When Magic Meets Iron

Peter thought he was prepared.

He’d fought alongside Iron Man.

He's fought Vulture.

He’d seen some wild stuff in his time as Spider-Man (Like alien tech blasting through a bank wall). But — This was something else entirely.

The second Harry—in disguise led him and Ned through what looked like a dingy alley behind a pub and tapped on a few bricks in a wall, Peter’s world cracked open. Literally.

The wall shimmered and rearranged itself into an archway, revealing a cobblestone street bustling with people in robes, owls flying overhead, floating signs, and a literal dragon-shaped fountain that breathed actual fire.

“Okay,” Peter said slowly, gripping Ned’s arm.

“What. The. Hell.”

“Welcome to Diagon Alley,” Harry said casually, like he was pointing out a new pizza place.

Peter’s jaw didn’t close for a solid five minutes.

Everything was too much—the cauldrons that stirred themselves in windows, the brooms hovering lazily in the air, the howlers screaming advertisements.

A kid walked by eating ice cream that changed colors every lick.

Someone’s hat tried to fly away. There was a whole rack of screaming books that Harry expertly avoided.

“I don’t even know where to look,” Peter muttered.

“Why is everything moving?”

“Magic,” Ned said with a grin. “Isn’t it insane?”

“Insane? Dude, this makes Stark Tech look boring.”

Then Peter stopped.

His eyes landed on a shop window packed with posters, photos, and merchandise.

At first, he thought it was an ad for a movie or something. But then he squinted.

“Is that… Harry?”

Harry sighed.

Peter moved closer to the display.

Posters showed a younger Harry holding a glowing wand, his name in dramatic gold lettering.

One had him mid-duel, facing off against what looked like a cloaked villain.

Another was an old, dramatic photograph of Harry with a phoenix behind him.

There were even knitted dolls of Harry in a glass case.

There were fans too. 

Peter awed. “Dude. You’re, like… famous.”

“Even the Avengers don’t have this much stuff,” Peter muttered, mouth agape.

“This is… ridiculous.”

“Seriously,” Ned added.

Peter pointed to a book prominently displayed at the front of a bookstore.

“The Story of Harry Potter: The Saviour, the Most Powerful Dark Lord, and the Hidden Manipulator.”

“…Can I buy that?” Peter asked, genuinely curious.

Ned looked just as eager. “Yeah, I still haven’t finished the magical history stuff. I wanna know the whole saga. I didn't even touch modern history yet.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But only if you don’t read the commentaries aloud.”

Peter was already at the door. “No promises.”

Ned followed, still shaking his head. “This is unreal. To think the person I consider my brother is in history books."

“It’s like finding out your teacher is secretly Batman.”

Harry looked at both of them with tired eyes. “I’m basically the Avengers combined in the wizarding world. Except I didn’t get a cool suit. Or a choice.”

Peter grinned. “Well, now I’m definitely finishing this book.”

(He's ignoring the last part for now.

Why does someone only a year older than him has such tired eyes?.

He needs more information before he touches that.

Information that Harry won't share himself.

So other sources it is.

Even if the said source is a History Book.

On the bright side, he has Harry's permission to read.)

Harry sighed again. “I regret everything.”

It started off as a normal school day.

Peter had just barely made it to first period when he noticed something weird.

A low rumbling sound echoed faintly through the hallway.

The lights flickered once, then again. A few students looked up, puzzled, but the teacher brushed it off.

Peter frowned. Something felt...off.

By third period, things went from weird to absolutely unhinged.

It started with lockers randomly slamming open and shut—all of them—down the entire hallway like dominoes.

A few students screamed.

One kid’s math notes got shredded midair by what looked like invisible claws.

The loudspeaker started playing distorted carnival music.

Somewhere, a fire alarm went off...but there was no fire.

Peter and Ned locked eyes from across the hallway. “...Please tell me this isn’t one of yours,” Peter muttered.

“I swear, I didn’t do anything!” Ned whispered. 

Then they heard it.A low growl. 

Something wet and sloppy slithering against tile.

And then—it pounced.

A grotesquely enchanted plush creature, made to look like a cartoony monster, charged down the hallway screeching like a banshee. Its button eyes glowed red. Its limbs were stitched too long.

It howled, “HIDE AND SEEK, I FIND YOUUUUU—”

Screaming erupted.

“IT HAS TEETH!!!” someone yelled.

Peter dove behind a row of lockers. “WHY DOES IT HAVE TEETH, NED?!”

Because it's either magical or their school is now haunted.

Right now the only resident magician available is Ned.

“I DON’T KNOW! I THOUGHT IT TURNED OFF AFTER THEY STOPPED PLAYING!”

The thing skittered sideways like a crab, sniffed the air, and bolted straight for the science wing.

“What is that thing?!” Peter cried, as he and Ned sprinted down the hall.

Peter can't even fight it in public.

His senses are not even warning him 

“It’s one of Teddy’s hide-and-seek toys! It’s enchanted to find you if you hide and then—it’s supposed to tickle you when it wins!”

“That is not a tickle face, Ned!!”

 Students were scattering in every direction.

One poor guy got lightly zapped by a wall clock that started spewing sparks.

A biology class was trapped inside their room by a desk that had fused with the door.

Someone's Chromebook sprouted legs and took off sprinting.

Peter ducked behind a trash can, panting. “So, uh... what’s plan B?”

“Call Harry?” Ned offered, pulling out his phone with shaking hands.

only for it to show low battery and get switched off.

Peter forgot his own phone.

(Being Spider-man means broken phones. He really needs to remember to ask Harry if he has any magical solution or ask Mr.Stark to make his phone super soldier/super fall proof.

He's relying on Ned when he's in school —doesn't matter if Peter has his phone or not— and Karen while he's spiderman.

So yeah, forgive him if he forgot his phone.)

"Oh Shit".

Meanwhile, at the MACUSA, Harry was deep in a strategy briefing with a group of aurors about new training when both his and MACUSA's emergency rune alert pinged.

He frowned. “Magical activity in Midtown?”

One of the younger aurors glanced at the screen. “Looks like unregulated charmwork, maybe a cursed object loose? Want me to notify field agents?”

Harry’s jaw tightened when he saw the coordinates. “No. I’ve got this.”

“Sir?”

“My... people are there. I’m going.”

He grabbed his wand and along with a team of Obliviators. Within moments, they Apparated into a discreet alley near the school.

Back inside, chaos reigned.

The plush creature had multiplied. There were now two—possibly three—of them.

One was crawling across the ceiling, upside down. The fire alarm had been replaced by high-pitched giggling.

Someone’s backpack was levitating three feet off the ground, spinning slowly.

Peter looked like he wanted to cry. “This is worse than alien goo. This is worse than ANYTHING.”

Ned was trying to herd a group of first-years into the gym, only to find that the gym floor had turned into slime.

Just as the third creature lunged toward a group of panicked students—

A blinding light washed over the hallway.

The plush monsters froze mid-leap and fell harmlessly to the ground. Every spark, flicker, and floating object dropped still.

The enchanted chaos vanished like a popped bubble.

Harry Potter stood in the middle of the hall, wand out, coat flaring slightly, and eyes scanning.

“Is everyone alright?” he asked calmly.

Everyone stared.

“... Harry?” Peter gasped in hope.

The Obliviators moved quickly, securing magical traces, casting memory charms, erasing the footage, and ensuring no trace of magic remained.

Teachers were charmed into thinking it was a gas leak drill. Students were dazed, confused, but alive.

In Harry’s study later that evening, Peter and Ned sat quietly while he finished his report. Harry was still in his work robes.

Peter finally broke the silence. “So, uh... that wasn’t supposed to happen, right?”

Harry looked sooo done.

“No. That toy is to be destroyed. It was not enchanted to do that, it seems when it got pressed into Ned's phone in his bag, the complicated charm work got overcharged. That toy wasn't made to be electricity proof. It's something that needs to be investigated as magic should have short out the phone, not get overcharged. Ofcourse we need to consider the fact that it got overcharged when the source itself was contained in a phone battery. The question is how?It's being investigated as we speak.”

“Teddy might’ve...accidentally shoved it in my bag after we finished playing.” Ned admitted.

“I definitely didn’t know.” Peter added.

Harry looked at them both, and rubbed his temples. “Magic isn’t a toy, you two. Even the harmless stuff has layers. Rules. Risks. I know you two are not at fault, I'm just asking you to cautious.”

Teddy and Delphi were curled up on the couch nearby—Delphi hugging her stuffed dragon tightly, Teddy fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

“This can’t happen again,” Harry said, voice low but firm.

“Magic and the non-magical world aren’t meant to mix like this. Especially not in public. Especially not with enchanted toys that cause panic.”

Peter swallowed. He’d never heard Harry sound like this before. Not angry. Just... heavy.  Like someone who’d seen too much and carried all of it on his shoulders.

Harry looked directly at Peter. “You saw how fast it got out of control. If normal people realise how much trouble a single toy can cause, do you know what would happen?"

"The public already is less receptive to super heroes who saved the world. How would they react if it's revealed that people of great powers live among themselves."

(A remake of Witch trails. Only more gruesome and more widespread.

Another world war.

The end of magic.

The end of the world as we know it.)

"It would lead to war which our world isn't prepared for.You’re smart, Peter, Ned. You both get it now, don’t you?”

Peter horrified at the mention of war, nodded slowly. “Yeah. I do. It’s not just fun or games. It’s dangerous if we're not careful.”

Harry gave a tight nod. “Exactly. There are rules for a reason. Not because we don’t trust you—but because the world doesn’t work like a comic book. Magic doesn’t get to exist openly. Not without consequences.”

Peter glanced at Ned, who looked down at his lap. But before he could speak, a small hand tugged at Ned’s sleeve.

It was Delphi.

She held out her squishy dragon. “Here. You can have Draggie.”

Ned blinked. “Are you... giving me one your favorite toy?”

She nodded solemnly and patted his cheek. “Don't cry.”

Teddy shuffled forward too, hands behind his back.

“I didn’t mean to hide the toy in your bag, Ned. I thought it’d be funny. Sorry.”

Peter and Ned stared at the two kids, then looked up at Harry, who gave him a faint shrug as if to say, That’s the best apology you’ll get.

Ned smiled and took the dragon. “Thanks, Delphi.. and Teddy, Just... maybe next time, warn me before unleashing chaos gremlin energy?”

Teddy grinned. “Okay!”

Peter wanted to coo.

Harry gave them a tired smile. 

Peter slammed the book shut, hands trembling. "Okay. That wasn’t a biography. That was a war journal."

Peter fumes."It's really TORTURE to read through everysingle page without wanting to STRANGLE someone. I can't believe We even made this far. Where in the BLOODY HELL WERE THE ADULTS. What the HECK WERE THEY DOING?! Arruugghh!!." He threw his arms up.

(They were lucky both of Ned's parents were away, otherwise they would have definitely been told off.)

Ned didn’t respond right away.

He was still frozen, staring at the page like it had personally slapped him. "He—Harry—he did all that... and he's just, like, casually making us sandwiches and teaching me runes and training you to fight?"

Peter shot him a wide-eyed look. "He killed a guy. Like, actually killed a guy. In first year. With his hands—or at least, indirectly! He was eleven!"

"The possessed teacher," Ned whispered, almost in disbelief. "And he didn’t get therapy. No one said, 'Hey, maybe don’t let this traumatized child back in school without theropy.'"

Peter stood up and began pacing. "There were obstacles. Literal life-or-death puzzles hiding the Philosopher’s Stone. Which he got through. As a first year."

"The troll," Ned added. "The Devil’s Snare. Flying through deadly keys. Giant chess. And then voluntarily letting Voldemort—VOLDEMORT—burning to stop him."

Peter groaned, falling back onto the bed. "He was hearing voices in the walls, finding frozen students, got blamed for everything. And then he stabs a basilisk. With a sword. With no training! To save a friend.He almost died again."

Ned buried his face in his hands. "And still no therapy."

Peter looked up slowly. "Then in second year —his godfather escapes from wizard prison. Everyone thinks the guy's a murderer. He meets soul-sucking demons in the sky. Dementors."

"He learns the Patronus charm—a spell even full fledged wixen struggle with little success. From his father's friend," Ned whispered. "Remus, who’s a werewolf. Who almost killed Harry accidentally. Harry almost died again."

"And they find out that the real traitor was another Peter. Pettigrew. Who framed Sirius. Who’s actually innocent and Harry’s godfather."

"Then they TIME-TRAVELED. TO FIX EVERYTHING. They were twelve."

Peter paused. "Okay. That part might’ve been the least deadly. Relatively.

Ned flipped to the another section. "Triwizard Tournament same year."

Peter groaned. "The dragons. The merfolk. The literal death maze."

"He got kidnapped.Got tortured. Got Voldemort resurrected in front of him. Got tortured again. Fought for his life. Came back. And people didn’t believe him!"

"Then he gets dragged into a trial for protecting himself and his cousin from Dementors?!"

Ned shuddered."And Umbridge. The so called detentions which are basically a form of torture. Again. Forming a secret army because the school won't help.The adults won't help. Harry was thirteen!."

Peter’s voice cracked. "And Sirius dies. In front of him. And he has to keep fighting."

(uncle ben please! Please don't leave! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.)

Ned stared at the book, then at Peter. "He’s... he’s a literal war general by the end. Hunted. Leading a resistance. He becomes the face of a rebellion."

"Fighting Inferi—literal ZOMBIES. Escaping death like it’s a Tuesday. Dumbledore dies.The Ministry falls."

"And Harry—he disappears. Lives in hiding. Still fights. Survives ambushes.  Survives torture.      Still leads corresponding with his allies all over the world and commanding his army. At fourteen!!!!!"

Peter whispered, "And the final battle... he almost died, he went alone to save everyone And ended it. Saved us. Because if war like that—which went all over the world, hidden right under our noses—bleeds over to this side then—"

Both Peter and Ned shudder at that thought, a chill running their spine. They felt suffocated.

(If only they knew that Harry really died that day.)

There was a long silence.

"I thought he did something amazing to have such fame but didn't think he lead a war."

Ned sat back, looking like the weight of a century had dropped on his shoulders. "This guy tucks in his kids at night. Explains rune safety. Trains you to fight and survive while joking. Pokes fun at us. Feeds us. Picks us up from school. Gossips with May. Grounds us for making trouble. Gets us out of trouble. Takes us out to fun outings and shopping. Plays games with us. Teaches his kids sometimes. Plays with them. Tries and succeeds to become a family to us and Tony Stark."

Peter just stared at the wall, like he was seeing Harry for the first time. Really seeing him. "No wonder he says he works in law enforcement. That he’s a consultant. And he got knighted at fifteen."

Ned gave a short, laugh bordering hysterical.

"Also explains how it's kept hidden so well."

Peter now staring at the ceiling. "Dude. Harry Potter is terrifying."

"And somehow," Ned added reverently, "also the kindest person I’ve ever met."

Peter slowly picked the book back up. "I don’t know if I want to hug the life out of him or never make eye contact again."

Ned nodded solemnly. "Both are valid."

"Do you think he got therapy? Because no way he got out of that without nightmares atleast or maybe PTSD?"

No answer.

They need a break.

They wanted to go throw away the book from the very first chapter or have a mental breakdown at every chapter they read.

Because. What.The. Hell.

The book isn't even finished yet.

Peter sat on the edge of Ned’s bed, the book lying open and forgotten beside him.

The room was quiet now, the earlier chaos of their joint reading session settled into a heavy silence.

His mind was still reeling.

He stared at the ceiling, hands clenched in his lap, the images from the book playing again and again behind his eyes like some awful movie reel.

A basilisk. A sword. A boy barely older than a kid facing down a monster. Alone.

A graveyard. A resurrection. A wand to his throat.

A trial where no one believed him.

Detentions that were closer to torture.

A godfather, finally found—only to be ripped away.

The weight of a war. The silence of grief.

Always more.

Always expected to save everyone.

Peter swallowed hard. He was no stranger to danger—he’d faced death himself.

This wasn’t superhero stuff. This was real. Raw.

Worse than any villain he’d fought.

Harry had never bragged.

Never even hinted at what he’d survived.

To Peter, he was just… Harry. Teddy’s dad. Delphi’s dad.

The quiet guy who made killer grilled cheese and knew too much about old books.

Who kept a watchful eye without hovering, who could spot a lie from a mile away, but never made you feel bad for it.

His big brother who would always help him.

His big brother who would always tease him.

His big brother who is too competent at everything he does.

His big brother who always listens to him without judgement.

Now Peter saw the cracks. The weight behind Harry’s steady voice. The reason why his eyes sometimes looked older than they should. 

It's because they saw pain. Loss. Torture. Sacrifice. War.

He understood why Harry is such a good dad at such a young age.

It's because he doesn't want his kids to go through what he went through.

He wants to give them a childhood he didn't get to have.

Peter rubbed his face. “Man,” he whispered, “he really has been through hell.”

But he’d come out the other side. Not perfect. But kind. Protective. Strong.

Peter wasn’t sure he could’ve done the same.

Peter wasn't sure even the Avengers could do it at 15.

His respect for Harry grew into something deeper.

Not worship.

Not fear.

But understanding.

Real, human understanding.

He finally understands his big brother. At least as much as possible from reading a book.

Peter picked the book back up slowly, like it was sacred. Or radioactive. 

Because really there are still two more parts to read. The dark lord. And The hidden manipulator.

Atleast They coverd the part about their big brother. Even if it's not his full story.

Maybe they should read the remaining part later?

The fact is they are barely able to process the information they read.

Probably for the best to leave the rest for another day.

Ned met Peter's eyes. His eyes show the same reluctance. 

They both silently agreed. It's best to leave it for now.

(They couldn't touch the book again. For a while.)

Peter is going to get a brother complex at this rate.

He wants to somehow hurt all those who hurt his brother.

(Ned: Are you sure you don't already have a brother complex?

Peter: You are in no position to accuse me Ned.

Ned: Fair.)

Peter really wants to drag Harry to therapy though.

(If both Peter and Ned cry when they are alone in their room—mourning for the lost childhood and for all the suffering a little boy—their big brother—, who once lived under a cupboard–whose greatest wish was a family that wants him– had to endure? Then no needs to know.)

Harry stepped into the apartment, shoulders stiff and robes smelling faintly of ash and antiseptic.

Another long shift.

Another mess cleaned up. His wand hand was still aching from shielding spells. He closed the door quietly, expecting silence (his kids would be asleep) or maybe an awkward nod from the boys after everything they’d read by now.

(The boys said they would crash here today.)

Instead—

“Hey!” Peter popped out of the kitchen like he’d been waiting for hours. “You look like crap.”

Harry blinked. “Thank you?”

“Sit down.” Peter shoved a steaming mug into his hands. “It’s hot chocolate. Kinda. Don’t judge.”

Harry glanced down.

The cocoa was a little too pale, and marshmallows had sunk to the bottom in surrender. The mug said “World’s Okayest Wizard.”

He snorted.

Ned lounged in Harry’s armchair, looking far too smug. “You’re late. We bet on whether you’d come back with scorch marks.”

Harry sipped. “Did I win?”

“Nope. You’ve got scorch marks and blood. Disqualified.”

“Ah. Tragic.”

Peter was already fumbling in the kitchen again. He opened a cabinet, closed it, opened another, then turned to Ned. “Where’s the cheese?”

“In the fridge, genius.”

Harry watched the chaos unfold: burnt grilled cheese, cutlery falling, Ned googling “how to cook without ruining someone’s childhood.” Peter yelling, “It’s fine! Harry’s eaten worse, probably!” as smoke wafted from the pan.

It was a disaster. And it was adorable.

Harry sat on the couch, sipping his gritty cocoa, holding back a laugh.

They were trying so hard. And failing beautifully.

“Retire, General Potter,” Ned declared, waving a spatula like a surrender flag. “We got this.”

Peter dropped a plate in front of him a few minutes later. The sandwich was half-burnt, but the look on their faces dared him to complain.

He didn’t.

He devoured it like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

Later that night, Harry changed out of his robes and was about to collapse into bed when he noticed something beside his wand on the table.

A bracelet. Made from cheap beads, a string, and a piece of notebook paper folded into a tiny charm. A rune drawn shakily in pencil.

It wasn’t magical. Not even close.

He picked it up gently.

Tucked under it was a note in Peter’s handwriting, Ned’s messy doodles crowding the edges:

“Not because you need it. Just because you’re ours too.”

Harry sat down, bracelet clutched in his hand.

He didn’t cry.

But he did sit there for a long time, smiling to himself—still holding back laughter—because somehow,… he felt lighter.