold seems to seep into his very bones.

Both have their wands in hand, ready for anything. The coordinates that Severus gave them lead to a dilapidated-looking house. It has missing timbers in the roof and shattered glass in several windows. It’s clearly seen better days. It’s also one that Kingsley recognizes from the moment he sees the coordinates. It’s the old Dumbledore family home, where Albus’ father moved his family. Discreet scans reveal that while the upper house is ruins, the lower floor is far more than it seems. Both men are on high alert.

They’ve been watching the house for the past couple of days, but they’ve seen no one enter or leaving it in that time. They don’t know what awaits, but both know that they’re running out of time. Kingsley has a portkey on him to a safehouse, one the Ministry no longer uses. The plan is for all three of them to go there after rescuing Harry. Aware of the likelihood that one of them won’t survive, both men have agreed that if it comes down to it, they will send Harry there and take their chances.

Casting spells to silence their footsteps and disillusion themselves, Kingsley cautiously swings the door wide open, taking point as they enter the building. There’s a heavy layer of dust on the floor that sifts around their feet, cobwebs litter the area. Their approach stirs a couple of bats, which take off through a broken window, squeaking their displeasure.

They head down a set of stairs, noticing with grim eyes how things appear to be different as they descend. The lower level is at least clean, in an absent-minded sort of fashion. Old cracked dishes still fill the rusted sink, soot has been cleaned off the ceiling but still covers the stovepipe. The cleanest section is in an area near a closet door, a storage cupboard for dry goods.

They move cautiously over to it, Kingsley casting nonverbal spells to gain more information. Casting a wandless ‘Muffiliato’, he turns to Remus and says quietly, “The cupboard is a falsehood, an illusion not unalike the entrance to Platform 9¾. Stay on alert, there’s something about this place that isn’t right.”

Remus nods, mouth set in a grim line. This close to his cub, he won’t be deterred by any force the wizarding world can come up with. His wolf is near raging inside of him, convinced that their precious family member is here.

Kingsley opens the cupboard door and around them the image of a woebegone kitchen falls away. Instead, they are in a large underground chamber lined with stone. A couple of sconces light the walls, illuminating the area. There’s a table in a back corner, littered with old dishes. In another corner is a single chair with heavy steel shackles, waiting for an unwilling occupant. The hairs on the back of Remus’ neck stand up at the sight.

He follows Kingsley through another door, careful to shut it behind them. They don’t want to give their presence away unless absolutely necessary. The next chamber is massive, one wall lined with weapons Muggle and magical. A pair of shackles are attached to one wall, another set to the floor. Remus’ hand tenses on his wand, not liking the implications of what he’s seeing.

There’s another door, which they go through. It’s this room that bothers them the most. There’s a stainless-steel table in the middle of it, with shackles at the top and bottom. Behind clear glass, in a massive cabinet, is a massive collection of potions bottles, a glinting dully in the light of a single sconce. The floor around the table is crusted in old blood and Remus’ nostrils flare of their own accord. His wolf is raging against his control, fighting to emerge. The scent that permeates the room is Harry’s.

There’s only one more door, which they open, Kingsley’s face full of unease. For the first time since Remus started looking for Harry, he wonders if he is going to find his cub, or his body. He’s underestimated the intentions of those that took Harry from his relatives, drastically to go by what he’s seen here.

The only thing in this room is a cell, cut into the back corner. It’s little larger than a dog crate, probably five feet in height by seven feet long. The bars are solid silver, with several heavy padlocks and visible wards. Remus is trembling, approaching the cell and falling to his knees. Kneeling next to him, Kingsley casts a soft ‘Lumos’, lighting up the dim room. Remus resists the urge to cry out with effort, staggering back and falling to a seated position. He opens his mouth but the only thing that emerges is a whimper, tears rolling down his pale face.

Harry is in the cage, saved from nudity by a pair of torn, filthy shorts. He’s either unconscious or dead, shackled to the back of his cell by a heavy iron collar around his throat. There are marks above and below the collar that prove he’s been wearing it a long time. The metal is chafing into his delicate skin, leaving behind scars. He’s skeletally thin, his entire ribcage visible with ease. His skin is so pale it’s almost translucent in places, his veins a delicate, visible blue web through his body. He’s covered in cuts, bruises and burns, some larger ones open and weeping. His arm and a couple of ribs sit at awkward angles, broken and not yet reset.

Kingsley works for a long time to break the wards and alarms on Harry’s cell. He’s sweating and visibly exhausted once he finishes, flicking his wand half-heartedly at the locks with a hoarse, muttered ‘Alohomora’. Remus lurches into motion, opening the cell. He shimmies into the tight space, takes hold of the heavy chain and gives it a sharp tug. Against the power of an enraged, protective Alpha, the chain gives with a groan, snapping free. Two links cling to the anchor, rasping against the stone wall.

Carefully, Remus gathers the too-thin body into his arms, reassured that Harry’s still alive only by the slow, sluggish beat of his heart. His breathing barely flutters Remus’ hair, so faint as to be hardly noticeable. Kingsley has recovered enough to move, helping him carefully bring the teenager out of the cell. He takes off his cloak, laying it on the floor. Remus lowers the teen to the ground with reluctance.

The Auror removes the portkey from his person, offering it to Remus. Remus reaches out and touches it with a shaking finger, overcome with emotion. Jointly, they lower their hands to Harry, grasping one of the teen’s sharp shoulders.

“Safety,” Kingsley utters, and they disappear.

It will be a long time before either man, or the barely alive teenager, set foot in England again.

Chapter Text

Nicholas Adrian Fury has seen many things in his 62 years of life, so it takes a lot to surprise him. Even the emergence of superheroes was hardly enough to rattle his composure. He’s known Carol Danvers and that blasted ‘cat’ for years before any of these modern heroes started coming into themselves. But he’s rattled now, unable to believe what he’s hearing or seeing. He stares into one of his video feeds at the image of a too-skinny teenager, surrounded by medical experts normal and magical who are frantically trying to save his life.

He’s known about magic for years, thanks to his cousin. Kingsley Shacklebolt was the son of Nick’s uncle from his second marriage and a wizard besides. He’d married a woman from a magical family in England and established himself there, rarely leaving the magical community. Due to his family ties, Nick had been clued into the existence of magic when he became the Director of Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, called SHIELD for short.

He’d felt slighted when he realized that his cousin was magical, remembering running around his backyard with Kings when they were both children. His cousin was eight years younger than him, a permanent bachelor. Dedicated to his job as an Auror, he was a powerful wizard in his own right and respected in the backwards British magical society for having two wizarding parents. His ruffled feathers had lasted only until his cousin told him that breaking the Statute of Secrecy, as it was known, led to a lifetime prison sentence.

He heard from his cousin once in a blue moon, the man calling or visiting and sharing some of his more noteworthy cases. He also made sure to give Nick a head’s up to anything magical going on in the States, even though the British magicals were pretty inclusive and liked to ignore the rest of the world. Kingsley did not, getting papers from all over the world in order to keep up on happenings in magical communities everywhere. It did no one any good in the long run to bury one’s head in the sand. No matter how tempting it might be.

A week ago, Kingsley had showed up at his house, along with a man with gold-brown hair and blue eyes who looked like he was about dead on his feet. He introduced the man as Remus Lupin, an associate and friend. Then the pair had started to tell him a story about a crazy Dark Lord bent on genocide and a teenage boy who was supposed to defeat him. By the end of their story, Nick was on his feet, pacing back and forth in front of his fireplace and spitting fire at the outrage dealt to a mere child.

They had asked if they could bring the boy here, to the States. To tell the Avengers about him, one in particular, and request protection. The boy was in danger from both the psychopathic Dark Lord and his former Headmaster after all.

He’d told them that if it was only up to him, they would be at the Avengers Tower in a heartbeat. But it wasn’t just up to him. They would need to convince the Avengers themselves, after all it was their home the three magic-users would be invading. And one in particular would be having his world turned upside down.

As grave as the matter was, Nick couldn’t help but grin as he imagined the man’s reaction. It was going to be priceless.

Tony Stark leaned back in his chair; legs extended underneath the round conference table. Their meeting hadn’t even started and he was already bored. Pulling out his phone, he flicked open his notes and started doodling. Also jotting down a random idea that had popped into his mind. It was difficult sometimes, being a genius. Having a mind that was constantly racing, spinning along at what felt like the speed of light. He could rarely get it to just stop, unless it involved a bottle of alcohol.

But that was no longer an option for him. He had found the bottom of enough bottles for his lifetime. He would still have a glass or two on occasion, but days of waking up with splitting headaches and unable to remember what he’d been doing were over. He didn’t like who he became when he was drunk. It reminded him of Howard. He shuddered, dragging his thoughts from going down that dark road.

 Natasha sat to his left, watching his doodles with tolerant amusement and idle curiosity. Once he’d forgiven the woman for infiltrating his company and her snooty, back-stabbing report, they got along just fine. There was something cynical in them both, old souls perhaps. But for whatever reason, both were disenchanted with the charm and guile of the modern world. Plus, she was an excellent drinking companion and not too hard on the eyes.

Bruce Banner was on his right, watching his doodles with increasing amazement and excitement. His brain buddy, ready and willing to bounce ideas back and forth in the lab or debate the latest scientific advancements. Able to keep up better with his exceptional mind and far more tolerant than most of his abrasive sense of humor.

Directly across from him sat Clint, studying the back of his eyelids for the moment. The archer with an uncanny talent for hitting his target was a bit less tolerant of Tony’s snark, getting frustrated and striding away. But he still enjoyed messing with the results, always eager to try out the improvements Tony developed for his arrows. He was only a year younger than Tony, though he acted with a greater maturity at times.

Definitely not like a little old man. Tony’s brown eyes flicked over to the last of the team, sitting stiffly upright with his wrists resting on the table. For all that he still looked 27 years old, Steve Rogers acted at times like the 95-year-old man he was supposed to be. A bit stuffy, easy to offend or ruffle. He acted like was their father at times, not their teammate. At the moment his blue eyes held a trace of annoyance, likely at Tony for being on his phone.

But then perhaps he was judging him too harshly. It wasn’t like Steve had done the same the moment he met Tony, after all.

“You’re not the type to make the sacrifice play.”

Yet hours later he, Tony Stark, had flown a nuclear missile through a wormhole into space, thinking it was a one-way trip. He’d been having nightmares since then about what he’d seen, but most blew it off to PTSD. He wasn’t denying the fact that he had issues. But what he’d seen wasn’t a figment of his imagination, either.

  Nick finally walks in, Tony putting away his phone with a small sigh. Two men walked in behind him, whom Tony studies with curiosity. One was nearly Nick’s double, a little taller, with slightly paler skin and warmer-toned eyes. He also wore more colors than black, a long tunic in rich sapphire blue with tan pants. He sported a small diamond earring in his left ear. That alone was something Nick Fury wouldn’t be caught dead doing.

The other had gold-brown hair and blue eyes. He was a little thin for his height, his clothes well-worn and comfortable. There was something about him that put Tony a little on edge. For some reason he thought the last was the most dangerous of the trio. His blue eyes were also rather focused on Tony. The genius rapidly cataloged the people he had met over the years, not matching the man in front of him. So why was he looking at Tony as if he knew him?

“Left to right we have Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton and Steve Rogers,” Nick said without preamble. “Avengers, these two gentlemen are Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin.”

Remus finally blinked, looking away from Tony. The billionaire stiffened at the name, a conversation from what felt like a lifetime ago crossing his mind.

“My best friends in the world are back in England. James Potter, his new wife Lily Evans-Potter and Remus Lupin. They’re awesome! I think you’d really like them. Moony especially, he’s a bookworm and kinda nerdy, like you.”

“Moony? And I’m not nerdy!”

A warm, rich laugh.

“Just an old nickname. And you totally are!”

Tony blinks, pushing the conversation to the back of his mind. Far harder to push away are the emotions of regret and loss associated with the smooth, accented voice.

“I didn’t know you were friends with your doppelgänger, Nick,” Tony says conversationally, smirking at Kingsley.

“For your information, Stark, Kingsley is my younger cousin. His family lives in England.”

“It’s nice to meet all of you,” Kingsley nods, smiling. His voice is deep and smooth, reassuring without even trying.

“So, what’s the meet and greet for?” Tony presses, curious.

“If you’d shut up for a minute, I’d tell you,” Nick says, annoyance lacing his voice. Remus’ lips twitch in amusement. Whether it’s at Nick’s words or Tony’s huff of indignation that follows is debatable.

“First of all, you lot are about to be clued in on something that is way above your clearance level. I expect you to treat it with the gravity and respect expected. Secondly, all of this is the complete truth. If any one of you claims it is an elaborate prank or that I’m joking, I will make your lives miserable. Capiche?”

They all nod rapidly. None want to test Nick when he’s using the tone.

Kingsley gives a soft snort. Nick glares, only for his cousin to shrug unrepentantly.

Nick begins, not even letting up a smidge on his stern tone. “New York brought us a lot of firsts. Alien contact, wormholes, public battles and known superheroes. But it wasn’t the first time we encountered magic. Or at least a variation thereof. Not even Loki’s arrival days before was the first time I’d seen magic.”

“There are people on Earth, dating as far back as humanity itself, that can use magic. Witches and wizards. The magical communities are highly isolationist, any interaction with those that don’t have magic has been catastrophic for them. The Salem Witch Trials? Those were real, though most often they got innocent people. It’s hard to actually kill a witch or wizard.”

“Magical creatures are real as well. Dragons, merpeople, goblins, centaurs, the list goes on and on. Many things we blame on natural disasters or something unexplained are actually due to magic. There’s a magical community on every continent around the globe.”

Nick’s pacing back and forth, agitated. “Kingsley and Remus are both wizards, born with magic. Both of Kingsley’s parents are magical, but only Remus’ father was magical. They both attended the premiere school for magic in Britain, called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was founded in 990 A.D. by four of the most talented individuals of the age. The current Headmaster is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.”

“That... is a lot of names,” Tony commented, earning a dry laugh from Kingsley. “Not to offend, but this is a bit hard to believe. Is there any way this could be… demonstrated somehow? Without breaking the rules?”

“How many eyes have you got on this room?” Nick asked.

“JARVIS. We discuss important shit in here, I’m not going to let the average Joe see what it is we’re doing,” Tony answers bluntly, as if it should be obvious.

Kingsley steps forward, pulls a long, polished piece of wood from his sleeve. “This is a wand. I’ve owned this one since I was eleven years old. The easiest way to disable most witches or wizards is to target their wand. While magic is possible without one, it’s considerably harder and rare to do.”

He points the wand at a pencil sitting on the table and flicks it, murmuring something under his breath. A whisper of blue light leaves the wand, hits the pencil and suddenly, a small white rabbit is hopping across the table before their flabbergasted eyes. It stops in front of Natasha, chewing on a corner of scrap paper in front of her.

“That’s pretty convincing,” Bruce mutters, staring at the pencil-rabbit with stunned eyes.

Kingsley smirks. With a look at Nick, he takes over.

“The seat for magical government here in the States is the Magical Congress of the United States of America, or MACUSA. They are based here in New York City actually. In the UK it’s the Ministry of Magic and the Wizengamot. The Wizengamot is made up of all our oldest families, most of which can trace their bloodline to the time of Hogwarts’ founding almost.”

“Compared to the rest of the world, magicals in Britain are pretty prejudiced. Magical creatures and races are looked down upon as mere animals to be cataloged and registered. Those of partial or no magical bloodline are scorned and treated like lesser beings. Those with no magical parents are treated worst of all. Politely they’re known as Muggleborns, but a racial slur of ‘Mudblood’ is common against the older families.”

“Muggleborns comes from the term Muggle, which is a non-magical person like yourselves,” Kingsley nods to them. “Here in the States you’d be known as No-Maj, which is a bit more polite as it merely means ‘no magic’.”

“Honestly,” Steve groused, speaking up for the first time. “Can’t there ever be a world without prejudice?”

“Quite.” Kingsley agreed succinctly. “But it’s gotten worse over the last few decades. There’s one man who has decided the only way to improve magical beings is to slaughter those who have ‘impure’ blood and cut off our society entirely. He’s a sociopath who doesn’t realize that his path to ‘purity’ means our extinction. His actual name is Thomas Marvolo Riddle, he was born in 1945. His title is the Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or Voldemort. His followers are called Death Eaters.”

“How about He-Who-Loves-Hyphens?” Tony quipped.

Remus snorted out a quick laugh, muffling it with his hand at Nick’s dour look. Tony couldn’t help it, he winked at the other, getting another muffled laugh.

“I wouldn’t recommend saying that to his face,” Kingsley said dryly. “There are those who oppose him of course, but he’s gathered followers over the years amongst the old families, many of whom are the most powerful witches and wizards alive today. Our government stands against him, but the Ministry only recently took real action.”

“Why?” Natasha asked, frowning.

“Because we thought he was dead. There was a Prophecy given by a Seer that said he’d be defeated by one born at the end of July to parents that had defied him three times. There were only two families that fit the bill. One was the Longbottoms, a reputable pureblood family. The others were the Potters, James and Lily.”

Tony froze again, those names popping up into his mind. It was starting to seem like the man being named ‘Remus Lupin’ wasn’t a coincidence after all.

“Lily was born to non-magical parents; James was a pureblood. Voldemort targeted their son on October 31, 1998. Something happened and Voldemort was seemingly vanquished. Both James and Lily died, but Harry survived. It was considered a miracle, the spell Voldemort used causes instantaneous death, there’s no way to stop it.”

Kingsley went on to describe the boy Harry being dropped off with his mother’s sister and her family, only finding out about magic again at eleven. He described how the young boy had gone on to have crazy adventures and meet Voldemort, who wasn’t dead, three times over four years, the last leading to his resurrection. Then they said that after the boy’s most recent year, he’d gone missing in June of 2012. Kingsley described how the other man Remus had spent his time and energy trying to find the boy.

Then they described how they’d found him in a tiny cramped cell, with strong evidence of torture and neglect. The Avengers were furious, he was just a child! 16 years old, he should have been having fun with his friends, not trying to stay alive in a tiny cramped cell, betrayed by at least his mentors and his friends.

Remus stepped forward, giving Nick a photograph. He placed it face-down on a scanner, which scanned the image and brought it up on the large screen behind him. Remus stepped forward, identifying the people in the photo. Tony’s eyes landed on one particular face and his heart skipped several paces.

“James Potter,” a tall man with brown hair and hazel eyes, wearing rectangular framed glasses. “Lily Evans-Potter,” the pretty redhead he had his arm around, with a willowy figure and bright green eyes, “myself,” Remus looked much younger and healthier, a shine to his eyes and hair, his skin glowing with a summer tan.

Finally, he pointed to the last. He was a tall, slender man with aristocratic facial features, a devilish smirk on thin but expressive lips. His hair was ebon-black, shorter in the photo, his gray eyes flashing with intelligence and humor. Tony knew what name was going to come from Remus before he even said it. “Sirius Black.”

Remus let out a wavering breath. “James and Sirius were best friends from the moment they met at eleven. They were both purebloods, from old wizarding families. Sirius’ family in particular was practically royalty in England for a long time. They’ve been in England since the War of the Roses, when they correctly backed the red rose of the House of Tudor.”

“Despite that and some familial instability due to inbreeding, Sirius knew that Voldemort was wrong. He never hesitated to fight against him and his Death Eaters, even though some of the most loyal were his own family. He ran away from home at 16 after a spectacular fight with his mother, the worst of the lot.”

“James and Sirius were both Aurors, wizarding versions of police officers. It was a high-stress job but neither could stand by and let innocent people be killed by the Death Eaters. Just after graduating from the Academy however, both decided to take a break. James took Lily on a tour of his family estates, Sirius hopped across the pond to New York City for an overseas Christmas in 1996. He gate-crashed a high-society gala for the heck of it, blending right in thanks to his upper-class breeding and education.”

Looking directly at Tony, Remus says quietly, “Do you remember him?”

Eyes turn to stare at him, surprised. Ignoring them, Tony looks at the image, for once not fighting the memories that surface at the familiar smile. He’d done his best to bury them over the past 17 years. It had been painful; the day Sirius had left.

“I have to go,” Sirius whispers brokenly.

“Why?” Tony mutters, burying his nose in silky black hair.

“There’s things going on back home, things I can’t run away from. I can’t abandon my friends. But Merlin, I want to. I love you, Tony Stark.”

Tony’s heart stops. Nobody he actually cares for has ever said that to him. He wants to say it back, desperately. But he’s terrified that this is the last time he’s going to see Sirius’ sparkling gray eyes.

“Don’t go,” he whispers instead, hoping the other hears the words unspoken in his voice.

“I have to,” Sirius chokes out. He leans up and presses a kiss to Tony’s lips. It’s world-shattering, that kiss. It leaves him breathless and broken yet whole all at the same time. Before he can say another word, Sirius is getting into the taxi and it pulls away, turning into busy New York City traffic.

And Tony knows his life will never be the same again.

Tony blinks, shocked to feel a film of moisture on his eyes. Becoming aware of all the people in the room staring at him, he says quietly, “Yes, I remember him. I was wondering how come you were looking at me as if you knew who I was,” he adds, looking at Remus.

  Remus smiles, the expression sad. “He told us a lot about you. 17 years later you look a bit different, but I still knew who you were the moment I entered the room.”

Voice thick with emotion, Tony asks the question he simultaneously anticipates and dreads. “Is he dead?”

“Yes,” Remus answers truthfully. “He died June 18, 2012.”

Something seizes up in Tony and he’s having trouble breathing. His hands shake, so he lowers them to his lap. His vision is going spotty and he realizes in surprise that he’s going into shock. Next to him, Natasha puts her hand on the back of his neck and squeezes, just there. It’s a pressure point and it forces him to gasp, choking in a breath. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped breathing.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, voice shaky.

She looks at him, eyes full of concern. He looks away, embarrassed. Later he’ll let himself catalog the emotions racing through him, but not now. He’s made of iron after all. “Stark men are made of iron.” Amazing, he hates that stupid phrase of Howard’s, yet it’s been a lifeline over the years.

“Magic can do a lot of things science and the regular world says are impossible,” Remus continues carefully. “We can heal grievous injuries, regrow entire limbs or bone. But there are some things that magic does within our own bodies that are even more unbelievable. For example, the magical society is accepting of all sexualities. Strange, considering our aversion to blood, isn’t it?”

He takes a breath and continues. “The reason why we accept all sexualities is because of a thing known, rather uninventively, as male pregnancy. It’s literally what it sounds like. A wizard is intimate with another and is impregnated by them through magic and an artificial ‘womb’ of sorts. Normally it only happens with two magicals, but with strong magical beings it can happen otherwise.”

“Albus Dumbledore illegally modified the memories of myself, James, Lily, Sirius, Sirius’ cousin Andromeda, a mediwitch named Poppy Pomphrey and a man named Peter Pettigrew. The illegal change to our memories created the fact that ‘Harry’ was the son of Lily and James Potter, born on the 31^st of July and thus qualifying him for the Prophecy.”

Remus paused, took in a deep breath.

“But he’s not. He was born on September 9, 1997, to parents that had never faced Voldemort, one hadn’t even heard of him until today. He’s your son, Tony. Yours and Sirius’, who loved you to the day he died.”

Silence.

Tony’s head is spinning, his mind struggling to process what he’s hearing. Nick brings up what he vaguely hears is a live feed from SHIELD headquarters. Tony looks up at it and freezes. There’s a teenager lying in the bed, ashen in complexion with several gauze bandages covering larger wounds. He’s hooked up to an IV and oxygen, paler in skin tone than the sheets he’s lying on.

But the moment Tony’s eyes lock on the boy, every nerve in his body fires and his muscles tense. MINE!

“Bring him here,” Tony growls, silencing conversations through the room. All eyes are fixed on him, surprised and wary at his reaction.

He doesn’t care.

“Bring him here, now.” He stresses. “And give me access to the information I need to hunt those fuckers down. If any of you are about to protest,” he warns the Avengers, “than you can get out. You seem to forget that I own this property. And I’m technically just a damn consultant to you people.”

As people begin to leave the room and Nick gets on his phone, Tony stares at the video feed of his son. He may have lost Sirius, whom he loved more than any other person on this planet, but he’d be damned if he let his son suffer any longer.

Chapter Text

Remus is slumped down in a comfortable chair at Harry’s bedside. He’s in a hospital room in the Avengers Tower, though calling it a mere room doesn’t do it justice. It’s a suite, done in clean, sterile white and silver, with touches of black and a pale blue color. Frothy white curtains cover an enormous window, sealed shut against the December chill. It’s the 10^th, a week since he and Kingsley found Harry in that tiny, cramped cell.

Neither the Healers in charge of Harry nor the Muggle doctors are surprised he hasn’t woken up yet. He was near death when they found him, a combination of exposure to severe cold as well as the cumulative impact of his injuries. The more the Healers have been diving into his condition, the angrier Remus gets at the Order. For so-called ‘Light’ wizards, the damage they’ve done to a teenager not even considered a legal adult in their world is despicable.

He was surprised but immensely relieved by the instinctual protective response that Tony had towards Harry. It’s because of the man’s wealth and influence that they’ve been able to move the mountains standing in the way of keeping Harry safe from both Dumbledore and Voldemort. Two days after learning about his son, Tony had procured papers giving him diplomatic immunity in the United States. He was also now a dual U.S. and British citizen.

They’ve left the teenager’s name alone for now, not knowing how he would feel about having his name changed. Tony assured Remus when he showed him the papers that if he wanted to go by the name Sirius had given their son, it was a detail easily changed with the correct authorities. The perks of being a multi-billionaire’s son.

Through the few stilted conversations he’s had with the man, it’s easy for Remus to see how Sirius had fallen head over heels for Tony Stark. He’s good-looking and clearly aware of it, often using it to his advantage. Despite that, he's not conceited about his looks, as comfortable in a worn t-shirt and pair of jeans as he is a tailored suit. He’s smooth and clever with people in public, yet quiet and self-effacing in private. That’s not to say that his genius-level intellect didn’t give him a bit of arrogance, but there’s a quiet vulnerability that tempers it.

His reaction to Sirius’ death is shockingly emotional. Remus is awed and saddened, not realizing how much of an impact his childhood friend had on the eccentric man. There’s a quiet grief in his expressive eyes, most pronounced when he comes and visits Harry, which he’s done multiple times daily. He always regards Harry with a nervous sort of awe, clearly intimidated by suddenly being a father to a teenager. Aside from Tony, Remus hasn’t interacted much with the rest of the team that lives here. He’s still focused on Harry, waiting for the teenager to wake up.

It’s a slow, torturous wait, silence broken only by the steady beeping of the machines monitoring the body lying so still in bed and the steady drumming tick of the clock on the wall. The only other routine comes from a healer or doctor, who will poke their head through the door and come inside, checking vitals and monitoring his progress. Remus makes himself comfortable and waits.

It’s easier to wait than it was to not know.

It feels as though he’s swimming through treacle. His limbs are heavy and unresponsive, merely breathing takes effort. He’s conscious long before his eyes ever open, listening to the soft beeping of his surroundings. He can feel that he’s lying on a bed, not cold stone. He’s actually comfortable, something that feels almost foreign after so long. A sheet and blanket cover his body and he’s warm for once. Part of him is disappointed to be awake, hoping that the last time he’d lost consciousness during his ‘sessions’ that he was finally going to be free of the pain.

He has no idea where he is nor the date, time has been the least of his concerns. No, his entire being had been focused on enduring the hell on Earth he’d been put through. He trembles a little, not wanting to open his eyes and realize that this is just another one of their illusions. He’s been emotionally, physically and psychologically broken and put back together so many times he feels like he’s made of jagged, bleeding pieces.

Eventually however, the little spark of hope at rescue unfurls in his chest and Harry begins the struggle that is trying to open his eyes. It’s slow going, he has to concentrate on each eyelid separately, struggling to force his muscles to do what he wants them to do. He gets the left open and has the right halfway when he loses control and falls back into darkness. Gritting his teeth, he forces himself to start over, refusing to quit until both eyes are open and a dull, blurry light fills his eyes. They begin watering profusely, he’s grown used to being in the dark.

With torturous effort he turns his head, waiting for the blur to subside. They’d corrected his eyesight, a small thing amongst the other modifications they’ve made without his consent or permission. When it does, hope spreads a little further. He doesn’t recognize the room he’s in, but the clean modern aesthetic and Muggle machinery seems a far fetch for one of his sessions. There were only a couple of them who had been around the Muggle world, and certainly not to this detail. His eyes fall on the figure in the chair and fill with tears. It’s Remus.

He lets out a soft noise, caught between a sob of relief and a groan as pain begins to make itself known. Thanks to what he’s been put through, his pain tolerance is even higher than it was before. What would be intolerable to most is merely a dull throb at the moment. His eyes try to flutter shut to disperse the tears, but he keeps them open through sheer stubborn determination. He doesn’t care if people see him crying. He’s finally free.

Warm arms wrap around him, a musty, woodsy scent filling his nose. He recognizes Remus’ specific scent on instinct, trying to curl into the man. Weak, the little voice in his head sneers, pathetic. He does his best to ignore it, stopped from curling into the man’s lap by the wires and his aching body.

“I’m so sorry,” Remus is whispering over and over into his hair, soft choked sobs breaking up his words. Harry just breathes, sucking in a great lungful of the familiar, safe scent as quickly as his shattered ribs will let him. He ignores the increasing pain spiking through his body, accustomed to it by now. It’s been a fact of life ever since he was taken from the Dursley’s in the middle of the night four days into summer break.

“H-how long?” he manages to whisper, his throat raspy and cracked from screaming. He subtly flinches, shoving away the reaction and memories to deal with later. Much later.

“Over a year,” Remus admits, sorrow and guilt in his voice. “I’ve been looking ever since the guard first realized you were missing. I-if I had any idea what they were doing to you…”

“It’s not your fault,” Harry says automatically. Over a year? How had he endured that for so long?

“It is,” Remus insists, tears rolling down his cheeks. “The Order was so apathetic about finding you, I should have realized sooner.”

“Where am I?” Harry asks, looking around. “This looks like a Muggle hospital room.”

“It is, but it’s a private facility,” Remus explains, wiping tears off his cheeks with the sleeve of his well-worn sweater. “We’re in the United States, Kingsley Shacklebolt’s cousin lives here. We’ve been talking to MACUSA, they want to meet with you before offering diplomatic immunity.”

“MACUSA?” Harry asks wearily.

“Their seat of government here,” Remus answers quickly. “Magical Congress of the United States of America.”

“Are they better than the Ministry?” Wariness fills Harry, he feels he has a right to be so. After all, last he knew the Ministry was still calling him a deranged liar.

“Much,” Remus reassures.

There’s tension thick in the air, Harry can almost taste it. Remus has something else to tell him, but he’s afraid to do so. Recalling what they had told him in order to start the psychological breaking, Harry speaks up.

“If you’re going to tell me I’m not supposed to be the Boy-Who-Lived, I already know. They were quick to inform me of such.”

Remus looks surprised, but the nerves remain in his eyes. “They told you that?”

Harry nods. “It was the first thing they used trying to break me,” he answers matter-of-factly. “I was nothing more than a decoy, I should be thankful to be chosen for that much. The only true qualifier for the Prophecy is Neville Longbottom. My only purpose was as their sword and shield while they trained him.”

Remus looks angry at the wording, but he’s reciting it verbatim, minus the derogatory insults. There’s no need to imitate their profanity.

“I’m surprised they told you that much,” Remus’ voice is angry and anxious. He smooths the edge of Harry’s blanket, a nervous twitch and looking for something to do with his hands.

“Dumbledore and his lackeys were quite pleased to make their real opinions of me known,” Harry responds, lying back against the comfortable pillows. His voice is distant, he’s trying his best to avoid emotionally reacting to the memories. “After I destroyed Dumbledore’s office, he was angry with me. It’s my own fault they grabbed me so soon, they had intended to leave me another year. But my temper and magic were getting out of their range of control, so I needed correction.”

“It is not your fault,” Remus snarls viciously. “Don’t you dare try and take the blame for this, Harry. Your outburst was normal, you’d just lost one of the first positive adult influences in your life!”

Harry blinks, surprised at Remus’ outburst. He’s not expecting it of the mild werewolf. But then, perhaps he’s not the only one who’s changed over the past year and some. His eyes easily catalog and note the gold tint to normally blue eyes, the presence of Remus’ alpha werewolf. It was far more subdued the last time he saw the man.

Remus deflates, looking anxious again. “Harry, did they tell you why you don’t qualify for the Prophecy?”

“No,” Harry admits. “They hung the knowledge over my head, but they never actually told me.”

“Do you know the wording of it, specifically the bit about ‘thrice defied’?” Remus asks.

“Yes. I know the whole thing. Dumbledore didn’t seem to think that it would be a cause for concern to tell me the Prophecy. Of course, he picked right after the Department of Mysteries to do so,” Harry says, his voice bitter.

“James and Lily both defied Voldemort three times. Lily faced him one-on-one for several moments and survived. She also helped James on many of his missions, all of which thwarted important plans. There were far more than the three necessary to qualify for the wording of the Prophecy.”

“Sirius however, did not. He faced down Voldemort once and walked away from it, but most of his activities were against Voldemort’s followers. Sirius caused a lot of chaos, indirectly interfering with several activities, but never directly stopped his plans.”

“Why do Sirius’ actions matter?” Harry asked, frowning. His chest twists in pain at the name, never really able to deal with the loss until now.

“Because,” Remus says quietly. He takes a deep breath and forges on. “You’re not the son of James and Lily Potter. Sirius was one of your parents.”

Harry freezes. If Sirius had been his dad, then he didn’t lose his godfather, he lost… His eyes fall shut, his breathing stuttering in his chest. He’d had a parent, a living parent, and because of him they were dead. Grief, guilt, rage and a ton of other emotions rush through him. His ears are ringing, his mind racing. Hot on the heels of that realization comes another.

The Dursleys were never really his family. Which meant the blood wards were never there in the first place. Which meant…

He loses control of his magic rather spectacularly. He can hear glass shattering around the room, liquid splashing onto the floor. His hair, cut close to the scalp (grazing his skull in some places, none of his captors were trained in how to cut hair), tingles in an invisible breeze. He’s shaking so hard it’s making his ribs scream in agony, along with the rest of his healing body. There are voices in the room, loud and frantic. He feels pressure and a sharp sting against his arm. Something cool rushes into his body and unconsciousness races to greet him like an old friend.

He’s gone before his head hits the pillows, leaving an echoing silence in its wake.

Chapter Text

“I could have handled that so much better,” Remus whispers shakily, sipping at the short glass of whiskey one of the Avengers places in front of him. Bruce Banner, he thinks the man is called. His brown eyes are sympathetic, nonjudgmental.

“There really was no easy way to break that to him,” he says, looking at the Avengers where they’re sitting around a table, a holographic screen in the center of the table showing Harry’s now quiet room, said teen in a heavily drugged sleep. The Healers taking care of him had panicked a little at his backlash of magic, overdosing him a tad compared to how underweight he was.

“You said they took him four days after he’d gone back to the non-magical people that were in charge of him,” Natasha speaks up. She tears her eyes from the screen and looks at Remus, her face and voice very calm and composed despite all the surprises he’d brought them. “He’d had no time to process losing who he thought was just a guardian, let alone a parental figure. His reaction is understandable.”

Tony’s studying the image of his son in silence, eyes flicking over various details of the room. Remus isn’t offended that he hasn’t spoken yet, he knows the man is likely processing information. Not just Harry’s spectacular fit of magic, but all the things the teenager had told Remus beforehand.

“Those people were trying to turn him into a child soldier,” Bruce shakes his head in disgust. “Physical and psychological torture, conditioning, who knows what else. And they’re the good guys in the war?”

“The other option is far worse,” Kingsley says quietly. He’s been silent up until now. “Though I think it’s telling to say that even Voldemort wouldn’t probably do something like this.”

One of Harry’s many healers walks into the room. It’s a woman, with short brown hair in an A-line cut and wide brown eyes. She’s short, standing at maybe five foot. She’s dressed in the scrubs common in a Muggle hospital, with a sleeveless outer robe in royal blue, Healer’s colors here in the U.S. She sets a document in front of Tony, inside a plain manila folder.

Tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, she states, “This is the result of the bloodwork you authorized us to run, Mr. Stark. Your son has many illegal potions in his system, only some of which are reversible. I would advise you look these over and make a decision on what you would like us to do. There’s a short window of time before we can’t fix them.”

“Thank you, Kelly,” Tony speaks up absently, tugging the folder to him.

The healer, Kelly, smiles and leaves. Remus is surprised the man knows and remembers her name; he can’t say he knows the names of any of Harry’s healers. He feels oddly guilty about it, realizing how much work and effort they are putting into caring for Harry.

Tony takes the document out of the folder, flipping the folder carelessly to the side. He turns the paper face-down, scanning it with the advanced technology built directly into the black tempered glass table they are sitting at. The information from the file pops up in front of each of them on small illuminated screens also built into the table. They each peruse it quietly, absorbing what it says.

Name: Harlan Anthony Orion Black
Assumed Name: Harry James Potter
Birth father: Anthony Howard Stark (05/29/1970-)
Birth carrier: Sirius Orion Black III (11/03/1975-)
Blood sire: James Fleamont Potter (03/27/1976- 10/31/1998)
Blood mother: Lily Marie Evans-Potter (01/30/1976- 10/31/1998)
Date of Birth: 09/09/1997
Age: 16 years, 3 months
Blood status: Half-blood
Magical: Yes
Inheritance: Potter, Black

  Illegal Potions Detected
Level III Pain Blocking Potion (permanent) (administered by: Severus Snape)
Level III Loyalty Potion (keyed to: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore) (reversible)
Level III Compulsion Potion (keyed to: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore) (reversible) (4+ doses)
Level III Amortentia (keyed to: Ginevra Molly Weasley) (permanent) (failed: against sexual preference)
Level III Conditioning Potion (permanent) (administered by: Severus Snape)
Level III Awareness Potion (permanent) (administered by: Severus Snape)
Level III Battle Mage Potion (permanent) (administered by: Severus Snape)
Level III Combative Ability Potion (permanent) (administered by: Severus Snape)
Level III Aphrodisiac Potion (temporary) (administered by: Ginevra Molly Weasley)
Level III Liquid Imperius (temporary) (administered by: Alastor Moody) (4+ times)
Level III Blood Glamor Potion (administered by: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore) (reversible)

Illegal Spell Residue Found
Mind Control Spells:
Memory Charm (3)
Imperius Curse (6+)
Physical:
Cruciatus Curse (6+)
Bone Breaking Hex (6+)
Cutting Hex (Sectumsempra) (5)
Burning Hex (6+)
Multiple other variations found of bone-breaking, nerve-centered pain, cutting and burning hexes and curses found, less than (5) uses of each

Remus could feel tears streaming down his face as he processed the list. The amount of damage they’d done was worse than he’d thought. He did not like the implications of the Amortentia and the aphrodisiac potion, not at all. The youngest Weasley had always seemed a bit obsessed with his cub, almost stalkerish at times. He knew she’d made Harry uncomfortable.

Tony clears his throat. “I’m impressed by the detail just a drop or two of blood can give in your world. This is a lot of information. Would you mind explaining some of these potions and spells to me?”

Kingsley speaks up, looking sick. “Potions are graded on a level scale in international magical society. Level I is your basic healing potions, things like Pepper-up, which can cure the common cold. Level II are restricted potions but still useful if handled correctly, things like Skel-Grow, which we use to regrow bones broken beyond normal healing ability. Level III are highly-restricted potions, most of which are illegal as they cause permanent damage or highly adverse effects.”

He takes a breath and continues, still looking nauseous, “Then there are other Level III potions that are used by authorities, like Polyjuice Potion, which lets you assume the appearance of another. The most well-known Level III potions are Polyjuice, which I just mentioned, Veritaserum; which forces the drinker to tell the truth, and Amortentia, which is listed here. It’s a Love Potion, creates feelings of false affection for the one it’s keyed to. It can’t create real emotion, so someone under it is considered a victim of sexual assault and rape, if it progresses that far.”

“So, all of the potions they used on Harry are highly illegal, then. Not one of them is below a Level III,” Clint speaks up. He’s been quiet, listening more than contributing.

“Correct,” Kingsley states. “Conditioning, Awareness, Battle Mage and Combative Ability are pretty much self-explanatory, it gives him a better physical condition, situational awareness and combat skills, likely both magical and non-magical going by the weapons we saw where he was being held. It reinforces what he mentioned about them making him ‘sword and shield’ for Neville.”

“He almost sounds like an assassin,” Natasha murmurs. “I learned things similar to that in the Red Room.”

“It’s very similar, only the way they did it makes it instantaneous. If he wasn’t in such dismal condition, he would be very dangerous in a fight. All documentation about it says it’s excruciatingly painful, forcing the mind and body to gain that sort of knowledge in an instant.”

Tony flinches subtly. Remus is reminded the man is a genius, he likely knows what it is like to have an information overload at times.

“The Pain Blocker is worrisome,” Kingsley frowns. “Harry already had a fairly high pain tolerance. He’ll need to be watched carefully for a while. He could break a bone with this and not realize it for days.”

Remus speaks up. “The ones I’m more worried about are the Loyalty, Compulsion and Liquid Imperius. Even temporary, that last one is detrimental to be under. Harry can fight off the regular version of the Imperius Curse. It’s a spell that puts the caster in Azkaban prison for life without a backward glance. They’re called Unforgivables. It forces the victim to do what the caster wants. It erodes their mental will and makes the caster’s desires their own.”

Clint flinches violently, hands curling into fists. He hunches down at the table, rounding his shoulders as his face goes ashen.

“There’s a spell that does that?!” He says harshly, voice thinner than usual and reedy.

“You were put under something similar,” Kingsley says suddenly, voice low and reassuring. “You were forced to do things that you didn’t want to. Walking around like a puppet under the control of a marionette, unable to stop yourself no matter how hard you tried.”

“Yes,” Clint’s voice is raw and rough in the wake of Kingsley’s brutally accurate summation.

“It’s not your fault, Clint Barton,” he says, his tone as firm as his cousin Nick’s. “It doesn’t matter how strong your character is, how much you toughen your mind. Something like that, it’s insidious. It sneaks in and warps your thoughts, your very being. The strongest people in the world are helpless against it. You can eventually learn a resistance to it, but it takes years.”

Clint gradually uncurls from his defensive posture, his eyes showing a combination of relief, embarrassment and gratitude at Kingsley’s words.

“Loyalty forces him to support Dumbledore, whom it’s keyed to. Compulsion works in concert with that, urging him to do what Dumbledore wants because it’s what the potion makes Harry want. It’s similar to an Imperius, but longer lasting,” Remus continues. “Normally it doesn’t take more than one dose, certainly not four. I’d guess Harry was fighting it, so they had to keep administering it. Luckily for us, both Loyalty and Compulsion are reversible. So is the Blood Glamor, which is what makes him look like a combination of James and Lily. I’d hold off on having them reverse it, changing his appearance without asking would be a bit of a leap.”

“The spells?” Tony prompts.

“Bone-breaking and Burning hexes are again rather self-explanatory, though how many times they’ve been used on him is a big contributor to his bad condition. That particular Cutting Hex is nasty, it’s one preferred by the Death Eaters because it’s hard to reverse the damage. You can cut a limb off with that spell, aimed in the right place. The worst one actually listed there is the first, the Cruciatus Curse,” Remus’ voice is grim.

“Why is that one in particular so bad?” Bruce asks.

“It’s another one of the Unforgivables,” Kingsley explains. “It’s a torture curse, there’s no other use for it. It’s the worst pain you’ve ever been in, multiplied a hundredfold. That will put a grown man on the ground screaming in a split second. It’s been known to drive people insane if they’ve been left under it for too long. It also causes severe nerve damage if left untreated. And Harry’s been put under it over six times. I can’t imagine how he’s still functioning.”

The Avengers fall silent, processing the horrors one 16-year-old boy has been put through. They’ve faced many trials, but this is unfathomable, even to them. It’s Steve who speaks up, his question causing another wave of shock and emotions to race through the room.

“It lists people’s birth and date of death, right? Both James and Lily have a date of death. So how come there isn’t one for Sirius Black?”

A/N:
Harlan is Old English, literally means 'hare land'. I went through a series of names where his nickname could be Harry, I liked this option the best. That way he can still say he's 'just Harry'. Also, the stone for September is the sapphire, which commonly has the meaning of 'truth' associated with it. The flower is the Aster or 'star-flower' which has meanings in old flower language of faith and wisdom. Interestingly enough, Tony's May stone is the Emerald for hope, while Sirius' November is citrine for joy. Kinda suits them both, doesn't it?

A/N 2: I managed to spoil my own story! I didn't realize until too late that Sirius' current age was in my timeline. I have it for my own reference but obviously didn't mean to put it in until after we knew he was alive!

Chapter Text

In her time as an employee of Stark Industries, Virginia ‘Pepper’ Potts has seen a lot. It’s an understatement if one ever exists, but she sees it as simple fact. Originally hired on in Finances, her boss had fired her for implying that Tony Stark of all people had made a mistake. She hasn’t gone back to Finances since becoming Tony’s PA, it’s an uncomfortable situation that can be easily avoided.

Less easily avoided was her new direct boss’ subtle flirting over the years. At least, until around Christmas of 1996. He still flirts with women out of old habits, but it’s half-hearted at most. The mixed signals are more than slightly frustrating, especially since Pepper had recently come to the decision that perhaps dating Tony Stark was what she wanted after all. He bought her obscenely expensive gifts, gave her access to a black credit card linked with his personal accounts… Yet, nothing had been the same.

For a little bit after his return from Afghanistan she thought something was brewing between them, but he pulled back after a few months. It was as if flirting a little more heavily with her had been his way of recentering his ‘normal’. She’s seen many sides of the man over the years, some not so great. She was there through the drinking, the hangovers, the rampant partying with beautiful women hanging off his arm.

Yet… something was different. Most of the women he brought home were those that were so drunk or high the man worried they would be okay going home. So, he brought them to his place and deposited them in one of his many guest rooms. His reputation as a playboy had only skyrocketed when the women went to the press and bragged about how good he was in bed, eager to hide their embarrassment at being treated like an errant child.

Pepper had pressed back a little over the past few years, after Tony had sorted himself out with the whole ‘poisoning’. For a little bit there she had thought he was going to make her CEO of Stark Industries, but he’d gone off on a tangent about ‘tying up loose ends’ instead. She’d made her interest in him clear, finally getting him to take her out on a date.

But there was something, or more correctly, someone lingering in the back of his expressive eyes. There was a barrier between them, no matter how hard she tried. It was incredibly frustrating and emotionally difficult. Being held up to an invisible standard and always, always falling short. It was even harder when the standard was a mystery. If it had been one of the girls she’d ‘escorted’ off the property the morning after, she would at least know who he was comparing her to.

She’d never expected, of all things, for it to be another man. She’d seen the photo of the four friends, including the other parent of Tony’s teenaged son. If not for the blood evidence and the word of Nick Fury, she would be very suspicious. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to claim that they had given birth to Tony’s child. But of course, it being a man threw a wrench in the works.

Especially a handsome one from a wealthy, aristocratic family. Pepper hadn’t needed to see the information that they had been given on Sirius Orion Black to know his worth. It was in the photo of him, in his unconscious stance and demeanor. For someone like Tony, who’d had gold-diggers after him since he was a teenager, just the fact that Sirius wasn’t after his wealth was probably a big attraction. Not that he lacked it in physical looks, giving her boss a run for his money in attractive, masculine features.

And here he was, attractive, wealthy and a wizard to boot. She shook her head, feeling incredulous. Magic. She’d faced so much, seen so much, but the existence of magic threw her for a loop. She’d been clued in on the matter out of necessity, as Tony’s PA and ‘friend’ she would be in the Tower frequently. She was starting to realize that a friend was all she was going to be to Tony Stark. It was funny how life worked sometimes.

Snapping herself out of her maudlin thoughts, Pepper turned her attention to the next set of documents needing her input. Idle fingers were a luxury she couldn’t afford, especially when helping run a company worth billions of dollars.

Tony was in his lab, working on an upgrade for the Iron Man repulsors. The left gauntlet was on his workbench, currently in so many parts as he tinkered with the power efficiency. He’d calculated that he could save another four percent power output on the system with this upgrade, which was a percentage worth the work. Music blasted over the speakers in the background, loud enough it should have been able to drown out his thoughts.

Should have. But it didn’t. Even as he worked on the intricate piece of machinery in front of him, another part of his mind was buzzing over the teenager still sleeping off the necessary sedation. Yet another whirled over the results of testing his blood. The amount of shit his son had been put through in 16 years was insane. Here he was thinking he’d had it hard, trying to live up to Howard’s expectations and the bar set by a friend who by all rights should have been dead.

Meanwhile his son had been manipulated from infancy to fight an insane wizard almost sixty years his senior. A wizard that he shouldn’t have had anything to do with, considering he was never the man’s target in the first place. All the manipulations, lies and betrayal he had already suffered… Tony knew an uphill battle when he saw one. A few years ago, such a thing would have made him concede before even trying and run for the hills. Now… he was going to do his level best to show Harry that he was someone trustworthy.

Then there was the little bit that Steve had noticed. Tony had done his best to forget about Sirius, or at least shove the memories to the back of his mind. Subconsciously, he’d failed a long time ago, judging anyone he met romantically against an impossibly high bar. He’d always wondered what had happened to the man, if something had gone wrong or he’d been lying about how he felt. There were moments, found at the bottom of a bottle of beer or wine, that he’d bitterly convinced himself that Sirius hadn’t meant what he’d said the day he left.

Then, just before finding out about his son, he’d found out that the one person he’d finally admitted to loving was dead. It had been a shattering realization. Grief and loss had overwhelmed him, even more so than when his parents had died. Quick to follow was guilt for believing Sirius could be anything other than unfailingly honest. He’d known the man better than that, having spent the better part of three weeks exclusively in his company.

Now, with just one little drop of their shared son’s blood, they knew that Sirius was likely alive, it was just where. He wanted to find him, so desperately it hurt. Tony needed to find out if Sirius still felt that way about him, or if time and distance had mellowed the intense attraction the pair shared. He wasn’t sure what he would do with himself if things turned out that way, but at least he would know.

Somehow, despite the pounding bass of his music and his whirling thoughts, Tony still heard the knock on the glass. He looked up and over, brown eyes meeting blue. It was Remus, one of Sirius’ best friends and the man who had rescued his son. For the second one alone, Tony owed him a debt he could never repay.

“J, pause the music and unlock the door for Remus please.”

Silence fell, briefly leaving his ears throbbing from the echo of his music. The quiet pneumatic hiss of the door sounded loud in comparison. Remus stepped through, his blue eyes wide with curiosity and admiration. His pace was very quiet, stealthy without even trying. He walked up to Tony and commented, “This is marvelous! All of this is your own work?”

Tony could feel himself puffing up a little, smug at the look in Remus’ eyes. “It is.” He jabbed his screwdriver at the wall, indicating the line of suits in their protective cases. “Those are the previous versions, left to right in order of creation. Took a bit of work and searching to recover the first version, but it was worth every cent.”

“They’re incredible,” the Brit replied, awe clear in his voice.

Tony smiles, able to tell the compliment is genuine by the other’s tone of voice. Pausing, he debates if he should bring up something or not. Finally, he internally shrugs. What the hell, it’s worth a shot. If Remus gets angry at him it won’t be the first or last time someone has been mad at him for his good intentions and poor phrasing.

“Hey Remus, you’re a werewolf, right? You were explaining all of that to us after we got Harry settled in the medical suite here.”

“I am,” Remus says. He quickly adds, “It’s nothing you need to worry about, I take a potion monthly that makes my wolf far more docile than normal and assuming MACUSA works with us, I’m sure they have facilities that I can use for transformations.”

Tony nods, waves a hand in Remus’ direction and says, “See, that’s my point entirely. We have a facility that is more than capable of holding one over-aggressive canine. I mean, it can hold Bruce when he loses his temper and I’m sure that the Hulk is a great deal bigger than your wolf.”

“Are you sure?” Remus asks, he looks wary, startled.

“Absolutely!” Tony emphasizes his point by waving the screwdriver that is still in his hands. As he starts gesturing, getting more excited, he’s in danger of poking himself in the face with the tool.

“Would you mind if I recorded it with my security cameras?” Catching Remus’ wide eyes and mistaking the action entirely, Tony hurries on. “I wanted to see if I can do anything that would help make your life easier. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through doing this every month for decades.”

Remus’ blues soften and darken, full of an emotion Tony can’t quite decipher yet. The man’s not yelling at him, so he doesn’t think he’s angry. Instead, he says in a resigned sort of voice, “Wizards have worked on trying to control or ‘cure’ lycanthropy almost since its existence began without success, Tony. The closest they’ve gotten is the potion I take, the Wolfsbane Potion.”

Tony smirks and says, “Forgive me for the hubris, but they aren’t me, are they?”

It’s true. The wizards that have worked on the lycanthropy ‘issue’ are bright, some are powerful wizards, but none of them have had the sheer level of intellect that Tony has. His eyes have never witnessed the problem before, perhaps his new outlook may have some better results.

Remus laughs, weakly. The emotion shining in his eyes is gratitude, Tony realizes. He says softly, “If you’re sure, then thank you. I haven’t had anyone willing to try and help me just because since my childhood friends. I just want to make sure that nobody can access that room. I’d never forgive myself if I hurt one of you.”

“If that’s what it takes, I’ll rig the door so once you go through it has to be you opening it from the other side,” Tony assures, “that and I’m sure I can rig a shock collar with enough juice to take out an elephant in a couple of weeks. It’ll make dog collars look like a toy.”

Remus laughs, the sound a little watery.

To give the man time to compose himself, Tony set down the screwdriver and walked over to a sink, wiping down his hands. Even when he was trying to be neat his hands always ended up covered in grease and oil and who knows what else. Turning to Remus, he asked, “What brings you to my humble abode?”

Remus snorted in amusement, likely at the idea of anything being humble. He spoke after a moment, seeming to carefully consider his words. “I’m aware that you’re a genius, so your mind processes things far quicker than most individuals. However, we’ve dumped a lot of information and crap on you in the last few days. I was coming down here to ask if there was anything you needed clarified or wanted to ask me.”

“If you don’t mind,” Tony said, “I’ve got a few questions for you.”

They walked over to a pair of comfortable rolling office chairs, tucked away in a clean corner of his workshop along with a desk and a foldaway cot. Remus got comfortable, leaning back in the chair and said, “Fire away.”

Tony arched a brow, amused at the relaxed demeanor Remus exuded. “First question, it lists James and Lily Potter as Harry’s ‘blood parents’. What exactly does that mean and did they know about Harry before?”

“You recall us discussing the Blood Glamor, which alters his appearance?” Remus asked. When Tony nodded, he continued, “The Blood Glamor basically gives a child the appearance and family of another, without actually removing the birth family. I’m assuming Dumbledore did that illegally just after altering the memories of the pair.”

Remus smiled in fond remembrance, “As for the second part, yes they knew before. Harry was born at James’ family home, Potter Manor. Sirius stayed with him for six months before approaching the pair. They couldn’t have kids; James had been hit with a curse that causes sterility during a fight with Death Eaters just after graduation. Sirius asked if James and Lily would take in baby Harry and act like he was theirs.”

“Why?” Tony asked, frowning.

“Pregnancies and births in the magical world are normally very highly publicized events,” Remus began, a slight frown on his face as he considered how best to word it. “Sirius hadn’t done so with Harry for three reasons. One, despite being a magical child, there would be those in our society that would look down on him from the moment he was born because Sirius was a single parent. Wizarding society, at least in the UK, is very old-fashioned and stuffy about certain things. Betrothals and arranged marriages are still fairly common.”

“That’s insane,” Tony shakes his head, feeling incredulous. It’s shocking to him that there is an entire section of society still stuck in what sounds like the Dark Ages.

“It is,” Remus agrees, “but it’s our norm. Another reason is due to the war itself; it was really ramping up at that time and he knew Harry would be a target for being a half-blood. This ties into the last, because even though he’s still considered a half-blood since Lily was Muggleborn, she was at least a witch.”

“While I don’t have magic at all,” Tony mused, seeing some of the issue if the society is as prejudiced as he’s been led to believe.

Remus nods. “The whole of the last reason was due to Sirius’ own family. I’m not sure what he told you about them, but the Blacks were a nasty lot for the most part. Their family motto is Toujours Pur, ‘Always Pure’, referring to blood. They took it to an obsessive degree, Sirius’ own parents were second-cousins. His father Orion wasn’t that bad, but his mother Walburga was insane.”

Tony shuddered. “Clearly, they hadn’t heard of genetics, since they don’t pay attention to the normal world. And what’s with the names?”

Remus laughed. “The Black family had a naming tradition, as you’ve clearly noticed it’s to do with stars and constellations. Sirius’ paternal grandsire was Arcturus, his father was Orion and his deceased younger brother was named Regulus. Unfortunately, most stars aren’t palatable as given names, which is why Sirius is the third to have that name.”

“Sirius didn’t follow that tradition for Harry,” Tony noted, remembering his son’s given name was Harlan.

“No,” Remus smiled. “He rather detested the naming tradition; swore he would never give any of his kids such weird names. Though one of his middle names is Orion, after his grandfather. I’m certain if Harry had been a girl, he intended to use Andromeda, which is the name of his favorite cousin.”

  “You were explaining about the background of the Black family in relation to Sirius’ third reason,” Tony prompted after a moment.

Remus nodded. “To put it bluntly, Walburga was insane. We’re pretty sure she was the reason for one of her niece’s instability, service to Voldemort only made it worse. Her name is Bellatrix Lestrange, she hates Sirius and he absolutely loathes her in return. Walburga tried to enforce the Black line the way she knew, she’d tried betrothing Sirius to Bellatrix. It’s one of the big reasons why they had such a huge fight when he ran away at 16.”

“Most of the Blacks are extremely proud of their heritage and very prejudiced. Sirius was honestly afraid of what his family, especially on his mother’s side, would do if they found out about Harry. Both the fact that he was born out of wedlock and his sire being non-magical. They were also for the most part highly prejudiced against same-sex relationships, though there were a few exceptions.”

“Did any of his family find out about Harry? You keep saying ‘most’ of his family,” Tony pointed out.

“His father Orion, Regulus and his cousin Andromeda. All of them swore oaths of silence to protect Harry, Sirius was very protective of him,” Remus smiled fondly.

Tony let go of a sigh, resisting the urge to bite his lip in uncertainty. Finally, he gathered his courage and spat out the question that was really rattling around in his head. “Do you think there’s a chance that Sirius is alive still?”

Remus was silent for a long moment, emotions racing across his face. “I do. That parchment is never wrong, there’s a reason for the saying ‘blood never lies’. It would make sense, especially with Dumbledore’s talent for illusion spells. He’s probably got him somewhere secure as a contingency plan in case Harry ever managed to break his hold.”

“Why would he do that?” Tony asked, voice little more than a whisper.

“I don’t know what has been running through his mind for any of this,” Remus said honestly. “All I can think of is he was forced to act because Sirius managed to break through the blocks on his memories. The Blacks were renowned for their mental fortitude, Andromeda broke through hers with relative ease and no outside help. If Sirius remembered and Dumbledore somehow found out, he would have panicked. He had so much riding on his manipulations of Harry.”

“Why would he let Harry believe Sirius was dead? It’s cruel, we all saw how he reacted to it,” Tony was angry on his son’s behalf.

“To break him,” Remus replied bluntly, “or at least start the process. Harry is very stubborn and hard-headed; he’s also gone through a lot and as a result is far tougher than he should be. The only reason I can think of is that Dumbledore wanted to start his process a little early.”

“Thank you for answering my questions,” Tony said honestly, gratitude in his voice. “It has been a lot to take in but I’ve been through a lot myself in the last few years, I adapt quickly.”

“Thank you,” Remus said, voice full of emotion. “I wouldn’t have blamed you in the slightest for not wanting to deal with all of this. Kingsley and I were trying to figure out an alternative if you had turned us down, but our options would have been limited.”

“I never would have turned him down,” Tony replied, voice thick, “I couldn’t have.”

Chapter Text

It’s dark. So dark, and cold.

His knee, shattered by a curse fired at him in anger, presses into cold, wet, molded cobblestone. His hands are bound in shackles behind his back, a chain running from them to the floor. A heavy iron collar is around his throat, wide enough that he can’t lower his head but is forced to keep it upright. It has heavy rings welded into it in six places, from which run six chains strong enough to hold a hippogriff, matching the one anchoring his hands. Initially he’d tried to tug his neck in one direction or another and loosen one of the bolts, but he learned quickly that was a bad idea. One of his captors, more sadistic than the others, made sure the inner ring of his collar had small sharp spikes.

The chains are taunt enough to keep him forced into one spot, bound to the floor on his knees. He’s learned to keep himself still even in his sleep, there are trickles of dried blood running down his bare chest and back from where the spikes have jabbed his tender neck. Time passes slowly here, it’s a commodity he’s learned to forget. With no windows, no light, there’s no way for him to discern the passage of time. For all he knows he’s been here for years. It could also be a matter of days.

Sirius Black’s silver-blue eyes glint in the dark, focused on the edge of what he knows is a doorway. Dumbledore and his eager little lackeys have done their best to break him, but he’s been in Azkaban prison, this is a walk in the park by comparison. Even if it is beginning to feel a little more hopeless by the day. His eyes stare at the door unrelentingly as his mind wanders.

He was such a fool. At the end of Christmas break of Harry’s fifth year, after the kids had returned to Hogwarts, he’d slumped back into his doldrums and Firewhiskey. Then one day, he’d been arguing with his mother’s portrait and slammed his way into the tapestry room. He’d lost his temper and control of his magic, throwing the equivalent of a childish tantrum. His magic, free to do as it wished, had struck the tapestry in a stream of colors similar to a firework.

Once the lightshow was over, he’d walked over, curious by a shimmering new section. He’d knelt, studying his own repaired portrait with surprise. His mother had blasted it off after he ran away at 16. Connected by a single line (double indicated marriage), was the name Anthony Stark. Another line down listed a blank silhouette and the name Harlan Anthony Orion Black.

Just like that, his blocks had come down with all the subtlety of being slammed into by a dozen Bludgers. Once he’d regained consciousness and stopped his bleeding nose, the reality of it had hit and left him sobbing. He’d put his precious son in James and Lily’s care to protect him and instead, thanks to Dumbledore, he’d been a target all his life. He was so furious he couldn’t even put it into words.

Despite knowing the danger, he must not have kept discreet enough about his returned memories. Somehow, Dumbledore had realized he’d remembered who Harlan actually was. He momentarily closed his eyes, remembering the heart-wrenching scream that had been his name falling from Harlan’s lips when he’d ‘fallen’ through the veil. Albus was talented with his illusion charms, Sirius would give him that.

Sirius wondered if he would ever forgive himself for trying to be clever and protect his baby, only to put him in so much danger. He wondered if Harlan would ever forgive him for the lies. He wondered if Tony would ever forgive him for being such a coward and not tracking the man down after the birth of their son. He’d been insecure, blaming it on hormones at the time, not sure if Tony would believe him about magic.

Now he just knew he’d been afraid, not wanting to know the answer. Not wanting to track the man down and find out that he’d just been one of his flings after all. Now, kneeling here in this dark cell, he wished he’d had a bit more of that reputed Gryffindor courage. He hoped, above all, that Harlan would find out the truth and try and find his father. He wanted Tony to know, even if he’d been too afraid to do it himself.

He bit his cracked lower lip, making it bleed. If he ever got out of this place, he wouldn’t be a coward again. He’d take the chance and find his beloved and their son, he’d make it right. He’d see if the desire and attraction that had burned between them for three weeks was still there, or if it were mere sparks now. He’d make it right and damn it all, he’d make those responsible pay.

He was a Black after all. If there was one thing they did well, it was wrath and all the fury magic gave them. Dumbledore and his lot had better start running for cover.

He was coming for them.

Consciousness returned to Harry this time with all the subtlety of a slap to the face. One moment he was asleep, the next his eyes snapped open and he was wide awake. He was rather bemused by the suddenness of it, having not come awake so alertly in months. Not since he was last at Hogwarts and had to get up early to study, in order to not alert his ‘friends’. He snorts quietly, minders more like. Especially with all he knows now. Hermione’s anger at anyone that did better than her suddenly made sense, as did Ron’s sulky seething if he focused on school instead of ‘fun’.

He’d always been intelligent, but had been forced to hide it from early on, fearing the Dursley’s wrath if he did better than ‘Dinky Duddydums’ first of all. Sure, it was difficult disappointing his friends, but being knocked about by someone three times his size at least was a bit more immediate a problem. Oh, he had to hand it to Dumbledore. The master manipulator that he was, he couldn’t have planned Harry’s misery better if he’d tried.

Moisture filled his eyes as he remembered the conversation just before he’d fallen unconscious, sedated most likely. Sirius had been his dad… why hadn’t he mentioned it to Harry? Had he known the whole time and was disappointed? Harry wasn’t sure what was worse, that he hadn’t remembered for some reason or he had and never bothered to tell Harry. He could deal with being unwanted, it was nothing new after all.

A quiet rustle of fabric reached his ears and he looked to his right, startled. He’d thought he was alone in the room. Sitting in the same chair Remus had been in was a stranger, a man. Probably close to Sirius and Remus’ age, with rich brown hair, trimmed facial hair and intelligent brown eyes that held a mischievous edge. He was good-looking, probably fairly tall judging by the way he was folded into the chair, with broad shoulders and a wiry but muscled frame. A pale glow emanated through his shirt from his chest region, which had Harry internally brimming with curiosity.

He was also staring at Harry with a wide range of emotions crisscrossing his face. He didn’t look startled by Harry’s sudden gaze; it was more as if he wasn’t sure what to say.

Harry made an educated guess and asked with a raspy voice, “Do I have you to thank for my current location?”

The man jumped a little, as if he wasn’t expecting Harry to speak yet. Clearing his throat, he answered, “This is my place, yes. My name is Anthony Stark, but I prefer Tony.”

“Then, Tony, let me thank you for this,” Harry said wearily, managing to lift his hand to indicate his surroundings.

“It’s not a problem,” Tony reassures him quickly. “My team and I were shocked to hear what you’ve been through.”

“Team?” Harry asks, curious.

He nods. “Yeah, we’re known as the Avengers. A band of misfit superheroes that tries to work together to protect the world from those that mean harm.”

“You’re non-magical then, I take it? How did Remus get away with explaining all of this to you?”

“The other man with you guys, Kingsley, his cousin is our ‘boss’ of sorts. More like our minder, gives us missions and such. Nick looks a lot like him, he’s a bit shorter and has an eyepatch.”

“Kingsley Shacklebolt?” Harry almost murmurs, not really expecting a response. He was part of the Order, Harry’s surprised that he left England with Remus.

“Yeah,” Tony answers anyway, having heard him. “He was shocked when Remus told him you were missing, had no clue whatsoever.”

“Nice to know some of them weren’t in on it,” Harry mutters, a sort of resigned anger in his voice.

Tony hesitates, then speaks up. “There are cameras in here, we’ve been using them to monitor your condition when someone isn’t at your side. We all saw your reaction to what Remus told you. I take it Sirius Black was very important to you?”

It feels as if there was suddenly an enormous lump in Harry’s throat. Swallowing several times, he tries to explain. He doesn’t know why he’s bothering, but perhaps speaking about it will help. That’s what everyone he knows has tried to tell him over the years.

“All my life, I’ve believed that I’m the orphaned son of two war heroes, James and Lily Potter. I’m assuming there’s something changing my appearance, the first thing everyone always does is say I have James’ messy hair or Lily’s eyes. Between that and the ‘scar’ on my forehead, I’ve always been instantly identifiable.”

“At thirteen a prisoner broke out of Azkaban, the wizarding prison in the UK. It’s supposed to be unbreachable and everyone was terrified. The man that broke out was named Sirius Black, he’d been accused of killing thirteen people with a single curse, blowing up a gas line in a Muggle street. It was only later, around Christmas, that I found out he was supposedly the one keeping my ‘parents’ safe from the psychopath after us, that he’d betrayed them to their deaths.”

“In the meantime, all I knew was that he was dangerous, likely deranged and a supporter of Voldemort. The only thing the guards heard him say, in his sleep, was he’s at Hogwarts. Everyone assumed he was going to come after me, since I’d caused the Dark Lord’s ‘downfall’. He broke into the castle once, managed to get all the way into the dormitory where I stayed.”

Harry smiles, reminiscently. “Then, one night in early June, this massive black dog attacks Ronald, my ‘friend’. He drags him through a passageway to an abandoned building, luring me and another ‘friend’ named Hermione there. The dog transforms in the blink of an eye into the man we’ve seen splashed on wanted posters all around the school and village.”

Tony has his head cocked to the side, listening. He’s obviously curious about the tone of voice Harry uses when he says friend or certain other words, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“I punched him,” Harry muses, a snort managing to escape his lips at the memory. “Here I was, this scrawny underage wizard, physically attacking a man reputed to be a mass murderer educated in the Dark Arts. Luckily for me, Sirius was nothing of the sort. After Remus shows up and Hermione outs him as a werewolf, they prove who the real traitor was. A coward, masquerading as a common rat, that had been in the school with me the entire time. His name is Peter Pettigrew, he’s another childhood friend of James, Sirius and Remus’. Sirius had seen him in the paper, realized who he was, and broke out to protect me.”

Harry smiles. “He’s a little rash at times,” he muses aloud fondly. “Unfortunately, the real traitor escaped and Sirius was forced to flee England or face instant execution. They weren’t even willing to listen to him try and explain things. Despite that, he remained in contact with me while he was on the run, sending letters when able. He came back to England, risking his life, when the Tournament was held the next year.”

Harry’s voice is sadder, quieter. “He endured being forced into a family home he hated to give the Order of the Phoenix a location of safety. Molly belittled him and snapped at him in his own home and he never said a word. Albus Dumbledore, their leader, forced people to respect his spy, yet he never offered the same courtesy for Sirius, who was forced to endure suspicious glances and mutters about his ‘Dark’ family despite being innocent of everything he was accused of.”

Harry’s eyes were full of moisture, his voice thick with emotion. “He died that way, still protecting me. And now I find out that he wasn’t just the first stable adult influence I had, but one of my actual parents. The only thing I ever wanted in my life and he’s dead because of me.”

Tony frowns a little, speaking for the first time since Harry began. His own eyes are a little sad and full of guilt for some reason. “It’s not your fault he died,” he points out firmly. “He was an adult; he made the decision to get involved in that fight. From what Remus has told me, you wouldn’t have gone to that place at all if they had been more open with information. The fault for his death lies on their hands, not yours.”

Harry blinks in surprise, mulling things over from that light. It’s possible that what Tony says is the truth. Probable, actually. Suddenly the voice screeching “IT’S YOUR FAULT MY COUSIN IS DEAD, YOU LITTLE MURDERER! YOU KILLED YOUR PARENTS, DIGGORY AND NOW SIRIUS! YOU KILL EVERYONE WHO LOVES OR CARES FOR YOU!” isn’t quite so sharp. He pulls himself out of his recent past with difficulty. It was Tonks’ angry accusation that really started to break him psychologically.

“I met Sirius,” Tony says suddenly, drawing Harry’s surprised attention. “He came to the States for a bit around Christmas, 1996. He gate-crashed this high-society party I’d been forced to attend, actually. Didn’t realize it at the time of course, I was just drawn to this quiet, confident man with black hair and silver eyes. I knew most of those people and didn’t recognize him, so I was intrigued. With his accent and the way he carried himself, he fit right in.”

“We’d been talking for, gods, it felt like hours but minutes at the same time. He was quick-witted and clever, kept me on my toes. I liked him, a lot. It’s weird, but I could sense it was kind of an act for him, the poshness. He gave off this air of mischievous enjoyment, like he’d just gotten away with the best practical joke. Then security started coming around, asking for invitations. They’d gotten wind that someone was there that wasn’t a guest.”

“I knew, instantly, that Sirius didn’t have an invitation. So, I spoke up when they asked, said he was my plus one. I’m known for bringing a guy or girl with me to those sorts of things. Sirius looked surprised and a little pleased that I’d covered for him. Tried to thank me. I waved it off, implied I meant it when I called him my plus one.”

Harry looks vaguely amused as he speaks, thankful for the unexpected story to drag his emotions back under control. He’s really not surprised whatsoever that Sirius had invited himself to a fancy party, it sounded like something he would do. He gets what Tony’s not saying, that Sirius had slept with him. He’s not that surprised, having guessed that his godfather/father was at least bi years ago. He’s also surely not the first person to notice that Tony’s good-looking.

“He stayed in New York with me for almost three weeks, until just before New Year’s. When Sirius told me he had to leave, I didn’t want him to,” Tony admits, the grief now clear in his eyes. “I wanted him to stay, so badly I could hardly stand it. He admitted that he couldn’t leave his friends at the moment, otherwise he would have stayed. Told me he loved me; I was too much a coward at the time to say it back.”

Harry’s eyes widen a little. He’d never guessed that this was where Tony’s little story was going. How hard had that been on them both, especially since Sirius hadn’t told him about magic?

“When Remus and Kingsley showed up, it was kind of mixed emotions for me. One, there had been a good reason for Sirius not contacting me in 17 years. Two, he was dead. It was one of those things I’d been wondering and dreading, if he was gone. I’d looked, off and on, trying to find him. Magic makes sense of course, at the time I wondered if he hadn’t given me a false name.”

“But then they dumped another little stunner on me. Remember when Remus told you about the ‘prophecy’ thingy and how you didn’t qualify because neither of your parents had met Voldemort? How he said Sirius was one of your parents?”

Harry nods.

Tony takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. He runs a hand through his rich brown hair, a nervous gesture.

“That’s because I’m your dad,” Tony blurts out finally, nerves visible on his face. “It’s why Remus brought you to the States, because they remembered me. Apparently, it’s part of the blocks Remus had; Sirius told him, James and Lily about me. We ran blood tests to see what’s been done to you, your real name is Harlan Anthony Orion Black.”

Harry inhales, shocked surprise running through his body. His green eyes lock on the rich brown of his newly-discovered father, and silence echoes between them.

Inside, his body, his magic, is singing in exultant joy.

Chapter Text

Remus is shocked but relieved that Harry now knows who Tony is. He hadn’t expected the man to tell Harry himself, but he’s glad that they’ve met and Harry isn’t instantly rejecting the situation. Instead, he appears cautiously hopeful. Today is the first day he’s being allowed out of bed by his Healers, only to the couch in the massive living room, they warn. Harry’s not in any shape to go further. Magical healing is quicker than non, but it’s still a slow process when working on the severe damage Harry’s endured.

Harry’s face is ashen by the time they reach the couch, his hands trembling with exertion. He sits slowly, gingerly. His entire body is sore, still dealing with the after-tremors from multiple rounds of the Cruciatus Curse. He’s almost gaunt, his collarbones stand out starkly against the pale blue shirt he’s wearing, which hangs off his slim shoulders. Remus watches as he closes his eyes for a moment and lays his head on the back of the couch, weariness visible in his face from the short trip.

His eyes snap open with shocking suddenness, head turning at a whisper of sound. It’s Kingsley, Tony and two of his teammates, Bruce and Natasha. Kingsley freezes in the doorway, as surprised as Remus at Harry’s sharp hearing. No doubt it’s another augmentation, one that doesn’t show up on his scan since it’s a ‘medical’ procedure. Remus has already noticed that they fixed and sharpened his eyesight. Can’t have their weapon with any physical weaknesses, he thinks caustically.

Kingsley moves again, taking a seat to Harry’s left that’s still within his peripheral vision so he doesn’t feel threatened. Remus sits on his right, next to him on the loveseat so that he can support Harry if necessary. Tony, Bruce and Natasha take other seats around the room, Natasha on Remus’ right. The former spy/assassin’s movements are very quiet, Remus can hardly hear her.

There’s some tension unconsciously present in Harry, his shoulders tightening. He’s a little wary, watching all of them with cautious eyes, particularly Natasha. It’s probably part of his training/potions, he can sense that she’s one of the most dangerous individuals in the room. Natasha, for her part, does her best to make herself as unthreatening as possible, leaning back in the chair and folding her hands in her lap, crossing one leg over the other.

Tony speaks up, breaking the silence in the room. “These are two of the teammates that I told you about, Harry. The man next to me is Bruce Banner, a scientist specializing in gamma radiation. The woman next to Remus is Natasha Romanoff. She’s a former Russian spy, she works for the government agency Kingsley’s cousin is in charge of.”

Harry nods, almost visibly forcing himself to relax. Remus is glad that Tony suggested Harry meet just a couple of people at a time. Harry’s slowly relaxing, trusting in the protection Kingsley, Remus and Tony to an extent offer. He still remains alert, ready to defend himself if necessary, but he’s not coiled quite so tight. It makes Remus very upset, being able to visibly see the effect the last year has had on the teenager.

“Harry,” Remus speaks up quietly. “Tony told us that you were surprised that Kingsley didn’t know about what was happening to you. Do you remember any of the people that were involved?”

“Just so you understand, Harry,” Tony speaks up swiftly, his voice firm. He’s angry, but not at Harry. “I intend to have them prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law for what they’ve done to you, both magical and non-magical. They are going to rue the day they decided to mess with you.”

Harry blinks, but he doesn’t look upset. Instead, the word that comes to mind is startled. It’s as if he’s not expecting them to be as concerned as they are. Remus conceals a growl, knowing the ‘relatives’ are to blame for a lot of that.

Without hesitation, a series of names rolls off Harry’s lips. “Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Alastor ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody, Nymphadora Andromeda Black-Tonks, Sturgis Podmore, Mundungus Fletcher, Severus Tobias Snape, Hermione Jean Granger, Ronald Bilius Weasley, and Ginevra Molly Weasley. Molly Elizabeth Prewett-Weasley was aware, but didn’t actually get her hands dirty.”

Remus chokes at the list, tears flooding his eyes in anger and disbelieving rage. “Ron and Hermione!” he chokes out.

Harry’s lip curls, an exceptionally malevolent expression filling his eyes. “I’m pretty sure they’ve been helping Dumbledore since I first went to Hogwarts, actually. Especially in light of what his plans were for me all along. Hermione forced me to repress my intelligence while Ron encouraged me in my ‘sacrificial’ behavior and being eager to please. Also helped to keep me ignorant as to my heritage with just the Potter family, come to think of it.”

“I take it most of those people are well known, by your reactions,” Bruce speaks up quietly, eyes flicking from Kingsley’s contained anger to Remus’ visible agitation.

“Albus Dumbledore is Headmaster of Hogwarts and a respected political figure,” Kingsley begins. “Severus Snape is a Potions Master, teaches the equivalent of Chemistry. Alastor Moody is an Auror and Podmore is an Unspeakable, your version would be a police officer and special agent. Nymphadora Tonks is not only an Auror as well, but Sirius’ cousin’s daughter.”

“She blames me for Sirius’ death,” Harry murmurs quietly. “Liked to scream it point-blank in my face multiple times. She no doubt enjoyed extracting her pound of flesh for it as well,” he muses, eyes unfocused. He thus misses the horrified, angry glances that are exchanged around the room.

“Hermione Jean Granger is the daughter of two non-magicals. They’re dentists, own their own practice somewhere in London. She’d probably be the easiest to find. As she’s seventeen, she’s also legally an adult in the magical world and thus responsible for her own crimes as an adult in our trial system.”

“So she might be an in to finding some of the others, or at least getting an idea on their location and plans,” Natasha muses.

“Perhaps,” Harry responds in kind. His eyes are still unfocused, they can practically see the thoughts racing behind them. “She’s devoutly loyal to Dumbledore however, has an unwavering respect of authority that he’s taken advantage of. Ronald or Ginevra would be the easier ones to intimidate, but harder to find. Molly’s very obsessive about her children’s safety, drives the older ones insane.”

He shudders a little when he says Ginny’s name, but Remus is the only one who notices, sitting so close to the teenager. His mind flicks back to the list of potions Harry had been given and his trepidation grows. It’s only later, back in his quarters, that Harry quietly admits what Remus has grown to suspect; that Ginny used the aphrodisiac potion on Harry to rape him after realizing he wasn’t attracted to her. He also admits that Dumbledore knew or even encouraged it, as part of his psychological and emotional breaking.

“Harry,” Tony says quietly. Harry looks at him, focusing fully on his newly-discovered father.

“We know that you were raised by non-magical people that you weren’t related to, that they probably abused and neglected you from a young age. Would you be willing to tell me their names? I want them to pay for what they’ve done to you as well. No child deserves to be treated the way you were, orphan or not.”

Remus can visibly see Harry swallow, though he remains silent. He wonders if Tony will accomplish what he and Sirius could not, and get Harry to admit that he’d been abused as a child. Get their names, so that justice could be leveled upon them. Remus only knows Petunia, Lily’s sister. He’s disgusted by her actions, knowing that if the tables were turned and Dudley had been orphaned, Lily would have raised him like her own son.

Harry speaks, voice harsh with a bit of a rasp to it. It’s as if he’s simultaneously trying not to, but can’t stop himself.

“Vernon and Petunia Dursley, Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. All the proof they’d need is in the cupboard under the front stair and the smallest bedroom on the second floor.”

Remus relaxes, hearing not only the address but the additional information with surprise. Apparently, he stares at Tony in a bit of awe, the man’s a bit of a miracle worker. He’s glad, it’s about time that people begin to pay for their actions.

Now they just need to find Sirius.

Natasha eyes the too-skinny teen from where she’s sitting. She’s impressed despite herself at his sharp reactions, how aware he is of his surroundings. She knows a lot of it can be blamed on some fool individuals who decided to turn a child into a living weapon. She feels a sort of companionship with the boy, perhaps because her own beginnings were so very similar. Natasha doubts that she’ll ever be able to forget her training in the Red Room, everything that was forced on her.

She’s glad they intercepted Harry before he’d been forced to fight or kill for the man at the center of all his pain. She wishes, sometimes, that someone had done the same for her. Instead, she spent years as a hardened assassin, using her mind, skills and body as suited to attain her goals. Though they were never really her own, just those of her superiors. She’s amazed that this slender boy is Tony Stark’s son, but even under the disguise to his appearance she can see hints of their similarities.

She’s known, from the moment she first met Tony as ‘Natalie Rushman’ that there was something in his past that had changed him, something beyond Afghanistan. Or more precisely, someone. She’d looked through some of his files, curious who could have made such an impact on the eccentric genius, but she never found a trace of information. There were just hints of it, his quiet reservation in personal relationships, a lingering sadness in his eyes when he watched couples at events he attended. She’s watched him put a bit more professional distance between him and Pepper Potts, when before she’d have sworn they were going to end up dating.

Having gotten some idea of the individual behind it all, Natasha can’t say she’s surprised. It would take a one-of-a-kind person to capture and hold Tony’s attention for so long; Sirius Orion Black certainly seems to fit the bill. She’s been doing a little of her own digging recently, asking Remus about his childhood friend, doing searches on photos of Tony Stark from that time period in late December, 1996. She finds, amongst a lot of blur and speculation, one rather startlingly crisp photograph.

She slides it across the table to Tony first, face down. He picks it up and flips it over, shooting her a look of curious surprise. Then he actually looks at the photograph and his eyes soften, full of emotion as a warm, wistful smile crosses his lips. For a man normally aware of paparazzi and their general location in his surroundings, this one seems to have managed to catch him completely off-guard.

He slides it across the coffee table towards Remus and Harry, face up. As Remus picks up the photograph Natasha speaks up, explaining. “I’ve been doing a bit of my own digging; I was curious as to who Sirius was and how come we’d never heard mention of him before. Magic explains a lot of it, but it turns out the paparazzi at the time were aware, they just didn’t know who he was.”

Remus is just to her left, she easily hears the soft hitch of breath as he stares at the photo. She can’t hear if Harry has an audible reaction, but she can see the emotions swirling through his expressive eyes. His body language speaks more than words, trailing slender fingers longingly along the crisp edge of the photo. She’s made two other copies than the original and Natasha’s glad. She can clearly see there are three individuals who are going to want copies of it.

It’s Tony and Sirius, walking under a tree line in early evening, in Central Park to go by their surroundings. They’re arm in arm, dressed in casual but still formal clothing. Tony’s got his jacket tucked under his loose arm, his discarded tie hanging dangerously close to the dirty path. Sirius is still wearing his entire ensemble, but his jacket is open and the tie casually looped around his neck like a scarf.

Tony’s visibly laughing, while Sirius’ eyes almost shine in the dark and a gorgeous smile wreathes his lips. It’s secretive almost, that smile, like he’s been telling a story but is still holding the punch line close to his chest. They’ve probably just left a dinner party or something of the sort to go by their attire in late December, but the cold is only just beginning to redden their cheeks and noses.

Remus smiles, giving a watery laugh. “It’s funny, Sirius told us a lot about his stay in New York when he came home. But I guess I never really realized how much more at ease he was until now. I wish he would have stayed, but that loyalty of his wouldn’t let him. We all knew that, yet so many were quick to jump on the idea that he’d betray James and Lily in such a horrible way.”

“He never blamed you for it,” Harry points out quietly, his voice hardly audible. “You know that. Sirius was the first to point out that trust was a rare commodity at that time, he was a more likely option than Peter. Between Dumbledore’s testimony and his family’s history, he never stood a chance.”

“You said he broke out of a wizarding prison,” Tony said quietly to Harry. “What’s it like?”

Harry falls quiet, but Kingsley speaks up, voice low and contemplative. “Azkaban prison is set out on an island in the North Sea. The easiest way to describe it is literally hell on earth. Wizarding Great Britain has no concept of things such as prisoner’s rights. People are locked in individual cells in a single uniform, the one they’re given on admission. They don’t leave the cells except once weekly for a shower, communal of course. If they’re lucky and the guards aren’t lazy, they’re fed twice daily, a cold gruel and hunk of bread. They never receive water, those on outside cells learn to gather it from the perpetual rain that surrounds the island.”

He continues, musing aloud, “The worst part though isn’t their physical conditions, it’s the guards themselves. Azkaban prison maintains a human guard of fifty in rotating shifts of ten, with three wardens. It’s a skeleton force, mostly used to maintain control in the lower levels. That’s where low and medium security prisoners are kept. The majority of the guard force is a Dark creature called a Dementor. The only place they exist is WGB, outside of our borders they are exterminated on sight by foreign Aurors. They’re tall, covered in a long, ratty black cloak. They don’t walk, but glide over the ground. The only part you normally see of a Dementor is their hands, which are skeletal and blackish-gray.”

“Dementors,” Kingsley continues, voice grim, “don’t require sustenance like any other creature. Instead, they feed on human emotions. Pleasant ones, to be specific. They’re drawn towards happiness like a moth to a flame. Upon a Dementor’s approach, one feels a dramatic, sudden change in emotions. All happiness, joy, contentment is pulled from you. As a result, you’re left with only the worst emotions and memories you’ve experienced in your life. They patrol twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. New human guards usually have issues sleeping at first when off-shift, they keep hearing prisoners shrieking in their sleep.”

“And Sirius was imprisoned there?” Bruce whispers, face paling rapidly. Tony’s is already ashen, lips trembling.

“Not only imprisoned there, but imprisoned illegally, as he was never given a trial,” Kingsley says, anger in his voice. “Life sentence, maximum security. The convicted supporters of Voldemort are on that level, almost the top. There’s four Dementors stationed full time on a small circuit around three cells each, constant coverage. Which makes,” Kingsley’s lips twitch in an amused, impressed way, “Sirius’ resistance to them all the more impressive.”

“How did he manage it?” Natasha asks, curious.

“He concentrated on the fact that he was innocent. It wasn’t a happy thought, but a simple fact. Which meant that the Dementor’s presence couldn’t pull it off him, no matter how hard they tried. Eventually, he built up enough strength to switch to his animal form, or Animagus. It’s a large black dog, similar in size to an Irish Wolfhound. Dementors don’t affect animals as easily as humans, it afforded him more protection,” Harry says quietly.

“Clever, and impressive,” Bruce says, smiling. “To find a loophole he could exploit under those circumstances is admirable indeed.”

“He certainly scared the shit out of Cornelius Fudge,” Kingsley snickers. “Our Minister for Magic, the head of WGB government,” he explains to them. “I was on his guard duty when he had to visit the prison the year Sirius broke out. It was required once yearly, ‘wellness’ checks, they called it. A short visible check on each prisoner in Azkaban at the time.”

“You were there?” Remus laughs. The others look confused, besides Harry, who’s tiredly smiling. He’s visibly becoming weaker; they know soon he’ll have to return to his bed in the medical suite.

“I was,” Kingsley snorts. “It’s one of the reasons why I wanted to join the Order and help, actually. I was impressed by his sheer cheek towards the Minister.”

“You’ve heard me describe how most of the prisoners are during the majority of the time,” Kingsley speaks up, addressing the confused glances directed their way at what is clearly an inside joke. “During the yearly evaluation, Fudge always made us clear the entire level he was on of Dementors. He loathes the things, never was able to protect himself from them. For the prisoners, it’s the first time in a year they can think clearly. Most just huddle towards the back of their cells, wolfing down the extra food they’re given by the guards.”

“Here we are on the maximum-security level, doing checks on the Death Eaters and murderers and the like. Suddenly, this voice calls out to Cornelius from down the hallway. Curious, Cornelius walks down, wondering who’s talking to him. He has the morning paper tucked under his arm, trying to appear nonchalant. Of course, the prisoners are no fools, they know he’s scared witless of them.”

“Cornelius stops outside the cell and a guard quickly tells him that the occupant is Sirius Black. Sirius ambles up to the bars of his cell, slides his arms through and links his hands, leaning on the frame like he’s leaning against a fence. ‘Hello again Minister,’ he says, a smirk on his face. He’s doing all of this with an utter nonchalance, like he’s just run into Cornelius in London. ‘Long time no see,’ he continues. Then he spots the paper under Cornelius’ arm and says, ‘Wouldn’t mind letting me see that, would you? Awfully dull in here, no company when the rest are shrieking in their sleep. Besides, I miss the puzzles.’ Cornelius,” Kingsley is laughing outright now, “was so damn frightened of him he handed over the paper without another word and practically ran out, leaving his review unfinished!”

Tony, Bruce and Natasha all burst out laughing, now getting the joke. The wizards are laughing as well, Kingsley and Remus in remembrance from the tale and Harry, laughing quieter to avoid aggravating his healing ribs, who’s humor is exacerbated considering he’s never heard the full story. It sounds like something Sirius would have done. He snorts, immediately wincing and wrapping an arm around his ribs. Remus notices, but he waves it off. Still, it’s not ten minutes later before the werewolf and Tony are escorting him back to his suite, claiming he needs the rest.

He knows it, but at the same time he’ll be glad when he can spend more of his day outside those same four walls. For now, he’s still grateful for the chance to get better.

Chapter Text

Kingsley is studying a copy of the Daily Prophet when one of the other occupants of Avengers Tower comes and finds him. He’s kept up his subscription to the paper, wanting to keep an eye on news over there and make sure that there’s nothing that will surprise them about Harry. Just because they’ve left the country doesn’t mean that they’re out of danger quite yet, nor does it mean he can let his guard down.

Natasha Romanoff approaches him, her footsteps nearly silent. She’s a beautiful, dangerous woman, fire and ice rolled into one tempting package. Kingsley is man enough to admit he’s attracted to her, but it’s nothing more than physical. He also appreciates her intelligence and spark of viciousness; she reminds him of several of the more dangerous witches he knows in British society.

“Do you know anything about the Weasley family?” she asks without preamble.

“I do,” Kingsley easily answers. “Their current patriarch is Arthur; he works at the Ministry of Magic. He’s happy with his job, despite his wife’s ambitions and resentment of their lack of wealth at times. His wife is Molly Prewett-Weasley, whom Harry mentioned. They have seven children, six boys and one daughter. Their eldest William prefers to be known as Bill, he works for our bank as a curse-breaker, usually based in Egypt. Second eldest is Charlie, a dragon-tamer in Romania. Third is Percival or Percy, he also works in the Ministry as a junior undersecretary to the Minister. Fourth and fifth are a set of mischievous twins, Fred and George, who own a joke shop. The sixth son is Ronald and their only daughter is Ginevra or Ginny.”

“Both Ronald and Ginevra were involved in Harry’s torments, he mentions them both by name,” Natasha states.

“Yes, what makes it all the more horrible to contemplate is that Ron played at being Harry’s ‘friend’ for five years prior to this. Ginevra always seemed shy around him; I believe she had a crush on him for a very long time.”

Natasha purses her lips for a moment, thinking. “Do you know where they live?”

“I do,” Kingsley admits. “It’s called the Burrow, several miles outside the village of Ottery St. Catchpole. Why?”

“I would like you to take me there,” Natasha says, voice firm and cold. “We need to apprehend one of them when they leave the property. Either one, preferably Ginevra. She has a known punishable crime we can hang over her head.”

“Why do you want to do this?” Kingsley asks carefully. He’s not as opposed to the idea as he should be, they’re children after all. But at the same time, they’re children who helped to torment, hurt and break another child close to their own age.

“It will not only give us a better idea of how to go about bringing in the rest,” Natasha says, “but I think they may know where Sirius is being kept. Either they’ve been there themselves or heard what they shouldn’t have. If they know that Harry is Sirius’ son and not the child of your ‘prophecy’, it stands to think that they might know about Sirius as well.”

Kingsley sucks in a breath, having not contemplated the idea. It’s hard for him to imagine children having that kind of knowledge and not doing anything about it. But then these aren’t children with a normal sense of morals in any case. He wants to approach Arthur, ask for his permission, but he knows even if the man has no idea that Molly will ensure they never speak to her children alone. And Molly would warn Albus…

“Very well,” he says finally.

Apparition, as Kingsley explains it is called, is one of the most unpleasant means of travel Natasha has experienced in her lifetime. She controls her nausea with effort, retaining her feet and contents of her stomach through iron will and training. Kingsley is visibly impressed, especially since they had to do it twice. Most wizards aren’t strong enough to Apparate across the Atlantic in a single jump. She strides after Kingsley as the man begins to walk, his long, ground-eating strides covering a great distance without being in a visible hurry.

He reminds Natasha of Nick in small, imperceptible ways. Their way of speaking is very similar, Kingsley’s is just a little more reassuring. The way both of them express their anger, in flashing eyes and clenched fists. The aura of command they both give off is nearly visible, making you want to follow their directions. It’s funny how many little things are down to genetics, she muses. Or at least the training in their very similar careers.

As they’re walking, Kingsley transforms a small piece of cloth into a simple leather bracelet and inscribes a few squiggly lines into it with his wand, which sparks as if emitting heat. Handing it to her, he says, “Put this on. It’s temporary at best, but it will allow you to see things obscured to Muggles by magic. The Burrow is protected against non-magical people, for obvious reasons.”

They crest a rise in a hill and Natasha stops, staring at the house in front of her. It defies the laws of gravity and sheer logic. Tilting one way and then the other haphazardly, as if each layer was plunked down onto the one below it by someone that was blind. Despite the oddity of its architecture, Natasha can sense that the quirky home is a warm one, with a shed and chicken coop as well as a large back garden littering the massive yard. Washing is hung out on a line to dry, a few old tires are scattered through the yard. If not for the strangeness of the house itself, it wouldn’t be out of place in the normal world.

They begin to walk again, Kingsley’s direction taking them out of direct sight of the house towards an old wooden gate. They stop short of the gate, crouching in the long grass and brambles beyond. The home is occupied, smoke drifts in lazy swirls from the chimney, which is as crooked as the rest of the house. Natasha can vaguely hear conversations if she listens closely, though the words are imperceptible.

It’s beyond her, how this family can just go about their everyday routine as if three of them aren’t involved in the imprisonment and torture of a child. Despite her words to Kingsley, she’s hoping the boy Ronald is the first one outside the protective wards. She wasn’t meant to overhear Remus and Harry’s conversation about what the girl had done to him, she’s sure Tony doesn’t know. But she heard it anyway and she knows the girl is in serious legal trouble if it comes out, even being a minor.

It makes her heart sink, several hours later, when the first person to step out of the wards is Ginevra. She’s pretty in a way, with long strawberry hair and a dusting of freckles over her nose and cheekbones. Her eyes are a warm shade of brown, closer to hazel. She calls over her shoulder into the house, something about a ‘Luna’. Kingsley carefully points his wand at her as she draws closer to where they’re crouched and whispers, “Stupefy!”

Red light leaves his wand and strikes the girl, who falls to the ground in a heap. She’s unconscious but alive, resting peacefully on the grass. Natasha shakes her head, still working on processing the idea of magic and all it can do. They move swiftly to her, Kingsley pulling a small chain from his pocket. “This is another form of transport, a portkey,” he explains. “I set this one before we leave, it will bring us directly back to the Tower, just outside the building. Put your finger on it and hold on.”

Natasha braces herself, reaches out and touches the small object. There’s a hooking sensation behind her navel, a whirl of colors and then her surroundings disappear.

As soon as they get back inside, Natasha tells the advanced A.I. JARVIS to tell Tony, Remus and the others to come find them. Kingsley conjures a plain wooden chair and sets Ginevra in it, binding her with heavy ropes. He gets a flash of the chair where they’d found Harry, set with heavy chains. He shakes off the image, tells himself this is different. They’re not going to torture Ginny; they just want information.

Remus enters the room first and gasps, face paling a little at the sight of her. It takes until after Tony, Bruce, Steve and Clint have shown for him to react. His blue eyes turn golden and a deep, vibrating growl leaves his throat. The sound is primal and so not human that it takes the Avengers visibly aback. “Remus,” Kingsley says firmly, a little surprised at his reaction. “Control yourself.”

Remus closes his eyes, takes several deep breaths. When he opens them, they’re swirling blue and gold and he snarls, “What is she doing here?”

“I take it by your reactions that this girl is a witch, but who is she exactly?” Tony demands, clearly off-centered.

“Ginevra Weasley,” Remus growls, “the little sister of Ronald and one of the people involved in your son’s torments.”

“Ah,” Tony says, comprehension dawning. Kingsley can almost visibly see the man process the information, rich brown eyes flashing in protective anger.

“She’s here,” Natasha puts in, “because I pointed out to Kingsley that there’s a good possibility one of the children may know where Sirius is being held. Either they overheard it or were told outright.”

“Enervate,” Kingsley intones, pointing his wand at her.

Ginny wakes with a gasp, struggling against her bonds before she’s even fully alert. It’s several moments before she takes in her surroundings with widening brown eyes, a few more before she spots Kingsley.

“W-what? Kingsley, where am I? Get me out of these, please!”

“I think not,” Remus growls, the edge of his wolf still there. It’s the closest Kingsley has seen him to fully merging with his wolf while in human form, teetering on the edge like a blade.

Ginny’s eyes widen in terror at the sight of Remus. She knows the only reason Remus would be there would be because of Harry. “R-Remus? Where am I? Why do you have me tied up like this?”

“Do you think I don’t know what you’ve done?” Remus snaps back, taking a step towards the girl. “Do you think I don’t know everything you’ve done to my cub!” his voice is just shy of an angry growl, rattling windows.

Her face is ashen. “I didn’t want to Remus, I swear! Dumbledore wanted me to do it, swore it would help break him!”

Kingsley frowns, unsure what they’re speaking of.

“YOU LYING LITTLE BITCH!” Remus literally does roar at her, his eyes going purely golden again. “There was no spell on you, no potions. You tried to use Amortentia on him! You and your stalking behavior, encouraged by your mother no doubt. You wanted it; it didn’t matter that he never would!”

Kingsley puts the pieces together, remembering the doses of Amortentia and the aphrodisiac potion used on Harry. He sucks in a breath, angry beyond comprehension. He’d said it himself, using those on someone unwilling would amount to sexual assault or rape if it went that far. It appeared, from the undercurrents of the conversation, that it had gone that far.

Kingsley hears a sudden angry inhale and looks up to spot Tony Stark, watching the back of Ginny’s strawberry head with a look of pure loathing. Suddenly, he moves, striding across the room to plant himself next to Kingsley. A nasty little smile crosses his lips and he says, “Ginevra Molly Weasley, I presume? My name is Anthony Stark, and I assure you that you won’t forget it for a very long time. You see, I’m Harry’s other father, aside from Sirius, and I intend to make sure you spend a great deal of your life in prison.”

Ginny’s face whitens even more. It’s clear she’s never been told who Harry’s other parent was, nor that they still lived. Suddenly though, her eyes darken and she spits angrily, “You can’t scare me. I’m only fifteen, nothing will hold against me in the courts.”

Tony smirks, as if he’s suspected she’d say that. He leans against the wall and says casually, “In England, sure. But here in the U.S. we have very different laws, even in the magical quarter. And since my son was technically a dual-citizen from birth… well. I’m sure you’re going to face charges from MACUSA as well as your own Ministry.”

Ginny loses her superior expression, a look of petty, childish anger crossing her features instead. She’s heard enough about MACUSA to know that she’s looking at a stiff sentence for her crimes as well as a permanent record, minor or no.

“What do you want?” she snaps.

“Where are they holding Sirius? We know he’s alive, we just don’t know where,” Kingsley demands, his voice deep and authoritative.

“What will I get in return for this information?” Ginny hedges. “I’m only fifteen, I don’t want my whole life ruined for this.”

“Like you tried to ruin my son’s?” Tony asks mildly, though his eyes are dark with anger. He flexes his hands; they clench back into angry fists despite his best efforts.

“He was never the boy-who-lived in the first place, he should have been grateful for the attention we gave him,” Ginny spits, making Remus growl again. She visibly flinches at the sound.

“We will consider the options when your sentencing is on the table,” Tony allows, a cold smile curling his lips. “Though really, you don’t have any power to negotiate at the moment, my dear.”

Resigned, Ginny slumps in her chair. “I know where Sirius is. I’ve never been there myself, but Dumbledore told my mum and I overheard them talking. The only one who doesn’t know he’s alive is Tonks, Dumbledore says she’s more useful thinking Sirius is dead. He’s in a stone cellar below ground under the Shrieking Shack. It’s accessed through a trapdoor on the first floor, there’s a short tunnel with one door. He can’t get out himself, he’s restrained somehow. Dumbledore faked his death with an illusion ‘veil’, wanted to keep him as collateral against Harry in case he ever broke Dumbledore’s control or his conditioning.”

“What a wonderful bunch of people you are,” Remus says sarcastically.

Before she can respond, Kingsley stuns Ginny again.

“What do we do with her?” Clint asks, staring at the girl with distaste. He didn’t get all of their conversation, but he’s gotten enough to know that she’s in big trouble for all that she’s only 15.

“I’ll give her to my cousin Nick to hold in one of his cells. We can’t risk her going back to England and warning the others that something is up,” Kingsley says, staring at the girl in distaste. “Once we talk to MACUSA, we’ll hand her over to them.”

“This ‘Shrieking Shack’, where is it?” Tony demands, focusing on the information they got from Ginny.

“It’s on the grounds of the school,” Remus says wearily. “Sirius has been imprisoned below Hogwarts this entire time. We can access it through a nearby village, Hogsmeade. It’ll have to be done carefully, once we cross the wards there’s only so much time before they’ll know we are there.”

“I’m going with you,” Tony states, “and we don’t tell Harry until it’s done. I don’t want to get his hopes up if something goes wrong. He’s been through enough as it is.”

In the face of his determined, angry expression, Kingsley doesn’t have the heart to tell him no. He’s beginning to realize that Albus’ biggest opponent may be in the form of someone other than Voldemort. And Voldemort’s may be someone other than Albus or Harry Potter.

After all, neither one counted on Tony Stark.

Chapter Text

It takes three days for them to prepare, mostly so that they can keep Harry from realizing what they’re doing. Tony doesn’t like keeping him in the dark, but Harry is still emotionally and physically fragile, he worries about how Harry would react if they told him Sirius was alive and then something went wrong. He’s awake more often now, much to Tony’s relief, though it’s clear that he’s still in pain if he tries to stand or move for any normal length of time. Still, it’s amazing to see how much magical healing is helping him. Thanks to nutrient potions, stomach soothers, Skel-grow (which sounds nasty) and several others, he’s already looking less gaunt and fragile than he did.

Tony can hardly believe it’s only been two weeks since he first learned about Harry, or Harlan properly. It feels like his life has been turned upside-down, his view of the world shaken up in a blender, yet he wouldn’t trade it for the world. His greatest fear recently had been that Harry would reject their relationship outright, but the teenager is so giving and trusting despite everything he’s been through. It’s hardly going to be rainbows and roses, but he’s determined to make it work.

In his spare time, Remus has been down in Tony’s lab, laying runes into every inch of the metal plating on the Iron Man that will not damage the armor’s integrity. He also gives Tony a heavy medallion of solid gold, etched with more of the tiny squiggly lines that are apparently magical runes. ‘Ancient Futhark’, Remus explains, an old dialect used by ancient magicals to give their power a physical anchor. It does nothing visible to the armor, but Remus assures him that it will ward off all but the worst of spells.

They don’t know what they’re getting into after all. In the time it took them to learn about the people involved in Harry’s torment and then capture the little snit Ginevra, they’ve given their enemy plenty of heads up to prepare. Tony’s brown eyes darken a little in anger, glad that the girl is locked up in a cell in SHIELD headquarters. He’s not sure what he’d do if she were here in the Tower. He grits his teeth and shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He needs to focus.

Aside from Tony, their small party consists of Natasha, Remus and Kingsley. Natasha insists on accompanying them and Tony is more than willing to vouch for her abilities. He’d like to see these people mess with her, wizards or no. She’s proved more than once that she’s a dangerous opponent even with both hands tied behind her back. She’s dressed sensibly for the trek, in fitted black denim jeans, a skin-tight black sweater, short chunky boots and a tailored tan jacket. She’s bound her long red hair back in a functional braid.

Tony steps into his armor, running preliminary checks absently in the background as he makes sure that everything is up to his high standards. The check takes only moments, including a small burst of power from his foot thrusters and both gauntlets. He notes the power draw with smugness, reminded of his recent updates to the delivery system. He folds back the faceplate absently and nods to Natasha.

Kingsley and Remus are blinking slightly at the whole sight, having never seen the powered-up armor before. “That is incredibly impressive,” Kingsley comments in his deep voice, flicking his eyes over the entire ensemble. Tony can’t help but puff up a little at the praise to his greatest achievement.

“Isn’t it?” Remus says cheerfully. He’d seen the powered-down versions in Tony’s lab, but it’s a whole different story when Tony’s powered up and ready to go.

“How are we getting over there?” Tony asks.

“Portkey,” Kingsley says. “Natasha’s familiar with them, but you wouldn’t be. Just grab hold with your finger and don’t let go.”

“Right,” Tony answers, extending his hand to pinch the offered rope with his fingers. He’s trying to act more confident than he feels, especially when he sees Natasha grimace.

A second later he understands as the world disappears in a swirl of color with a sharp yank behind his navel, as if a hook is trying to pull his stomach out through the skin. It’s only seconds before their feet hit solid ground again, Tony retaining his feet only because of the hydraulics in his armor that compensate for the rapid change in pressure. Natasha staggers, but remains standing as well. The two wizards easily retain their feet, hardly a hair on Remus’ head ruffled from the travel.

Tony blinks, lets go of the rope and stares around himself in bemused surprise. They’re definitely not in New York City anymore. A thick blanket of snow coats the ground and massive dark trees surround them. In front and slightly below is a village with antique brass streetlamps and wooden signposts, oil lamps shining in the windows. It’s so picturesque it looks like it belongs on a Christmas card.

“We are not in Kansas anymore, Toto,” he murmurs, to a muffled laugh from Natasha.

“This is the village of Hogsmeade, in Scotland,” Kingsley speaks, looking amused at their shocked expressions. He waves his hand to the right and says, “That is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Tony looks in the indicated direction and his jaw drops. Of everything he could have expected, the massive fucking castle in the distance is not one of them. It’s enormous, with turrets and spires and a huge wooden bridge over an aqueduct of all things. That was where kids went to school?

“Damn, almost makes me want to be a student again,” he comments, spotting Natasha’s wide-eyed wonder out of the corner of his eyes.

Remus snorts. “Ages eleven through seventeen or eighteen, magical only. Sorted into four Houses by what’s pretty much a personality test of sorts. Classes start at seven a.m. and end around five in the afternoon, with a break for lunch. Students learn Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts Astronomy and History of Magic by requirement. They can add two electives amongst Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures and Divination by choice at third year. At fifth year there’s the Ordinary Wizarding Levels or O.W.L.s and those determine which classes you can take for your N.E.W.T.s or Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests. Grades are on a sliding scale with worst to best being Troll, Dreadful, Acceptable, Exceeds Expectations and Outstanding.”

“Troll,” Tony whispers, sniggering at some of the oddball names and acronyms.

“Hey, I work for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division,” Natasha retorts, though her lips are quirked in a smile.

“That’s what SHIELD stands for?” Remus blinks.

Tony and Natasha nod in unison.

“Our destination is this way,” Kingsley interrupts, leading the way with his quiet, ground-eating strides. The others follow along closely in his wake, aware that their time is limited now that they’re inside the wards.

They pass through the village headed in a curved line that obliquely heads towards the school, eventually stopping. In front of them is a ratty old building with broken windows and a door hanging off the hinges. Ratty curtains blow in the light breeze. A simple wrought-iron fence stops entry.

“This is the Shrieking Shack. Kids called it that because they heard howling and thought it was ghosts or an old spirit of some kind,” Remus’ smile is bitter. “What they were hearing was me, the shack was built and a dangerous tree planted so that people couldn’t reach me on my monthly transformations. Becoming a werewolf once a month is an exceptionally painful experience.”

Kingsley swings open the gate after casting a spell, which erases their footprints in the snow as they watch. He carefully walks forward, casting a few spells under his breath and waving his wand in broad sweeping motions.

“They don’t have it warded,” he says, sounding puzzled. “It’s odd, considering they wouldn’t want him easily found.”

“Most likely they never thought anyone would realize Sirius is alive,” Natasha points out logically. “They never intended for Harry to leave their control and have his blood tested, nor would they think anyone that actually knows Sirius’ location would be captured. Ginevra only knew because she was eavesdropping on a conversation.”

“True,” Kingsley admits. They walk inside the old building, rickety boards creaking under their feet and dust flying everywhere, though their footprints remain invisible. Remus leads the way with an easy familiarity that puts a pang of sympathy in Tony. He can’t imagine what the other man’s life has been like, dealing with transformations every month. He’s only told them the vaguest details and it already sounds like hell. It only deepens his resolve to help someone whom he’s quickly coming to think of as a friend.

On the very bottom level is a tunnel leading underground. However, Remus puts his back to it and the cold air blowing from it, instead flipping back a ratty, moth-eaten rug that might have been pretty once, the colors are so faded it’s hard to tell. Underneath is a simple wooden trapdoor with a heavy bronze circular handle. Remus pauses, letting Kingsley throw several spells at it before lifting it upright with a flex of his arms, the heavy trapdoor, at least several inches thick of solid old wood, swinging open without a sound.

There’s a short stepladder visible in the fading sunlight and Tony can faintly see the rough-hewn stone at the bottom. Remus drops down first, only grasping the first rung before letting himself drop. He’s not even fully out of sight when he calls, “It’s clear!”

Kingsley follows, then Tony with Natasha bringing up the rear. The hallway is narrow, allowing passage for maybe two, three people abreast tops. It’s easily tall enough for them all though, even with Tony’s added height in the suit of armor. Remus casts a spell with his wand, causing a small bright white light to hover above the tip. Kingsley takes point again, casting a few spells. “Nothing,” he murmurs, still clearly surprised.

He falls back a little, covering Tony and Natasha. Neither one of them have magic, so they’re at a disadvantage if something crops up. Not that Tony’s expecting it to, after Natasha’s logical argument. The wizards they’ve found themselves against are clearly a little arrogant, not expecting problems from any outsiders. Yet. He’s certain that this is going to ruffle some feathers however.

There’s only a single heavy door at the end of the hallway. It’s not even locked. Unbidden, Ginevra’s words pop into Tony’s head, “He can’t get out himself, he’s restrained somehow.” His jaw locks in anger. They’re practically taunting him, binding him in a room without even having to lock the door. These people are going to pay, oh hell yes. He’d already come to that conclusion after seeing his son for the first time, but now… He pushed back his rage with effort, banking the fire. There was no adequate target at the moment. Soon.

Remus pulls the heavy, metal-edged door open with ease, it swings open silently on well-oiled hinges. There’s a single sconce on the wall, the candle in it long burnt out.

“Lumos Solem,” Remus intones, the small ball of light brightening and leaving his wand to hover in the middle of the room. It’s circular in shape, crude stone with high walls and no windows. Remus lets out a small noise of hurt and anger, and Tony’s eyes fall to the center of the room. He stares, unable to believe what he’s seeing.

There’s a single figure in the room, bound to the floor in a kneeling position. Deep black hair covers his eyes, his head is tilted forward. His hands are bound behind him in shackles around the wrists and a heavy chain which is bolted to the floor. Six more chains are bolted around him in a circular shape, attached to a thick, heavy iron collar around his throat. It’s so wide it encases his throat from chin to collarbones. He’s shirtless and has no socks or shoes on his feet. The jeans he’s wearing are worn and dirty, there are smudges of mud and blood on his exposed skin. Trickles of blood, dried and fresh, run from the collar down his skin while small cuts and bruises litter the pale surface.

  Remus makes a small noise and moves forward, kneeling in front of the figure.  His head jerks up with a sharp inhale and Tony lets out a little shuddering breath. Even with the man in profile, he recognizes Sirius’ face in a millisecond. It’s really him. His hands are trembling a little inside the gauntlets and he’s glad for the temporary cover as he tries to rein in his emotions.

“Remus?” The voice is barely more than a hoarse rasp, but it’s achingly familiar. It seems to have changed very little over the years.

“S-Sirius,” Remus whispers, a smile on his face. “Sorry it took so long, we thought you were actually dead.”

Sirius gives a dry snort. “You should know better than that, Moony. Bella’s been trying to kill me for years, pisses her off every time she fails.”

“Stay still,” Remus says, voice still shaking a little. “We’re working on getting this stuff off of you.”

Kingsley is doing just that, trying to decipher how the cuffs and collar are adhered to Sirius and the floor. Tony steps out of the armor, puts it manually into sentry mode since JARVIS is unavailable near magic. That’s something he’s going to need to work on at a later date, he makes a mental note to do so. He detaches a specific piece of one of the gauntlets and hands it to Natasha. He waves at Kingsley and tells her, “High-powered fine point laser cutter.”

She nods in understanding, moving to assist Kingsley. He looks surprised but grateful for her intervention. He shrugs after she tells him what the piece of tech is and murmurs, “Worth a try. I doubt they’ve warded it against Muggle technology.”

Tony’s moving meanwhile, his legs drawing him almost of their own accord to where Remus is still crouched in front of Sirius, talking to his friend quietly. His body is shaking subtly with nerves, wondering if Sirius is even going to recognize him after seventeen years. He swallows and crouches a little to Remus’ right. Licking suddenly dry lips he says quietly, “You’re a hard man to track down, Sirius.”

 That aristocratic profile turns in his direction and suddenly, his brown eyes are locked with rich silvery-blue orbs. It’s mere moments before they widen in recognition, Tony audibly hearing the man’s breath hitch in surprise.

“T-Tony?”

“Hey,” Tony answers rather lamely, feeling suddenly tongue-tied. He’s imagined this moment for the past seventeen years, though not exactly under these circumstances. Those silvery eyes shimmer with a layer of moisture and Sirius whispers, “H-how?”

“Harlan’s with me,” Tony says quietly, using their son’s given name out loud for the first time. “Through some crazy circumstances and stuff we can explain later, Remus and Kingsley brought him to me in the U.S.”

Sirius’ breath hitches, partially from emotion and partially in relief as Natasha and Kingsley succeed in cutting through the shackle on his wrists, which causes the bonds themselves to crack open, falling off. The skin underneath is red and raw, with visible marks on the edges.

“How long have I been here?” Sirius asks, visible trepidation on his face. It’s clear he needs to know but he’s scared of the answer.

“Almost a year and a half,” Remus admits honestly. “It’s December 28^th, 2013.”

Sirius flinches, expressive eyes closing for a moment. His slender, too-pale hands clench momentarily into fists. Opening them, he says in almost a growl, “I am going to kill Dumbledore.”

“Get in line,” Tony says darkly. “That old man is on my personal shit list now, right at the very top. He’ll quickly learn that my enemies tend not to live for very long.”

Sirius contemplates his expression and then smirks. “Then perhaps I should just leave him to you,” he almost purrs.

Tony does his best to ignore the curl of desire that spikes inappropriately at the expression and tone, stating levelly, “I think you should.”

Sirius has to hold very still for a tense few moments as Natasha carefully aims the laser cutter at the collar, aiming it at the seam that Tony identifies as a weak point. She’s using a very shallow depth, preferring to pass over it a few times rather than accidentally cut the fragile skin at Sirius’ exposed neck. Finally, the collar gives with a small crack, splitting open and falling in two halves to either side of Sirius’ body.

Tony stares at the collar and then Sirius’ neck, anger boiling under the surface. There are small spikes at the top and bottom of the collar, all the way around. They’ve been cutting into his neck if he leans too far in one direction, causing raw, jagged little holes in his pale skin. The skin is redder than under the cuffs around his arms, rubbed almost raw in places. It’s clearly painful for Sirius to swallow, though he does it anyway, carefully rolling his neck with an expression of sheer relief in his eyes at being able to do the action without causing himself pain.

“Who came up with that?” Remus snarls.

“Snivellus of course,” Sirius says, his lip curling in distaste. “Enjoyed collaring the mongrel, his own words of course.”

When they go to help Sirius to his feet, he grimaces but stands up quickly, a small gasp leaving his lips as his face whitens. “Dumbledore shattered my right kneecap,” he manages, “I pissed him off by not giving him the answers he wanted.”

Two spells leave Remus’ lips at his friend’s words. The first wraps a bandage tightly around his knee, the second must have numbed it from the distinct lack of pain on Sirius’ face. He lets out a shaky breath, tests the leg and nods. “Where are we going?” he asks wearily.

“Home,” Tony says quietly, drawing a worn but radiant smile from the other’s lips.

He wants to keep it there, Tony quickly decides. He’s almost forgotten how gorgeous Sirius looks when he smiles.

Chapter Text

Andromeda Black-Tonks stands at her living room window, staring out at the peaceful meadow that surrounds her home. Her reflection stares back at her in the glass, a proud, tall woman with long curly black hair, heavily-lidded proud blue eyes and a haughty demeanor that seems to be a family birthright. The Blacks have always been a proud wizarding bloodline, so convinced in their own superiority through purity. Yet, she smiles in amusement, the most powerful member of their bloodline by far doesn’t even have a wizarding father.

She’s known ever since she met her cousin’s son that the young babe was going to be the strongest of the Black bloodline since their ancient forebears. Beautiful Harlan with his Muggle father was going to take the world by storm. He would have given Walburga fits if she’d known of him, Andromeda’s sure of that. But thankfully the bitter old woman never learned of her ‘disappointment’ having a child. Out of wedlock no less. The shock of it might have killed the vile old woman. What a blessing that would have been.

Instead, the old woman outlasted all of them but her nieces and her ‘disappointment’, Sirius. Her precious younger son and husband had preceded her in death, not that Walburga had mourned for Orion. Her only grief, overdone and fanciful as always, had been at Regulus’ funeral. All of nineteen, they still weren’t sure exactly how Regulus had died, nor had they ever recovered his body. Still, Walburga had insisted on a ‘traditional’ funeral for her beloved son, an empty urn placed in the family crypt.

She hadn’t so much as wept when her eldest son had been thrown into Azkaban prison without a backward glance. Walburga had known that her elder son wasn’t a Death Eater, she easily could have spoken up on his behalf and gotten him a trial, but she let her bitterness and anger at his rebellious behavior rule over her common sense and her obligations to the true Lord of her family. After all, Orion had never actually disowned his eldest son, despite Walburga’s screaming at his insult to family.

Andromeda remained glad that she had run away from the expectations that went with being a Black, dishonoring the name she hated by standing up her traditional betrothal and marrying her precious Ted, a Muggleborn. He’d been fascinated by her all throughout their Hogwarts years, pursuing her affection with relentless focus. They were happy, even now, something that she knew wouldn’t have been if she had stayed in her family circle.

Andromeda’s eyes darkened, considering recent events. When she’d broken the blocks in her memory during a routine meditation session, she hadn’t been expecting what they would reveal. What Albus Dumbledore had done, messing with her mind, indicated actions far more troubling. She almost hadn’t wanted to know what the old man was doing. But that was a fool’s wish, ignorance. Remaining aware was the only thing she could do, at least then she wouldn’t continue getting a little series of shocks with each revelation.

The first, delivered by owl just a few months after undoing Remus’ blocks, had been the worst. Andromeda hadn’t known pain, not really, until reading that her daughter had been involved in the unlawful imprisonment and likely torture of Sirius’ son. Her flesh and blood, her baby girl, had fallen so far.

Nymphadora had been such a sweet girl. Willful, certainly, as any Black would be, but sweet and charming as well. Gifted from birth with the talent of shape-changing, Andromeda had always known her daughter was going to be a very special witch. It had not surprised her in the slightest when she was Sorted into Hufflepuff upon arrival at Hogwarts. She was sweet, gentle and loyal, all traits Helga reputedly favored in her chosen.

Andromeda had held out hope that Nymphadora would follow her into Healing, a career her empathy and kindness would be ideally suited for. Instead, her daughter had been seduced by the glory and danger inherent in the career of an Auror, coming home from her fifth year with a pamphlet from the Auror Corps., eyes wide with wonder. It was the worst argument that Andromeda ever had with her daughter, trying to talk her out of her decision. Finally, bitterly, she had given in, realizing that Nymphadora’s mind would not be deterred.

Her gentle sweetness had disappeared over the years, smothered out of necessity by the harsh career she had chosen. Alastor Moody had taken her on as his protégé. Solely on the basis of her Black name and Metamorphagus talent, Andromeda was sure. It certainly wasn’t because she was ideally suited to her career. She was clumsy, tripping over her own feet with predictable regularity. She had power, but not the stamina that was required for prolonged dueling. She was lucky to be alive after several years in her career. Andromeda knew she only lived because she had never come across the more dangerous Death Eaters. Like her own sister, Bellatrix, who had both the power and stamina necessary for dueling along with limited creativity.

Alastor had no doubt been hoping that Nymphadora would be like her cousin, Sirius. During his short career as an Auror, Sirius had proven to be ideal for the field. Powerful, stamina to spare and inventive with his use of spells, Sirius had always been the best duelist of the cousins, much to Bellatrix’s impotent fury. He showed such visible disdain for everything that came with being a Black, yet he was one of their most gifted members.

Andromeda shifted, her arms crossing over her chest at the uncomfortable turn her thoughts had taken. Over the past few years, Nymphadora had shown a disconcerting obsession with Sirius. Ever since she’d first joined the Order and actually met him, it had gotten worse. She fancied herself to be in love with him, the Auror and the ex-con, rightfully convicted or no. It was straight out of one of the trashy romance novels young women liked to read.

It was one of the reasons why she hadn’t wanted her daughter to join the Order. She hadn’t trusted Dumbledore, but she didn’t want her daughter near the target of her obsession, aware that it would only get worse. She had tried, discreetly, to tell her daughter that her desires wouldn’t come to pass. It was the reason Sirius had run away from home in the first place after all, Walburga trying to betroth him to Bellatrix. She knew Sirius would see right through her daughter and it would make him uncomfortable.

It was something Dumbledore had likely exploited, her obsession. Andromeda let her eyes fall shut, her breath leaving in a wavering sigh. Her family had lived here happily for years and now, all because of one man, that bliss was about to be destroyed. She knew it was only a matter of time before Dumbledore realized that she had overcome his blocks. He would come for her and Ted, seeing them as loose ends.

Looking down, she read the letter in her hands again. Written on crisp, heavy paper, the handwriting was brisk but elegant all the same. There was a vague sense of impatience with the formality in the tone, as if the writer didn’t actually hold for that sort of nonsense. It made Andromeda’s lips twitch into a small smile, the bit of character that she could see even in just a written letter.

Andromeda Black-Tonks,

Hopefully you have received this missive. I have entrusted it to Remus to send via your normal methods, but as I’m sure you understand, I have a bit of doubt in the viability of owls delivering mail. I have been told that you are aware of my son Harlan’s true parentage and were the one to remove the blocks on Remus’ memory. For that you have my deepest thanks, Harlan’s condition was more dire than can be explained easily in a letter.

There have been recent developments, ones that would be easiest to explain in person. That, along with the other reason for my letter, forms my request for you to come to the United States. I can easily pay you for your services and you would be welcome to reside here in my facilities until attaining your own home, should that be your desire.

I wish to hire your services as a Healer, madam. Specifically, your old practice as what I’m told is called a ‘Mind Healer’ or what we call a psychologist. My son Harlan has been put through things no sixteen-year-old should have to endure and I desire to have someone he is comfortable talking to for his therapy. That and with the entirety of his recent issues being magical in nature necessitates a wizard or witch. I have a feeling he would be more comfortable speaking with someone he considers family.

Also, Andromeda, I have a feeling your safety may become a concern. We have made a few moves recently against Albus Dumbledore that will not please him. As we are responsible for these actions against him and his ‘Order’, I would be remiss not to offer you our protection and accommodation. If this is amenable to you, we have arranged an International Portkey to be delivered to your household within the next week by MACUSA. It will bring you directly to the New York branch, from which Remus Lupin will bring you to our location.

I hope to see you soon, if only to thank you in person for your support of Sirius and our son.

     Cordially,

Anthony Stark

She stepped away from the window, conviction in her dark eyes. She would take this man up on his offer and officially meet her nephew, again. Until Albus Dumbledore and the situation with the Dark Lord was dealt with, there was nothing for her here. She turned her back on the window and set out in search of her husband Ted. They had some packing to do.

Albus Dumbledore stood, alone, in the room that had once held Sirius Black prisoner. His rage was a tangible thing, causing his magic to crackle and spark around him. Cold blue eyes stared at the chains, which appeared to have been cut off somehow. He hadn’t escaped alone, oh no, this spoke of assistance. Was there a traitor in his midst? Was one of his group getting cold feet, realizing that what they were doing would be considered illegal in the courts?

First the boy had escaped, again with assistance. He couldn’t even move on his own after their last session, there was no way he’d summoned the strength and magic necessary to break free. He’d deliberately kept the boy starved and weak, knowing he was close to breaking the last of that stubborn resolve. So close, so very close to having his perfect little weapon, only for it all the go wrong.

What made it worse was the fact that the true Prophecy child wasn’t anywhere close to ready. Neville Longbottom and his plants… Dumbledore had hoped for anyone but him to be the one prophesized, but it was for naught. What’s more, his irritating grandmother Augusta refused to let him anywhere near her precious grandson. It would be so much easier if the old woman was dead and the Longbottom boy was on his own. Or if his little weapon and decoy hadn’t somehow disappeared before his job was done.

Dumbledore sneered, angrily slashing his wand and shattering one of the heavy iron chains into so much dust. Keeping Black alive had been his one contingency plan. If Harlan had tried to revolt under his control, he’d had Black waiting in the wings. He knew how the boy worked, threaten to kill Black and he’d be an obedient little puppy again. Only now, Black was liberated. If they weren’t together somewhere he would eat the Sorting Hat.

He calmed himself, twisting the Elder Wand in his grasp. So what if the pair had escaped, they could always be tracked down and reobtained. He didn’t even need Black anymore, just the boy. His Loyalty and Compulsion potions were permanent, all he had to do was command the boy and he would obey. His lips curled in a nasty smile, picturing Black’s grief and rage at seeing his son unable to not support Dumbledore.

Also, even if they had escaped, it wasn’t like anyone would believe them. Their ludicrous tales would be laughed off by any government in Europe, thanks to Dumbledore’s own reputation. Black was still a wanted fugitive, if he was lucky the man would be returned, practically gift-wrapped, by International Aurors. Obtaining an International Portkey was beyond their means, so Albus wasn’t even worried about MACUSA or some of the other magical governments, the only possible thorn in his side.

Calm and in control again, Albus smiled. This had been a little detour, a mere hiccup. The greater plan was still in play. One way or another, the pawns would do as he wished. Albus knew how to play the long game. One didn’t make grand plans without having a vision, after all. And his vision was grand indeed.

At the Burrow, things were chaotic to say the least. Molly had discovered three days ago that her precious baby girl was missing. Her darling Ginny had never made it to Luna Lovegood’s home, disappearing sometime after leaving the protective wards around the family home. Molly fretfully wrung her hands in her apron, wondering what had happened and where her precious daughter was. Her only girl, the one she had waited so long for…

It never crossed her mind how wrong it was, that she was so worried about her daughter but couldn’t care less about a boy she had professed to loving like a son. The Order had been told that Harry wasn’t truly a Potter, nor was he the prophecy child. He was nothing more than a convenient decoy that Dumbledore wanted to train up as a weapon against Voldemort. Molly knew who he really was, knew that he was Sirius’ son. She didn’t care, it was only justice in her eyes. Sirius had always looked down on her and her family for being blood-traitors, whatever the hell that meant anymore.

He was from an inherently dark family and was a dangerous individual in his own right. After all, he’d broken out of Azkaban, the first prisoner to ever do so. No matter what he said about his Animagus and being innocent, there was more than likely some kind of Dark Arts in play. Azkaban prison was a fortress, impossible to enter or leave without assistance. She had never trusted him around her children or as part of the Order, even before the events of Halloween 1998.

Molly Weasley had no idea that her troubles were just beginning. She would realize only too late that her daughter wasn’t even in England anymore. When comprehension dawned and she would truly know her fate, it would be far too late. For now, her brown eyes worriedly scanned the horizon, as if her daughter was going to walk over one of the gentle hills and back into her overprotective arms.

Sirius breathed out a heavy sigh, eyes brimming with tears. He’s clutching Harlan close, the teenager subdued through pure emotion. Tear tracks stain his pale face, eyes closed as he breathes raggedly. His response to seeing Sirius alive had been so overwhelming it had made him start hyperventilating. His Healers had chosen to sedate him, just a little, to let him calm down. It wasn’t safe for Harlan to get so worked up, his lungs, ribcage and other parts of his body were still not up to snuff after everything he’s been through.

Sirius just holds onto him, face buried in his dark hair as he inhales a familiar scent. Even under the blood glamour Dumbledore used, his scent is still the same as what Sirius remembers. It’s fresh and clean, a soft, soothing smell. His hands tremble a little where they’re wrapped around Harlan’s waist, remembering everything he’s been told about what Harlan was put through. He’s so angry with the Order it feels as though he can barely breathe.

He’s trusted them, putting them up in his family home. He’s shed blood, sweat and tears on their behalf, joining them at all of nineteen-years-old. Sirius had faced unwarranted, hurtful suspicion from people that had known him for years. After the resurrection of Voldemort, when Dumbledore had first brought the Order back together, nobody had trusted him. Despite his history with them, they had all judged him on first sight based on his family and bloodline. He’d been forced to submit to Veritaserum in his own home to get them to stop insinuating he should be turned in. Even with the truth potion, he still felt the wariness in their eyes.

And now, when they thought he was dead, over half of them had jumped on the bandwagon of treating his son like shit. He wasn’t as important to them, after all he was just a Black. Not a Potter, a light family that everyone respected, but from a historically Dark heritage. Somehow, that made him worth less in their eyes. Sirius’ arms tensed around his son in response to his anger and frustration. He was glad to leave them all behind.

He knew Remus and Tony were still in the room with him, Sirius could feel their presence even with his eyes closed. They’d come with him to tell Harlan that Sirius was still alive, that Dumbledore had only made it seem as if he’d gone through the Veil. For now, he took comfort in their nearness, even as he tried to control his own rush of emotions at holding Harlan close, safe and sound, far from the reaches of a manipulative old bastard.

It had been fairly simple for the Healers to fix his leg, more concerning was his general malnutrition, the lingering effects of the Dementors and the chafe marks/stab wounds from his collar and cuffs. The skin around his neck and wrists is still red, though thankfully no longer raw. Soft gauze pads treated with healing potions were wrapped around them, trying to heal the damage as much as possible. He had been warned there was a possibility that he would have a few lingering scars.

The most concerning to the Healers had been his untreated exposure to the Dementors. Especially here in the United States, Dementors were reviled creatures, destroyed as soon as they attempted to cross onto the North American continent. They had no other purpose than to cause lingering misery, a parasite without symbiotic benefit. The condition they caused, called ‘Dementor’s Sickness’, was a form of what non-magical people called depression. A lingering malaise, general feeling of discontent, lack of emotional connection and unpredictable moods.

Those who had long-term exposure like Sirius and went untreated were known to be suicidal, seeking an end to their misery they expected to lift instantly with the lack of the creature’s presence. The Healers had been impressed with Sirius’ strength of character; he had honestly admitted to never feeling quite that desperate. His moods had been a bit mercurial of late, but he hadn’t realized it was due to the Dementors. The Healers had started him on a course of twice-daily potions over a month to cure the condition, along with stomach sealers, nutrient potions and orders for a better diet, exercise and minimum alcohol intake.

Holding Harlan close like he is, Sirius is the first to notice the change in his breathing that means he is waking up. He unconsciously tenses a little, worried that his son is going to slip back into hysterics. Instead, green eyes lock on his rich gray-blue and a pale, shaky hand reaches out and touches his face. He can feel the trembling in Harlan’s fingers as his eyes widen, the warmth under his hands giving weight to his obvious realization that Sirius being there is not an illusion or trick.

A rattled breath leaves his lips, the sound full of a wealth of meanings. Harlan’s bright eyes fill with tears, but none of them fall. Instead, they magnify his already bright, shining eyes and all the emotions racing through them. Sirius pulls him close, noticing but not commenting on the slender, strong hand that grasps the shirt he’s wearing. Finally, he looks up, running long fingers through his son’s dark hair in an unconscious soothing motion.

Remus’ own eyes are over bright, but he’s clearly relieved that Harlan isn’t panicking again. He smiles, shakily, leaning back in his chair as the tension leaves his body. Tony’s own gaze is intense, studying them both with an unnamable emotion in his brown eyes. There’s a fierce warmth to them though, and his gaze is more pensive than anything else. Sirius can’t help but smile a little at the realization that he can still read the man’s emotions and facial expressions, even seventeen years later.

Eventually they all stand up, choosing to move into the living room. Harlan’s pace is slow but steady, Remus looks relieved at how easily he’s handling the short trek. Studying his son’s slow pace, Sirius bites his lip as he realizes that for Remus to be reacting this way meant that it was an improvement over before. He withholds a flinch and a small growl with effort, not liking the implications on exactly how much damage the Order has done in over a year and a half.

The woman that Sirius remembers being part of his rescue party is in the room, with another man that has dark brown hair and brown eyes. They stand to leave and he says, “Please, stay. I remember you, but I’m sorry to say I didn’t catch your name?”

The woman smiles, flicks her dark red hair over her shoulder and says, “That’s fine. It wasn’t really a social occasion, after all. My name is Natasha Romanoff, this is Bruce Banner. We work with Tony as part of a team called the Avengers.”

“The Avengers?” Sirius asks Tony quizzically.

Before the man can answer, a smooth, familiar voice speaks up, the accent vaguely British. It seems to come from everywhere and yet nowhere at the same time. “The Avengers Initiative was a project brought together by SHIELD that joined individual superheroes together in hopes of creating a team that could defend humanity against large-scale attacks. Sir is part of it, as is Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Steve Rogers and the being known as Thor.”

The voice is familiar to Sirius and he frowns slightly, thinking. It’s been years, but he knows that voice. The memory finally filtering through, he looks up towards the ceiling, a delighted grin crossing his lips. “JARVIS, is that you?”

Natasha had been opening her mouth to say something, she clicks it shut with a surprised look on her face. Sirius doesn’t see it, a warm smile still wreathing his face as he waits for a response from the advanced A.I. He still remembers his initial introduction to the being seventeen years ago and the sheer awe that filled him at the idea that something artificial could still be so alive.

“It is,” JARVIS responds, a tone that’s almost surprise in the voice.

“How have you been? I missed our conversations,” Sirius smiles as the memories trickle back.

“I am operating normally, thank you for the sentiment,” The AI responds, faster this time. “I have also noticed the lack in our dialogue, you always asked questions with unusual depth.”

Sirius laughs. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he muses. “Still keeping an eye on Tony? I’m sure he enjoys making it hard on you sometimes.”

“My comment was meant as a compliment,” JARVIS is quick to reassure. “And Sir keeps me busy, he likes to defy the rules of logic and probabilities. Though recently his activities have been a bit more so of late.”

“Hey!” Tony protests, a grin quirking at his lips. “You two aren’t allowed to gang up on me like that, remember?”

“Perhaps we should be,” JARVIS responds quickly, “that way our combined logic may impress upon you a proper and sensible course of action.”

Tony’s jaw drops as Natasha, Bruce and Sirius all burst into laughter. He crosses his arms with a huff, a dramatic pout pulling at his expressive mouth. His eyes are sparkling with amusement and affection however, as well as another emotion Sirius can’t quite place. Still, it’s nice to realize that some things didn’t change, even with the passage of time.

Tony’s stunned to realize that Sirius remembers JARVIS from so long ago. There were people that have ‘met’ the AI a week ago that don’t remember his name. And yet there’s a warm, genuine smile on Sirius’ face as he talks to JARVIS, his manner genial and inclusive, as if the AI is a real person in the room with them. It’s one of the things Tony remembers endeared Sirius to him in the first place, the way he treated the bots and JARVIS. They are artificial, sure, but that doesn’t make them any less real.

Sirius guides their son to one of the couches, sitting next to him and rubbing his arm comfortingly. It’s a wild guess as to who gets more comfort from the action, Harry or Sirius. Sirius hasn’t moved more than a few feet from Harry since learning he was here, not to mention all the crap he’d been put through by the ‘Order’. From the furious rage that darkens silver-blue eyes to nearly black, it’s a level of betrayal on a scale Tony can understand. He’d felt the same way after learning about the Ten Rings and his mentor, Obadiah Stane.

“Sir,” JARVIS speaks up suddenly, “there are two individuals in the lobby wanting to speak with Remus Lupin and Kingsley Shacklebolt. They mention them by name and said they are members of a government organization.”

Remus blinks, surprised. “That would be the MACUSA representatives,” he says to Tony. “We’ve been waiting to hear back from them, but it’s interesting timing.”

Tony purses his lips, thinking. His eyes flick to where Sirius is sitting next to Harry, visible tension in his slender frame. There’s a good possibility they came now because of Sirius. With all the things magic can do, he wouldn’t be surprised if they had gotten a notification Sirius Black was in the States.

“Notify Kingsley that they are here and have the secretary downstairs escort them to my private elevator. Run their faces while they’re on their way, just for the heck of it. I know it’s a shot in the dark that we may have information on them, but we might as well check.”

Kingsley enters the room and Natasha and Bruce make their way out, realizing this is going to be a private conversation. Natasha makes eye contact with Tony on her way out, silently communicating. She’ll be listening and ready to intervene or assist if necessary. He gives her a discreet nod back in thanks, acknowledging her offer. Tony subconsciously straightens his relaxed posture, pulling his shoulders back and standing up from his chair. A half-smile falls on his lips, though it doesn’t reach his cool, emotionless eyes. It’s his business persona, he hates wearing it.

JARVIS doesn’t find any information, big surprise. The elevator door dings quietly and slides open, revealing a man and a woman. Both are dressed in tailored suits, the woman in a suit dress in deep navy, her companion in the same color with a crisp white shirt. Their eyes widen minutely in surprise to see him standing there clearly waiting for them.

“Good afternoon,” Tony says smoothly. “Since you have decided to invite yourself into my home without an appointment, please introduce yourselves,” it’s a demand, not a question.

“Cora White,” the woman says, her blonde hair is pulled back into a severe bun at the base of her neck, not a tendril of hair out of place.

“Jason Martin,” the man adds, his dark eyes land on Sirius and he stiffens slightly.

“We are representatives of MACUSA, here to speak with Remus Lupin and Kingsley Shacklebolt,” Cora says smoothly.

“So, you’re the ones that are going to decide if Remus, Kingsley, my son and Sirius can stay here in the United States or get shipped back to Wizarding Great Britain,” Tony muses, catching the way their shoulders stiffen at his words. They clearly didn’t expect him to be clued in on the realities of magic.

“You broke the Statute?” Jason snaps at Kingsley and Remus.

“I suggest you open your ears,” Tony interjected, tone just a smidge acidic. “I said my son, referring to the boy known publicly as Harry Potter. I believe as I understand your laws, informing a parent doesn’t constitute a breach of the Statute of Secrecy.”

Jason’s face reddens minutely, while Cora shoots him a sharp glance. “My apologies, Mr. Stark. We were not briefed on much of the situation, it’s part of our job. We are left for the most part uninformed in order to come to an unbiased decision.”

“You’re asking for amnesty for Sirius Black?” Jason spits, unable to hold his tongue. “That’s a bit double-edged isn’t it, wanting to bring your son here but allowing his parent’s betrayer to come as well?”

“Jason!” Cora snaps, glaring at him. “If you can’t hold your tongue, I suggest you leave. We aren’t here to make snap decisions based on overseas biases. Our job is to learn what we need to know and make a decision based on fact.”

“I would prefer he leaves,” Tony says firmly, eyes cold. He wants to deck the asshole for his derisive words, but he knows he can’t. Too much rides on this meeting. “However,” he eyes Cora, “I want him put under a secrecy ward or vow of some sort. I won’t have him jeopardizing the safety of these individuals.”

“Reasonable,” she nods. Jason stands there, looking both mutinous and defeated, as Cora casts a spell, her wand flicking in a complicated movement. “Return to MACUSA,” she says coolly. “Be aware that if you try and give your supervisor a different description of these events I will know. I fully intend to speak to him myself.”

Jason turns on his heel and departs. Cora frowns and turns back to Tony. “I apologize for that unpleasantness. Jason Martin is new to our department, though he came highly recommended from his old post. I know his supervisor personally; he won’t escape from this incident without thorough disciplining and re-education.”

“Apology accepted,” Sirius interjects coolly, drawing Cora’s gaze to him. His expression is haughty, almost arrogant. “After all, it was my character he was attacking, wasn’t it?”

Tony invites Cora to sit, and they begin to explain the incredible story, from the original three weeks back in 1996. She asks a few clarifying questions along the way, otherwise she makes a few notes, content to listen. Her eyes widen comically in all the right places, a cool, distanced sort of anger on her features as she hears the condition Harry was found in and those involved.

She brings out a tiny bottle with a clear liquid in it. The wizards in the room eye it a bit apprehensively. Tony finds himself feeling a bit clueless. It looks like water, not even a full sip of it, perhaps an ounce or two. Harry in particular radiates tension and a bit of anxiety at the sight of it.

“This is Veritaserum,” she explains to Tony, “a Level III potion that is highly regulated in international waters. I believe what you have told me, this isn’t for you. I’m actually not sure how well it would work on a No-Maj.”

She looks at Sirius. “This is for you, if you consent. I would like to ask you a few questions under it to ascertain your innocence. I am not accusing you of lying, we need the truth on record just in case the Ministry of Magic tries to get you handed over.”

Sirius eyeballs the small container and then nods. “Kingsley knows the clarifying questions you’ll need.”

Cora hands Kingsley the bottle. He investigates the seal closely, verifying that it is a new bottle that hasn’t been tampered with. Carefully he pops the cork and stands, moving in front of Sirius. There’s a bit of lingering stiffness in Sirius’ frame as he watches the small bottle with unwavering focus, but he obediently sticks out his tongue. Kingsley lets only three clear droplets fall before capping the bottle and handing it to Cora.

Almost immediately, Sirius’ eyes become unfocused and foggy, tightness draining out of his muscles and leaving him slack and still. He hardly blinks, staring forward with a complete lack of interest. His breathing slows, almost to the rate of sleep. It’s unnerving to watch, Tony has to resist the urge to go over and shake the man out of it.

Harry watches him with visible concern and unease in his eyes. He bites his lower lip, his discomfort obvious. Tony stands, moves to sit on his other side. Hesitantly, unsure if his gesture will be welcomed, he reaches out and takes one of his son’s slender, pale hands in his own. Startled green eyes meet his for a moment before relief and gratitude become visible on his face, his grip tightening slightly on Tony’s hand.

“What is your full name?” Kingsley asks.

In a monotone, Sirius replies, “Sirius Orion Black III.”

“Date of birth?”

“3^rd of November, 1975.”

“House in Hogwarts?”

“Gryffindor.”

Kingsley nods at Cora. “It’s working properly,” he affirms.

Cora takes over, a firm, no nonsense expression on her face.

“Are you now or were you ever a Death Eater?”

“No,” Sirius replies.

“Were you ever a supporter of the Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, You-Know-Who or Lord Voldemort?”

“No.”

“Were you James and Lily Potter’s Secret-Keeper?”

“Yes.”

“Who performed the Fidelius Charm?”

“Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,” Sirius replied.

“Were you the Secret-Keeper at the time of their murder?” Kingsley interjects.

“No.”

Cora gives Kingsley a look, taking back over. “Who was the Secret-Keeper at the time of the Potter’s death in 1998?”

“Peter Andrew Pettigrew, known as Wormtail,” Sirius answers.

“Was Peter a Death Eater?” Cora asks.

“Yes.”

“How do you know he was a Death Eater?”

“I confronted him nine hours after the death of the Potters,” Sirius responds. “He showed me his Dark Mark before loudly accusing me of betraying them. He then used a Blasting Hex that caught a Muggle gas line, blowing up part of the street and killing twelve Muggles. He cut off his finger and transformed into his Animagus form of a common garden rat, being carried away into the sewer lines. Before I could respond, I was hit by at least four Stunning Charms.”

Cora and Kingsley both hiss in anger. Remus looks a little pale as he looks at his friend. Seeing Tony’s confusion, he says quietly, “Our Stunning Charms are very powerful. One is plenty. Four have been known to stop the heart and kill the target.”

Tony’s jaw clenches and he feels Harry’s grip on his hand tighten minutely as the teenager inhales a shaky breath.

“What happened after you were hit by the Stunning spells?” Cora asks grimly.

“I woke up in a holding cell in the Ministry. In front of me were Albus Dumbledore and Minister Bagnold. I was told that due to the ‘emotional upheaval’ and ‘communal trauma’ at the time that a trial was a foregone conclusion. I was to be sent to Azkaban prison immediately. They snapped my wand and handed me over to the Dementors with a life sentence in a black cell. I passed out and woke up in prison grays in my cell.”

Tony resisted the urge to snarl with effort. The injustices dealt to Sirius made him furious. He was going to make that backwards society pay if it was the last thing he did. Perhaps he’d put their leaders in those cells, see how they liked it. He ripped his murderous thoughts back to the present as he heard Sirius continue speaking.

“How did you escape Azkaban prison?” Cora asked, expression grim.

“I am an unregistered Animagus. I gained enough control to change into my animal form of a large black dog by concentrating on the fact that I was innocent. It wasn’t a happy thought, so the Dementors couldn’t take it away from me. Eventually, I took my chances and slipped through the bars of my cell on a graveyard shift, when there were only Dementors for guards. I swam to the mainland as a dog, passing out on the shore.”

Cora nodded to Kingsley, handing him a different bottle with a pale blue solution in it. Kingsley administered it and Sirius’ eyes cleared, focusing again as his breathing picked up and he straightened, gaining control of himself again.

“Right,” Cora murmured, her expression firming. “I’ve heard enough.”

Nodding in conviction, she continues. “As a representative of the Magical Congress of the United States of America, I herby grant magical citizenship and immunity to Kingsley Dylan Shacklebolt, Remus John Lupin, Sirius Orion Black III and Harlan Anthony Orion Black, also known as Harry James Potter. Furthermore, I authorize Anthony Howard Stark and the individuals known as the ‘Avengers’ to be granted knowledge of magic. Lastly, MACUSA acknowledges both the innocence of Sirius Orion Black and the injustices carried out against him and Harlan Anthony Orion Black.”

Looking at the group, who are all letting out sighs of relief as they process her words, Cora adds, “We will be conducting our own investigation into the matter of Sirius’ lack of trial and your son’s recent history, Mr. Stark. Any information you can give us would be appreciated; we also will not interfere with your own investigations as long as they do not endanger the American wizarding populace. We will also take custody of the girl Ginevra Molly Weasley from Nicholas Fury, director of SHIELD.”

“Thank you for your cooperation and assistance,” Tony responds, standing and escorting her to the elevator. Once she’s gone, he lets out a long sigh of relief, rolling his shoulders to ease the strain that has been there since JARVIS first noted her presence in the building. Fortunately for them, that conversation went in their favor. He smiles, realizing that he can take Sirius and Harry outside the tower now. He’s got so much he wants to show them, but he knows it will take time.

Luckily, they have a lifetime.

Chapter Text

“My daughter is missing!”

The shrill voice pierces through Severus Snape’s private thoughts as he lingers near the back of Grimmauld Place, reluctantly present for this meeting. He would prefer to avoid them altogether, getting his pertinent information from Albus later on. However, the Headmaster seems to take a vindictive sort of pleasure in having him come in person. No doubt he enjoys watching Severus squirm, figuratively, in discomfort and distaste at his current company.

Molly Weasley’s face is red with anger and distress, her hair practically crackling. The witch, short and plump, isn’t what most would consider an intimidating figure in the slightest. But Severus has a healthy respect for her and her wand, knowing that Molly can be dangerous if riled. Her precious only daughter going missing is certainly enough to provoke her current dangerous mood.

It's an interesting contrast to her lack of empathy for Lupin. After all, the man was searching for what was basically the last of his family. Molly had known the entire time that the boy hadn’t gone missing. A select few of them had been in on the matter from the start, ones that Dumbledore was certain were loyal enough to keep his dangerous secret. After all, they would be in real trouble if anyone realized that they were holding captive the boy wonder, Harry Potter. Or Black, as it seems.

Severus’ lip curled at just the thought of the name. One of his childhood tormentors, Black hadn’t settled on just annoying, dangerous pranks that ruined any attempt at a reputation Severus otherwise would have had. No, he’d tried to kill him with that stunt involving Lupin and the Whomping Willow. Severus had taken just a tiny bit of satisfaction in helping pin the dangerous ex-con down in his new home. The collar had been his design. His mouth curved into a cold smirk as he remembered Black’s expression of pain as the spikes had bitten into his flesh the first time.

He would have loved to educate the man on what they were doing to his precious son, but alas, it was decided that Black was better kept ignorant. That way if he managed to somehow escape, he wouldn’t know who to point fingers at other than a general accusation. Severus was not a nice man by a long shot, he’d enjoyed helping Albus and the others start breaking the boy. It had been a thrill unlike any other to force dangerous, illegal potions down the brat’s throat and watch him scream and writhe in his chains afterwards. How far the mighty fell.

But eventually one of his delusional little bubbles popped, ruining part of his utopia. If the younger Black was ever freed, or if he broke Dumbledore’s control after his ‘training’, they would all face life sentences in Azkaban if not worse for what they had done to a teenager. So, reluctantly, he’d clued in Lupin to the boy’s location. Within a week, the boy had disappeared. Dumbledore’s rage at his disappearance had been a tangible thing, frightening in its intensity. He was no better a master than the Dark Lord in his own way.

Now the youngest Weasley girl was missing, abducted outside her own home. If the two events weren’t connected, Severus would start wearing Gryffindor colors. Internally shuddering at just the thought, he silenced his internal monologue, paying attention to the tumultuous conversation going on around him. Currently present were only those that knew about the Black boy’s disappearance. Severus had never bothered to learn the brat’s real name, he cared not.

“We have bigger problems than your daughter’s disappearance, Molly,” Albus snaps, the twinkle for once absent from his eyes. “Apparently your daughter knew something about Sirius’ location, he’s been liberated from his cell.”

Noticeably absent from today’s session is Nymphadora Tonks, who has been purposefully left in the dark about her cousin’s survival. It would have taken a blind man not to notice the unhealthy obsession she had with her older cousin. Blind Albus was not, he was taking advantage of that and re-directing her anger at her cousin’s son. She also didn’t know he was Sirius’ child, thinking that the man had sacrificed his life for only his godson.

“So?” Molly screeches impatiently. “What does that man have to do with my daughter?!”

This close to Albus, Severus can see he’s gritting his teeth, angry and impatient with the overbearing witch. “It matters,” he snaps, “because Harry is also missing from his cell and the pair are likely together somewhere. They cannot leave the country, if they were to get the ear of MACUSA or another overseas government, we’d all face very severe charges. Or do you think you’re safe because you never actually took part in Harry’s training?”

Several members of the Order pale, including the youngest male Weasley and Miss Granger. Both are overage, being caught and charged with the things they’ve done to an underage wizard would ruin their lives. Granger particularly, she’d been particularly eager to test out all the spells she’d been reading about on the boy. Severus remembers hearing his screams echo throughout his prison on numerous occasions, becoming more and more hoarse as he lost his voice.

 The things they’ve done, to a teenager no less, are horrendous. Severus feels not the least amount of guilt, enjoying extracting his revenge against Black on the man’s hapless son. The fact that the spells he uses are far more dangerous and painful than anything the Marauders used on him is coincidence. A part of him knows that it’s not normal, the lack of guilt. He feels less remorse for what he’s done to the boy than what he did as a Death Eater. Severus is not worried that Black’s escaped, the man is in poor shape and no true opponent for him.

He listens to their newest set of instructions with curiosity, a bit of dawning understanding and awe at the amount of sheer malevolence and manipulation involved. It’s perfect, and will both send a clear warning and cement one of their wild cards firmly on their side.

The fact that someone will die for it; well, that’s war. Collateral damage.

When Andromeda’s portkey activates, there aren’t warm greetings and smiles. Instead, a scene of chaos and destruction meets Remus and Kingsley’s eyes. Andromeda lands on the floor, on her knees. She’s sobbing, hands drenched in blood. It goes up her arms almost to the elbow and she’s frantically waving her wand, medical spells spilling off her lips with the ease from years of training. The target of her spells is her husband Ted, lying on the floor with a massive gash in his chest and another across his throat.

Immediately, MACUSA healers launch into action, trying to supplement Andromeda’s work. Their actions are frantic, words chaotic and tumbling over each other. When one of them begins using chest compressions and breathing into Ted’s slack mouth, Remus’ heart sinks. He’s frozen to the spot, unable to move forward. Eventually, reluctantly, the healers ease off and move back, only one remaining. He leans forward, grabs Andromeda’s wand hand and ceases her relentless spellwork. Slowly, sadly, he shakes his head.

Andromeda’s screaming wail of grief echoes around the room, making Remus want to cover his ears. He refuses, even as the noise reverberates against his eardrums and makes his wolf quietly growl in annoyance. He takes the abuse to his sensitive hearing like a penance of sorts, despite knowing that he’s not responsible for Ted Tonks’ death. Eventually Andromeda’s voice tapers off to heaving, gasping sobs, her blood-stained hands wrapping around her own waist as her shoulders hitch. She’s crying silently now, so hard she’s struggling to breathe.

Now Remus finds motion again, going to her side. He sinks to his knees, avoids looking at Ted and draws the woman to his shoulder, wrapping his arms around her. Andromeda is stiff at first, then her arms wrap around his shoulders in a vise-like grip, her nails cutting into his skin through his shirt. He takes the small bite of pain easily, not really noticing it much.

“What happened?” he says quietly.

It’s the right thing to say. Andromeda’s breathing eases, her hands lessen on the pressure that she’s gripping him with. He can hear the rising anger in her voice as she says, “Dumbledore’s people attacked us,” she spits, “not the man himself, he’s too clever for that. But his people, of that I’m sure. I recognized Alastor and Severus. Alastor’s the one that got Ted, I was focused too much on Severus.”

“Alastor Moody?” Remus asks, verifying. He can see the anger, regret and pain on Kingsley’s face at the name, the renowned Auror mentored many in the field, including both Kingsley and Sirius. His latest protégé was Andromeda’s own daughter.

“Yes,” she says calmly, too calmly. She pulls away from him, casts a spell to remove the blood from her arms. Her blue eyes are burning with the famous Black anger, her expression switching from grieving to glacial so fast he can see the unease on some of the other people’s faces.

“My daughter’s mentor,” she continues, “and he kills her own father. They’ll blame it on others of course, maybe even you. It’s something Dumbledore would do, play on her emotions and mess with her control of her own logic.”

She locks her burning blue eyes on Remus and says, coldly, “When we find them, Alastor is mine.”

In the face of her grieving rage, all Remus can do is nod.

When they arrive at the Avengers Tower, Sirius grips his cousin in a tight hug, letting her burrow her head into the crook of his shoulder. Andy’s older than him, a strong woman who made the decision to rebel against her family for her own happiness. Her character was always something he admired and looked up to. Andy’s rebellion had inspired him to gather his courage and do the same a few years later. But now she’s crumpling in her grief, curling in on herself and using that stoic Black reputation as a shield.

Sirius refuses to let her, pulling her in close and running a soothing hand over her wild dark hair. She grips his shirt, makes a short sobbing noise. It’s abruptly cut off, smothered by sheer will. Andromeda straightens, pulls gently out of his grasp. Her blue eyes are shining with tears but hardened in resolve and aristocratic control. Reluctantly, he lets her pull away.

She turns, facing Tony for the first time. The rest of his team is here as well, the first time Sirius or their son has been around the rest of the Avengers. Harlan’s standing back near the shadows, eyeing Andromeda a bit warily. She looks a bit like her sister Bellatrix, whom Harlan dislikes immensely. Sirius is not upset at his son’s wariness, but his heart hurts for the teens’ loss of innocence and trust. He reaches out, takes Harlan’s hand soothingly in his own. Rubbing his thumb against the skin of the teens’ palm, he gently tugs. Harlan takes the few hesitant steps he needs to leave the safety of the background, stepping up next to him and into his side.

“I am sorry for your loss,” Tony is telling Andromeda, looking genuinely upset. “This is one of the reasons why I wanted to get you and your husband to somewhere safe, we guessed that Dumbledore would take action after the loss of both our son and Sirius.”

Andromeda dips her head in a restrained nod, acknowledging his words. “Thank you,” she says. “Ted and I both knew the risks once we realized our daughter had become tangled up in all of this. Now, of course, I understand your need for secrecy on the matter, finding my cousin alive was a pleasant surprise.”

“We were quite shocked,” Tony said with a wry smile. “We had Harry’s blood tested so that we could try and understand what had been done to him, we weren’t expecting to find out that Sirius was alive as well.”

Andromeda nods, as if she’s made a decision. “I would be willing to do as you asked in the letter and act as my cousin’s son’s therapist, my cousin’s as well if he would be willing to talk to me. The fact that my daughter was involved in it may make it personal, but I want them both to recover.”

Next to Sirius, Harlan’s eyes flash with understanding. His eyes narrow and his face tightens. He’s clearly realized the gist of what Andromeda’s purpose here is and is not pleased. Sirius starts to try and say something, having realized how important therapy will be for his son after what he’s been through, when Harlan abruptly speaks, cutting him off.

“I will do my best to talk to you,” he tells Andromeda. Then he adds bluntly, “But if it’s about what your daughter’s done, I’ll find someone else. I won’t be the one to add to the pain you yourself are in.”

Sirius is relieved, if apprehensive. How much had his cousin’s daughter been involved in? But at least Harlan hadn’t outright rejected the idea of talking to a therapist. It was better than Sirius could have hoped for. He’d warned Tony that Harlan would not be very open to the idea and that he could be incredibly stubborn. Tony had just joked that it was something he’d come by honestly.

Sirius takes a deep breath and tries to relax. Andromeda is here, safe. Ted is gone, but at least his cousin is protected. But his hands are tense, itching with nerves. There’s the constant desire to look over his shoulder, to try and guess what Dumbledore’s next move is going to bring.

This needs to end, soon.

Chapter Text

Harry is, for once, alone. He’s not in the Tower by himself, not by a long shot, but he’s the only one currently on this floor, or so he thinks. It’s been two weeks since Andromeda arrived, he’s spoken to her about his time at the mercy of the Order once since then. It’s difficult for him to talk about what he was put through. He’s been conditioned since he was at the Dursleys to keep his complaints and grievances to himself, that no-one would listen or care. That he deserved what he got.

A part of him realizes that they were always wrong, that what he went through from the age of fifteen months onward was never normal. An innocent, naïve part of him that he’s never really been able to squash, even with everything that he has gone through in fifteen years. Despite his best efforts, that part of him has always been there. It flares now in desperate hope, clinging to the safety and security he’s been offered.

Harry blinks, looks around the spacious kitchen and eyes the massive table in the middle of the space. Beyond is a sleek stainless steel elevator door. Out of curiosity, he wanders over and presses the button with a hesitant finger, calling the lift to his level. When the door silently slides open, he pokes his head around the corner, eyeballing the massive amount of buttons, each representing a different floor. The tower that Tony had built was gigantic, but he’s never really realized how big it was until now.

“JARVIS?” he says hesitantly.

The AI responds promptly, a curious warmth in its vaguely British voice. “How can I help you, Harry?”

“What floor am I currently on?”

“You are on the main Avengers residence floor, number 84,” JARVIS responds promptly. “Each member of the team has a private floor, numbering 85-90. 92 is Party Town as Sir refers to it, for entertaining. 94 is roof access for helicopters and the Quinjet.”

Harry processes the information and then says, “Does Tony have a private floor as well?”

“Sir has several floors,” JARVIS responds quickly. “81 is his personal residence floor, 82 is his personal labs. He is currently on 83, which is the lab dedicated to modifications and monitoring of the Iron Man suit as well as storage for active models. Predecessors are also stored on that floor in display cases accessible only by Sir.”

“Where is Sirius?” Harry asks curiously.

“Master Sirius is on 83 as well, speaking with Sir. His current residence quarters are on 84 like your own.”

“Current?” Harry questions, having caught the temporary term.

“Sir would eventually like to move both of you to his private residence floor on 81, he is just not sure about your response. He wants both of you to feel comfortable, but desires to become closer to you both.”

Amused, Harry points out, “You do realize you just told me that, right?”

“Of course,” JARVIS responds, his tone conveying ‘I am not an idiot’ fairly well for a machine. “Sir tends to overthink things, so I felt it was best to just put his requests out there for you to consider.”

Harry snorts, considers the last few moments of conversation and says, “Master Sirius?”

“When I first was introduced to Sirius in 1996, he requested that I refer to him by name as the term ‘Master’ has uncomfortable connotations for him, something to do with your civil war I would think. I refer to Sir as Master Tony amongst guests and business associates. To my processing ability and all logical paths, Sir and Sirius will end up back together as they were. I convey my respect and approval of this by referring to him as ‘Master Sirius’.”

Amused, Harry smiled and said, “So I’m not the only one that thinks they’re a little obvious?”

“Most certainly not,” JARVIS replies primly.

Harry steps into the elevator and presses the button labelled 83. It turns pale blue to show his selection and the doors slide closed with a smooth pneumatic hiss. The elevator descends, the number above the doors ticking from 84 to 83 within seconds. With a small ping, the doors open. Harry steps out, blinking at the sterile concrete floor and walls. In front of him is a door, which slides open as he approaches.

Beyond may as well be another world and Harry barely resists letting his jaw fall open in comic disbelief. In front of him is clear, thick glass framed into upper and lower portions by sleek steel. Beyond another door, which is code-locked, are several tables of modern steel and heavy tempered glass, as well as more solid worktables upon which rest various pieces of shining metal in deep scarlet and bright gold. Computer screens hover in the air and various small lights blink in steady patterns.

In the center of all of this are Sirius and Tony, standing and talking next to a table with more pieces of the metal suit and complicated tools on it. Their posture is relaxed, a smile lingers on Sirius’ lips and his blue-grey eyes are sparkling. They’re clearly not arguing, nor involved in a serious conversation.

“JARVIS,” Harry says hesitantly, “if they’re not involved in an important conversation, can you tell them I’m here and would like to talk to them?”

“Of course,” the AI swiftly reassures.

Tony had been working on minor tweaks to the Iron Man when Sirius had found him on his private lab floor. The awe and curious delight on the man’s face as he looked around the high-tech lab brought a small smile to Tony’s lips. He remained where he was, content to just watch Sirius’ reactions. The man’s arrival had been greeted with a lot of excited beeps and whistles from Dum-e and U, who both remembered the man from last time. Butterfingers was a relatively new addition; Sirius had snickered quietly for several long moments on hearing the name and the reasoning behind it.

Finally, Sirius turned to him and breathed quietly, “This is amazing, Tony. How did you come up with something like this?”

Tony smiled at the compliment, but a shadow simultaneously crosses his eyes. They darken a little as he considers. Really, he should have guessed it. Anyone who looked at these suits of armor would wonder where inspiration had come to build them in the first place. Sirius knew him better than most, had realized even in a short amount of time that most of his greatest thoughts came under duress or when he was horrendously drunk. Or at least they had.

“Necessity,” Tony says finally, his voice low and a little tight.

He hasn’t even realized that Sirius has approached and was in his personal space until the other reaches out and lightly grips his arm, just below the elbow. Looking at the other’s expressive eyes, he’s surprised but relieved when Sirius only says, “Okay.”

Tony blinks, and then blurts out, “You’re not going to ask why it was necessary?”

“I can see it’s something major from your recent past, after I left. You can tell me when you’re comfortable doing so, not any sooner,” Sirius says quietly. A bit of a smile flickers over his face as he says, “After all, I’ve been in quite a bit of shit myself over the past fifteen years and I’m not exactly pouring out the truth either.”

Tony grimaces, lets out a shaky sigh and says, “I will tell you; I promise. It’s just not easy for me to talk about.”

Sirius merely smiles and changes the subject, asking about what Tony’s working on. Relieved to have the subject changed, Tony rambles on a bit, gesturing excitedly with his hands as he speaks. A warm smile lingers on Sirius’ lips as he listens, interjecting a question here or there.

They’ve moved on from there, reminiscing about several things from their mutual past, when JARVIS interrupts. “Sir?”

“What is it, J?” Tony replies immediately.

“Are you and Sirius involved in an important conversation?”

“No,” Sirius quickly reassures the AI, smiling. “We’re just talking.”

“Then Harry is just outside the lab, wanting to speak with you both.”

Tony blinks in surprise, turning in the direction of the door. Sure enough, standing quietly outside the door is Harry. “Let him in J,” he says quickly.

Harry steps through the door almost hesitantly, looking around with curious eyes. The bots have plugged into their charging stations now that he’s not working, so Harry isn’t being immediately swarmed with curious robots. His eyes flicker freely throughout the room, taking everything in and likely cataloging his surroundings.

“This is really crazy stuff,” he says, gesturing all around the room.

Tony snickers, smiling a little. “Thanks. Most of this is pretty advanced tech, even for our modern society. The Iron Man is state of the art, has to be in order to do all the crazy stuff I do with the Avengers.”

“What did you need, Harry?” Sirius asks quietly. Tony has noticed that whenever Harry isn’t present, Sirius refers to him by the name Harlan, which was the name he gave his son at birth. But out of a desire to make their son comfortable, he uses the name Harry when speaking to him.

“I was speaking with Remus yesterday,” Harry began, his tone almost hesitant. “He said that you were the one who put the glamour on my appearance when you put me in James and Lily’s care.”

“I was, yes,” Sirius nods. “Anchoring anything on a Black is difficult unless it’s another Black, our family magics resist outside tampering. Lily had done all the research to find the right spell, then I just had to learn it properly to cast it on you.”

“That could be why Andromeda’s memory modification failed,” Tony points out. Sure he’s new to magic, but he’s also a genius. He catches on to most new concepts far more quickly than the average person would.

“Exactly,” Sirius nods, smiling. “That and we’re known for the strength of our mental shields and meditation abilities. It’s hard to mess with the mind of a Black, we get the basic techniques taught to us practically from the cradle.”

Harry frowns, but doesn’t voice whatever thought has crossed his mind. Instead, he says, “Do you still know the charm you used on me?”

“I do,” Sirius nods. “I locked both the charm and it’s counter into my mental recall, so that I would remember them later. I didn’t want to have to look them up again, it took Lily months to find one that would suit our purposes.”

Harry takes a deep breath, shifts anxiously from one foot to the other. Tony has a strong suspicion about what he’s going to ask, but he keeps silent. It’s not for sure, after all, and he doesn’t want the teenager to feel pressured. It doesn’t stop him from becoming curious, nervous and excited all at once.

“I want to take it down,” Harry blurts. “The charm. I respect that James and Lily gave their lives to protect me, but looking like them has caused me nothing but misery. I want to look like what I’m supposed to.”

Sirius blinks. “Are you sure?” he asks, voice wavering a little. Tony can practically hear the desire and longing in his voice, but he’s doing his darndest not to give it away.

“Yes,” Harry says firmly.

“T-then I’ll put a resizing charm on your clothes,” Sirius responds. When Harry blinks he says, “You may not stay the same height, it would be uncomfortable if you gained a few inches or pounds and shredded your clothing.”

“Right,” Harry murmurs, an embarrassed flush lighting his cheeks. “Also, I know you’ve been referring to me as Harlan when I’m not in hearing range. It doesn’t bother me if you call me by that name. It’s the one you gave me, after all. I’m not sure if I want to switch it yet or not, but if you’d rather use that, use it.”

“Okay,” Sirius responds, eyes watering a little. He removes his wand, bought on a short shopping expedition to the local New York wizarding center. “Are you sure?” He asks Harry quietly. “Once I pull this down, there’s no guarantee I can put it back up.”

“I’m sure,” Harry says quietly but firmly.

Sirius points his wand at Harry, takes a short breath to steady himself and says, “Revelus Antius Mortus!”

There’s a brief flare of purple light from the wand, which strikes Harry dead on in the chest. The lights flicker briefly overhead at the spell, which reminds Tony that he needs to figure out a way to protect tech from magical outbursts. They got lucky this time, casting a spell in his lab of all places.

For a few breaths, nothing happens. Then Harry’s skin begins to glow, getting steadily brighter. His appearance flickers in front of them, like a badly tuned television set. Then there’s a bright flare of light that makes Tony raise a hand to cover his eyes and a sound, like glass shattering.

When Tony lowers his arm, he freezes. He’s staring and he knows it, but he can’t seem to break his gaze from the image in front of him. Before, Harry had been perhaps 5’ 6”, with messy black hair, bright green eyes and pale skin. Now, he’s not only different, but so obviously theirs.

He’s gained a couple of inches in height, probably coming to just past Tony’s chin now. His frame is still slender and too thin, but that will improve. He blinks, removing the glasses and looks around, clearly able to see without them. His eyes are an exact replica of Tony’s own, in both shape and color. His hair is still black, but now it’s silky and straight like Sirius’. His skin is pale but glows with an inner radiance and he possesses high cheekbones and an expressive mouth.

Tony’s shocked to see the obvious similarities between him and his son, from obvious things like his eyes and nose to smaller things like the curve of his jawline and his long, slender fingers. He’s so obviously a blend of the two of them that now it will be noticeable even to people just walking down the street.

A slightly watery smile curves Sirius’ lips as he flicks his wand again, conjuring a mirror so that Harry can see his own appearance.

“I could tell,” he says softly, “that you would look a lot like Tony even when you were younger, it was that obvious. But I can’t deny how good it feels to see you looking like I remember now.”

Harry blinks, breaks his gaze from the mirror. Looking at Tony he says, “Well now I guess there’s no denying that resemblance, is there?”

His tone is cheeky, but Tony can hear the uncertainty in his son’s voice, as though he’s not sure whether or not Tony had wanted to be able to deny it.

Unable to stand the hesitation in his voice, Tony walks up to his son, wraps an arm around him and pulls him into a tight hug. Quietly, just so Harry can hear it, he breathes, “I guess it’s a good thing I never wanted to deny it, isn’t it?”

If Harry’s uncertain grip on him tightens a little at his words, Tony doesn’t mention it. Nor does he draw attention to or deliberately notice the soft hitching sob from the head buried into his shoulder.

This is his life now. And he realizes, holding his son and staring into Sirius’ warm, shining eyes, that he wouldn’t change it for the world.

It’s funny how life works sometimes.