Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Harry had planned for quite a few outcomes for his jaunt through the veil.
Plan A (mentally titled ‘Fuck you all!): consisted of a quick death, hopefully painless. Followed by a few differing versions of death (oxygen deprivation, falling from a great height, or disintegration, just to name a few), and even a few sort-of deaths (such as falling forever, or simply existing is the strange veil-like fabric as a spirit or ghost or…something).
Though this wasn’t ideal, he did actually think that death was the most likely, given the veil was… well, ‘The Veil of Death’.
Safe to say, he’s surprised he’s still actually breathing.
But not too surprised. Thankfully, he (CoughLunaCough) had also considered the slim possibility that ‘The Veil of Death’ was not a veil of death at all, and the wixen that named it so simply didn’t have the knowledge or the time to name it anything else. (Assuming they ever studied the damn thing beyond just chucking a few bad wixen through it from the time before the dementors existed).
Plan B (mentally titled ‘Hey look I lived, AGAIN!’), consisted of the following options:
- floating in the veil forever.
Opening his eyes at a squint revealed a landscape of pure white so this was still an option, though the biting breeze against the back of his neck suggested that he was somewhere with a weather system… or still falling without the accompanying feeling of vertigo. Deciding he wasn’t quite ready to deal with that yet, Harry closed his eyes and mentally moved to option two.
- The veil was a portal to another world, or a parallel dimension, or another planet (he wasn’t as sure about that last one, but Luna and Neville had insisted he consider all his options).
As the wind shifted and snow battered against his legs, Harry began to consider that option two was looking like the most likely. Also, the fact that he could feel the floor below him disproved the floating forever theory of option one. (Bonus! The idea of floating forever had kinda sucked).
Physically nodding his head (both to confirm that he could actually move and that option two was correct) Harry peeled his eyes open and squinted into the white expanse.
…
He couldn’t see much of anything.
Harry sighed, little white puffs confirming just how cold it actually was, and did a slow turn.
“Yep… That confirms it” (He was in the middle of fucking nowhere)
Harry frowned and rubbed his throat, suddenly realising just how long it’d been since he last spoke aloud.
‘Was it when I broke up with Ginny? Or was it the argument with Ron.... no, was it when I punched that reporter in the face for the ‘new dark lord’ comment?’
He shrugged, bending down to cup some snow between his hands before bringing them to his mouth to chew on. The coolness of the snow soothed his throat a little, but it also brought awareness of just how badly he was shivering.
Harry nodded to himself again, “Time to take an inventory then” (‘one step at a time’ as Hermione used to say).
He briefly wondered if having Hermione as his inner voice should be concerning, but then she had always been the smartest of the three, and the only one of the ‘Golden Trio’ to not be dragged into the shit that was ‘The-Boy-Who-Conquered or The-Next-Dark-Lord’ sensationalism that kickstarted the whole mess of the next twenty years post Voldy. (Being 38 with a perpetual baby-face sucked. Hard)
Shivering, Harry pulled away from that depressing train of thought before unclipping the little suitcase from his right ear, Luna’s dreamy voice passing through his mind as he did so. (‘You’ll look so handsome with pierced ears, Harry, Red and Gold is a lovely colour”).
He still hasn’t worked out what she meant, but the earrings gave him the perfect hiding place for his shrunken trunk, and had been quite trendy in the muggle world (along with little ice cream earrings and parrots… muggles were weird).
Quickly biting his thumb, Harry spread some of his blood onto the trunk to unshrink it, a few taps later and he was pulling out a bag of winter clothes (muggle style, just to be safe); his Dragonhide Boots, which were charmed to be extra comfortable while silencing his footsteps (Thank you Charlie!), a couple of ration bars (which he had nicked from the Aurora canteen when his boss wasn’t looking); his magic proof cell phone (George Weasley is a genius and his mother deserves a dementors kiss for ever suggesting otherwise); and the elder wand. (Which he was stubbornly not going to think about).
Satisfied, Harry flicked the wand at his trunk to re-shrink it, pulled on his new clothes, snapped his earring back in place, spun once in a circle, and determinedly trudged forwards in a random direction. (Not the best plan, admittedly, but he was tired and didn’t trust his mental capability if he actually stopped long enough to think about where he was and what he’d just done).
“I wonder if this world has a suicide watch…” He mused, trying to focus on the rhythmic sound of his boots on the untouched snow.
‘Or maybe I should find another therapist?’ He pursed his lips at the thought before letting out a snort. ‘What would I even say… hi, I’m Harry, I just walked to my death in another world, only HEY look at that I’m still alive! I’m alive and now I have no idea what I’m supposed to do, but I can’t just go and end it again or I’m pretty sure Hermione and Luna will track down my ghost, resurrect my ass and then murder me again… so can you help me?’.
Harry let a brief giggle escape before clamping his mouth shut. ‘Merlin, I’m really not okay…’. He let his shoulders sag a little at the thought.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Harry shook off the negative thoughts and picked up his walking pace. He needed to find civilisation, and he desperately needed a drink. He wasn’t an alcoholic… yet. But being in a different world was stressful, and he couldn’t…wouldn’t…consider all the implications sober.
The less he thought about Sirius the better…
The sudden flash of light Infront of him derailed that train of thought. Raising a hand to block the sun from his eyes (and thanking merlin he’d gotten his eyes fixed after he graduated), Harry spotted what looked like a type of aircraft... space ship? Muggle Plane?... slowly lowering itself onto an ice shelf that appeared to be just over the ridge; but was probably a few miles away, judging by the size of the thing.
It was really cool-looking ship. Kind of similar to the jet’s he’d read about in a muggle museum, if the jets were twice as large, so black it must be almost impossible to see at night, and had fluorescent blue lights that strangely reminded him of that one Star Wars movie he’d snuck of with Draco to see after that one harrowing mission they swore to never EVER talk about again. (It had involved three really high muggles, a very twitchy magic artefact, and a blender).
It was damn near silent too, the low hum of the engine and slight wind displacement the only indicators of the ship actually existing. (Harry knew snow mirages were a thing, but sound was harder to hallucinate, and he really didn’t think he was that far gone just yet anyway)
‘Also, there’s no way my brain could cook up something that cool’
Harry broke into a sprint, eager to cover the distance between himself and the first sign of life since he’d been dropped here, but also to get a better look at the aircraft he’d definitely never seen before. (Even in Dudley’s comics that he’d managed to sneak a glance at between chores, or his primary school teacher’s science magazines, she sometimes left on her desk during recess).
Reaching the ridge brought Harry to a pretty quick stop as he realised he was actually on the top of a cliff, with a very long drop down to some kind of facility that the… ship? Aircraft?... He’s just going to call it a ship… had touched down beside.
‘And yep, that is one cool ship! The wings fold! Wicked’ Harry grinned, mildly excited at the idea of living in a world with Star Wars-level aircraft.
He briefly surveyed his surroundings, looking for the best way to navigate the terrain, when the sound of the ship doors opening caught his attention. Gripping the Elder wand tightly, Harry focused his intent before allowing his magic through the wood; like an excitable child, the wand responded immediately, granting him improved vision and hearing that almost made it seem like he was right next to the ship, rather than a few miles away.
(Harry may truly dislike this wand, but he couldn’t deny that the wordless magic and almost limitless spellcasting it allowed him was pretty neat)
The wand vibrated in his hand at the passive thought of approval. Harry frowned at it.
Before he could get distracted by it again, he caught sight of movement from the craft. Harry felt his eyes widen in surprise at what appeared to be a man wearing a very tight leather-like catsuit appeared. He was mumbling fiercely in some other language, and his whole body seemed to be twitching in agitation… or stress?...
Harry wasn’t completely sure, but the guy was giving off ‘I’m not okay’ vibes louder than his own, which was quite impressive given the circumstances.
‘This world might be less Star Wars and more Batman then…’ He mused, eyeing the outfit with just a little second-hand embarrassment. ‘…at least there’s no nipples on that suit’.
Before Harry could formulate a plan to meet the guy, another man appeared from the base-like structure. This guy looked 100% human, and Harry was weirdly thankful for that (Not another planet, take THAT Hermione!), though he was less thankful when catsuit guy promptly and with full prejudice, decked the guy in the stomach before vaulting him over his shoulder like last week’s potatoes.
‘Am I witnessing a kidnapping or something?... Alien abduction?’ Harry frowned, ‘Looks like the alien theory still has some weight then… ‘.
He was just starting to consider interfering when two more men exited the base, and WHOO BOY did these two look like they’d just gone twelve rounds with a bear!
‘Big Blonde and Buff ™’ was limping heavily and his nose had obviously been broken... at LEAST once... while ‘Tall Dark and Broody™’ was missing A WHOLE ARM and his eyes were glazed over like a victim of the dark wankers imperious.
If he wasn’t leaning so heavily on ‘Big Blonde and Buff ™’, whose eyes would take on that disgustingly loving sheen (that Lavender had perfected around her precious ‘Won-Won’) whenever he looked at ‘Tall Dark and Broody™’, Harry would have apparated right down there and tested him for mind control.
As it was, he simply didn’t have enough information to interfere. And since it looked like they were friends with catsuit guy, and they all pulled angry-sad faces at unconscious 100% human guy, Harry was pretty sure they were apprehending some kind of criminal… or they were preparing to abduct a human for testing because what was WITH these guys and their weird ass costumes?
‘He looks like a walking American advert! At least Tall Dark and Broody’s™ outfit looks suited for combat, although, if they were aiming to show off their best assets, I guess it’s kinda successful…’
Harry dragged a hand down his face to disrupt his latest train of thought before he could start comparing wixen fashion with these possible alien dudes, just as catsuit guy seemed to ask (in English! Wasn’t that a surprise) where someone named ‘Stark’ was.
‘Big Blonde and Buff’s ™’ answer had Harry frowning; he picked up a slight tick in the guy’s heart over the words “He’s fine, just cooling off”.
Harry tapped his fingers against his thigh, a flash of a conversation from his former boss immediately came to mind.
‘A tick in the heart or dilation in the eyes often indicates a lie; monitoring the heart rate, eye dilation, and body position is very important for interrogation’.
He narrowed his eyes as the three men and unconscious potato sack boarded the ship. ‘He lied about this Stark guy… does that mean he’s still inside the base?’ Harry bit his lip, worrying the flesh between his teeth, as the ship began to take off.
‘Something doesn’t feel right’
Harry shifted his weight onto his heels as the ship rose higher into the air, his gut tugging painfully, limbs beginning to twitch. Hermione’s face floated once more into his mind;
‘You have a saving people thing, Harry, we all know it, and as much as I’d prefer if you didn’t run into danger at every turn, I know you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t’
Smiling at the memory, Harry allowed a single tear to fall at the thought of his friend (his BEST friend), before steeling his expression. Making long-term plans was never his style, a true Gryffindor through and through, Harry memorised the space Infront of the base, cancelled the spells on his senses with a flick of the wand, and apparated with a ‘CRACK’ just as the ship’s engines fired to disguise the noise.
He still botched up the landing though, the smack of his arse against the ice an unkind reminder of just how much wixen travel seemed to hate him. (Somewhere, Draco was laughing; he was sure of it).
Rubbing his backside and muttering about the unfairness of it all, Harry entered the base.
The first thing that caught his attention was just how dark it was in here. And cold. Despite the lack of breeze, or maybe even because of it, the base was freezing!
“I hope this Stark guy has a fire going, because this is ridiculous", he muttered, rubbing his hands over the arms of his coat to keep the blood flowing.
The second thing he noticed, was all the really creepy lab equipment. Old machines hanging from the walls, broken bottles with questionable substances, and ripped-up papers that may have been written in Greek for all Harry could make of them.
‘Though the circles could pass for Gallifreyan,’ Harry mused, temporarily pleased with his pop culture reference (especially from a show the Dursleys had banned for being too “unnatural”).
After the eighth door filled with ‘creepy science shit’, Harry whipped out his wand and cast a simple ‘Homenum Revelio’, before setting a direct course for his intended target.
The closer he got, however, the more concerned he became.
The room was large, easily bigger than any of the previous labs. Huge glass containers with some very jacked-up dead guys inside them lined one of the walls, the sunlight glinting off the bullet wounds from one of the many, MANY, holes in the ceiling. The air was easily colder than the rest of the base, and the new flakes of snow indicated that it was about to get a lot worse.
Harry’s unease spread as he checked out the rest of the cavernous room. There were signs of a fight everywhere he looked. Gouges in concrete, blood splatter on snow, scraps of metal in red, gold and grey strewn about, an old monitor in the corner with a tiny red light that blinked ominously every few seconds… a whole metal arm with a red star…
Harry paused, before wandering over to the arm. “Well…” he mused, gently lifting it up for closer inspection. “Guess this comes from ‘Tall Dark and Broody™’…”
He rotated the arm slightly, admiring the shifting of the plates and the sheer ‘alienness’ of the technology. “I’d be pretty bummed if I lost something this cool”.
His eyes drifted back to the star of the shoulder, “Pretty sure that’s a Russian sign… am I in Russia then?” It made sense, he supposed, Russia was cold… and big… and very far from civilisation.
He sighed, ‘Suddenly I’m not so excited to be here’. He dropped the arm like a lead weight; the resulting bang echoed across the structure, making him flinch at the sudden influx of sound.
“Oops” He winced, almost missing the slight intake of breath from the opposite corner of the room.
Whirling round, Harry immediately remembered why he’d entered the base in the first place.
Sitting at the back corner of the room, almost completely enveloped in shadow, was a large, human-shaped robot… If robots had completely human faces, that is… a face that looked a little too pale… lips a little too blue… and a weirdly curved, heavily bleeding scar right across the chest.
Harry froze. Felt his mind assess. Re-asses. And then flung himself into action.
He was across the room between one breath and the next. His earring unclipped, trunk resized, and potion lab assembled in the following breath. The robot man had flinched, winced, and cried out in pain when he moved, but otherwise did nothing. (Whether he could sense Harry was there to help or he was too far gone to care, Harry was trying not to think about...)
Harry eyed the seams of the robot; there were no obvious catches or release mechanisms that he could see, but he also couldn’t risk using his magic on tech he knew nothing about. (He’d give his left foot to have George with him right now.)
Discarding the idea of removing the man from his armour, Harry quickly selected potions to minimise the bleeding and replenish the blood loss. Moving smoothly and gently, he brought the first potion to the man’s lips and tilted it down his throat, using his other hand to massage his windpipe until he swallowed it all.
He noticed a grimace pass on the man’s face, but his eyes were still unfocused and his breathing was laboured. ‘Awake enough to taste, but not enough to react.’ Harry mused idly that this was actually beneficial, since if the guy tried to resist the potions, he could seriously damage what remained of his chest.
Harry’s eyes widened as he recalled what ‘Big Blonde and Buff ™’ had said, “ He’s Fine, just cooling off”.
‘Did those guys do this? But catsuit acted like they were all friends…’ Harry clenched his teeth, a wave of white-hot anger stirring in his gut. Luckily (or not) robot guy took a pained breath that startled Harry from his realisation.
‘I don’t have all the facts yet... calm down!’ he chastised himself, grabbing his phone from his pocket; Harry snapped a few photos of the injuries just before the potion kicked in.
‘Just in case’ he nodded to himself, thanking his year of muggle police training he’d opted to go for after his first fight with Ginny. ‘That year away was a blessing in more ways than I can count’.
Seeing the blood slow, Harry guided the second potion down the man’s throat, relaxing a little as some colour returned to his face. The man’s breathing was still setting alarms off in his head, but without magic…. Harry paused, eyeing a part of the man’s suit that had broken off in the snow.
Bouncing to his feet, Harry snapped a few more pics of the ‘crime scene’ before aiming his wand at the broken tech.
“This isn’t a perfect test, but even if nothing happens, I’ll just have to chance it”, he muttered, shooting a low-powered ‘wingardium leviosa’ at the piece.
To his utter amazement, the piece of tech lifted off the ground without so much as a spark.
Not willing to chance his live patient just yet, Harry cast a few more higher-powered spells at the tech. It wasn’t until he put in just over half his actual power that the tech finally let out a spark of death and appeared to break apart at the very well-hidden seams.
Harry raised an eyebrow in a poor imitation of Snape. “Impressive”.
He sniffed imperiously, amusement thrumming through his veins before promptly schooling his features and returning to his (now much more awake and quietly confused) patient.
“Ok”, Harry clapped his hands together, wincing a little as the man flinched (without a painful moan this time), before returning to his side. Harry smiled at the man, debating how to proceed with the rapidly dawning suspicion/fear in the other’s eyes, he was going to have to make this quick, or the guy was going to fight him.
Harry nodded to himself (again, it’s becoming a habit, Harry!) before rocking back on his heels to give the guy a little room. He’ll have to go for blunt, professional, and quick. ‘Here goes’
“…Who?” The guy barely got the word out before his frame was racked with coughs; blood flaked on his teeth, his chest constricted, and Harry could see the moment the pain registered, eyes of deep honey going cloudy and dazed.
“Sorry mate, I’ll be as quick as I can” Harry placed his hand on the guy’s chest, noting the renewed spark of panic the action caused.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m a combat medic… (sort of) an army doctor (if child soldier counts), you’ve hurt your chest so I’ll need you to keep still, I’ve stopped the internal bleeding but I’m pretty sure your ribs are broken or displaced, I can help but I need you to not move” He soothed, keeping his tone as professional as possible.
Harry was slowly letting his magic into the guy’s body as he rambled, assessing the damage and mentally tallying the best course of action. He wasn’t sure if the guy noticed, but he did remain still, even if the fear was really heavy on his shoulders.
“Don’t… don’t like doctors…” the guy stuttered out through gritted teeth, obviously trying to limit his breathing through his shattered ribcage.
‘Harry was going to kill something, something blond and something armless, maybe something in black spandex’.
Taking a deep breath, Harry met his eyes and let his face fall into a gentle smile, “Me neither, absolutely can’t stand them, that’s why I learned how to heal myself. I spent so much of my childhood in a hospital bed that I swore the minute I was an adult, nobody was ever going to put me in one again”
The guy relaxed a bit as Harry rambled.
“…That so?” He was still suspicious then, but the fear was fading at least.
Harry gave him a real smile, “yep, I’m one walking danger magnet me, my best friend practically sister called it the ‘Harry Effect’, If someone’s going to do something bad, you can guarantee, and I quote ‘Harry will be in the middle of it doing something stupid that absolutely should not work but for some reason always does’, and then I’ll end up in the hospital afterwards, it’s tragic really”
The guy snorted; his following wince was less pronounced; Harry counted it as a win.
“…So then, doc… what’s the verdict?”
Harry sobered at that, seeing the serious look in the guy’s eyes flecked with hints of resignation that he suddenly, desperately, wanted to get rid of.
“I’m afraid whatever impacted your chest has shattered your ribcage completely; I can fix it, but it’s going to be really uncomfortable, and you’re likely to pass out from the pain. I’ve already catalogued the scene and your injuries, but I’ll need to know who your emergency contacts are so I can get you back to your people…”
Harry paused for breath but was interrupted by the incredulous look on the guy’s face.
“Wait, WAIT, wait… You can fix it?! How can you fix a shattered chest? That’s not possible! Even with Cho’s cradle, you’d need a base material for the new growth to conform to, not to mention the pieces of my ribs are still in there, and there’s no way you can get those out without damaging my other organs!” The guy was panicking now, his determination to rant obviously greater than the pain of doing so, even with Harry’s hand still on his chest, it was difficult to stop the guy from moving.
“Whoa! Please stop moving, robot guy! You’re going to make everything worse!” Harry begged, pushing as much calming magic through his hand as he could. (It wasn’t much, he’s okay at wandless healing magic, but mind and empath-based magic was a whole other ball game.)
Eventually, the guy stopped wriggling, though his breathing was even more laboured and his eyes still had a slightly manic tinge to them.
‘God, he’s gorgeous…’ Harry blinked slowly through the thought before batting it away to focus. (He can question his sexuality later, but props to robot guy, he was HOT)
“It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not, I’ve decided to help you, so I will. All I need you to do is give me someone to call for you, and to tell me if you want to be awake or asleep for the next bit”
He infused as much determination into his words as he could, staring defiantly into the guy’s face, willing him to let him help. To TRUST him. (A hard ask he knew, if what he suspected happened actually did happen.)
The guy briefly pulled a face like he’d sucked on the world’s sourest lemon, eyes flicking over every part of Harry, assessing, judging, weighing his words against his actions, against the emotion in his eyes. Eventually, after what was probably the world’s longest minuet, he gave Harry the briefest nod.
Harry dropped his whole frame with a relaxed sigh before pulling out his phone. “So… who should I call?”
He flicked his eyes up only to freeze at the look of sheer disgust on the other guy’s face. “…what?”
The guy’s eyes seemed to drag from his phone to his face, only to drop back to his phone like it’d personally offended his mother. “What the fuck is that outdated fossilised dinosaur shit in your hand?!”
Harry blinked. “Uhh… my phone?” he did not mean for that to sound like a question…
The guy suddenly let out the deepest sigh; deeper than Hermione’s ‘Harry you’re an idiot’ sigh, deeper than Nevil’s ‘Luna just said something prophetic that’s going to screw Harry and therefore us over’ sigh; deeper than Malfoy’s ‘I just got assigned a job with Potter and he’s going to get us killed’ sigh.
Harry was thoroughly confused… and maybe a little offended.
“Call Pepper… actually, just give it here” he actually wrinkled his nose, like the thought of just touching Harry’s phone would cause him to spontaneously combust.
Arching his eyebrow, Harry slowly pressed his phone into the guy’s hand (which he now noticed was missing a robot glove, when did that happen?!). He watched mildly more amused as the guy muttered expletives about outdated tech and poor life choices, before the familiar sound of a dial tone rang into the bunker.
Harry peeled the phone from the guy’s heavily shaking hand just as the call connected; he seemed torn between annoyance at Harry taking his call away and relief that the ‘outdated dinosaur ‘was no longer touching his skin.
“This is a private number. Who is this?!” a sharp female voice came from the device, and Harry was instantly reminded of Hermione. If this woman turned out to be a redhead, he’d bet his wand he’s about to meet his sister’s parallel universe self… if that was even a thing.
Harry cleared his throat, “Miss… Pepper, is it? My name is Harry, I’m a combat medic calling on behalf of…” ‘What was it Blondie had said… Stark?’ “…Mr Stark”, he flicked his eyes to the robot guy and got a quick nod of confirmation, though there was also a hint of confusion on his face that spelt trouble for later (Harry had a feeling about these things).
The sharp intake of breath over the line caught his attention.
“You have Tony?! Where is he? You’re a medic? What’s his condition?” The rapid-fire questions made him smile a little. ‘Definitely a Hermione’
“He’s pretty banged up at the moment, but I’ve mostly stabilised him. The next part of the procedure may cause him to fall unconscious, so I asked for your number so you can hopefully organise a rescue party for us. You’ll need to bring warm food, blankets and fresh water, preferably a cot to prevent movement for his chest and head. I’d also recommend bringing a lawyer and someone to catalogue the scene, I have reason to believe Mr Starks' current state was attempted murder at worst or attempted manslaughter at best”
Harry grimaced, ‘Like you could accidentally smash a shield into someone’s chest!’
He purposefully ignored Mr Starks' spluttering in the background. (He knew how hard betrayal from your friends was, how easy it was to fall into self-blame, Stark was quickly showing signs he recognised in himself, bad signs)
Deep breaths came from the phone, and Harry felt second-hand pride at how much control this woman seemed to have.
“Harry… was it?” The question was measured, a heavy weight accompanying it.
Harry, feeling the tension, rolled his shoulders to lessen it.
“Yes, ma'am, Harrison (Harry) Potter-Black” He knew she’d check, knew she’d find nothing (Unless there was a doppelganger here with his name, but he doubted that, it was just a touch too different)
Another sharp breath over the line (She’d found nothing, he knew it, though he was impressed at the speed she must have searched). “May I speak to Tony?”
Harry nodded even though she couldn’t see, “Absolutely, just a moment”
He pressed the phone to Tony’s ear, conscious that the man hadn’t raised his arms even in the middle of his rant (another injury? Cold exposure? The weight of the armour? He wasn’t sure)
“Pep…” Stark practically breathed into the phone; he was crashing from his adrenaline spike.
“Tony…” the voice was relieved. The silence was measured. “Do you trust this guy?”
‘And there’s the million-dollar question’ Harry knew this was the tricky part. For all intents and purposes, he didn’t exist, shouldn’t exist here; it made no sense for a Brit to be in Russia, for a convenient medic to be there at all. He saw all this flash through Stark's eyes, the weight of Pepper's question in the air.
Harry held his breath, allowed Stark to run another assessment, to recalculate, to think and weigh the odds.
Till again, Stark spoke, “No-” the air stuttered in Harry’s lungs “-But I also don’t not trust him”.
A small incredulous laugh burst from his chest as Stark smiled; he’d been given his trust. Just a little. Just enough. He would make sure it was enough.
The tension seemed to vanish in the air.
“Okay, Tony, that’s enough for me” He only just caught Pepper’s reply, breathy with relief, tinged with hope.
Harry sat back as Pepper and Tony spoke rapid-fire plans between them, phone wedged between Stark's ear and shoulder as they covered passports, flight-plans, medical leave and other business jargon that went over Harry’s head.
Instead of eavesdropping further, Harry returned to his trunk for a bottle of Skelegrow; he’d have to vanish the bones in Stark's chest, then regrow with the potion.
“‘Brackium Emendo’ would work on his broken arm and ankle, ‘Episkey’ for the cuts, ‘Vulnera Sanetur’ for the deeper gashes. Perhaps even a mild shock spell on any frost-bitten parts to help with recovery”
Harry didn’t realise he was muttering aloud until he caught the wary look on Stark’s face, the phone had slid into his lap, though the call was obviously finished. He looked back at Stark’s eyes, trying to gauge his reaction.
“…Spell?” He looked nervous again, the spark of fear was back, creeping about the edges of his eyes.
Harry gulped but nodded; he wasn’t about to lie to the guy. “Healing spells, I’m one of the Wix…”
He used his American muggle introduction; he found there was less hysteria if he avoided the words witch or wizard when dealing with scared muggles.
‘Though, did these people even have the witch trials? I wonder how much of our history is different?’
Stark seemed to fidget, eyes flicking uneasily. “I’ve had a bad experience with magic…”
Harry was shocked, ‘that’s not a response I was expecting’
Stark seemed to take his surprise as permission to continue (or as an expectation to explain, to justify that fear. Harry felt just a little bit sick).
“Loki tried to get into my head during the invasion, before he threw me out a window, and then Maximoff did get into my head… I got a lot of people killed… JARVIS…” The last word was choked out, like a gaping wound, raw, refusing to scab.
Harry felt his breath punch from his lungs (He’d analyse some of that stuff later, Loki? Invasion? Maximoff?), his feet carried him to Stark's side, and his hand met his shoulder before he could process even a thought. Stark flinched, hard, before steeling himself for…. For what? Harry didn’t know, but he didn’t like the implications.
“Look… Star... Tony.” At his name, Tony finally met his eyes; there was vulnerability there, but also a longing that he recognised. A want to be believed. A need to be told that he wasn’t at fault. An understanding.
“Tony… Mind control is the blackest art. It’s unforgivable. A blight against magic and an insult to those who practice it. What they did to you is unforgivable. And whatever they made you do is not your fault” He punctuated those last words with as much belief and fire as he could, praying that Tony could see the truth in them.
Tony’s body sagged under his hand; a suspiciously wet sob escaped his lips, though no tears fell. Harry was very familiar with this, to cry without crying, to be silent for fear of seeming weak (or fear of attracting the wrong attention). He waited a moment for Tony to compose himself before meeting his eyes again.
“I swear on my magic, Tony. I will never use my magic to control you. I will never cast a spell or use a potion on you without your approval, unless it is to heal you and you cannot consent. If I break my vow, I will forfeit my magic and my life. So, I say, so mote it be.” Harry felt the weight of his vow fall over his shoulders; by the widening of his eyes, Tony felt it too.
The next breath to leave Tony's lips felt awed.
“…why?”
Harry smiled, small and true, “Because I have been where you are. Because I have had everything taken from me. Because I’ve been beaten down and used by someone who was supposed to be my friend. Because I’ve walked to my death and then been disappointed that it didn’t stick…”
Harry faltered slightly at that last admission; the stutter in Tony’s breath helped him continue; he knew this was someone who would understand.
“Because I had someone who saved me from myself. And I made a promise to her that I would find something to live for. Because if I cannot live for myself, then maybe I can live for someone else.” Harry tightened his grip on Tony’s shoulders, hating and relishing the full attention of this stranger, this stranger who was so like him it hurt.
“I can live for something good. And I can tell just by looking, I know you're something good. Someone good”, Harry could see his words had hit. Tony didn’t fully believe him; he could already see the protest, no doubt about his ‘good ’ness. But Harry shook his head before Tony could speak.
“You don’t get to decide if someone sees you as good or bad, Tony, that’s the power of free will” he offsets his words with a goofy grin he hopes will lighten the atmosphere.
Tony scoffs, but there’s an edge of humour in the sound.
“You don’t know me from Adam, Merlin… but okay. I already figured you must be crazy, but as long as it’s my kind of crazy, I guess I can give you a pass” He flashes a cheesy grin which should not be as endearing as it is, and it’s Harry's turn to laugh.
“Sure, sure, crazy it is. You ready for some healing metal-man?” He grinned.
Tony matched his smile, though the wariness remained, “Sure thing Glinda, what’s up first?”