A Desperate Search
Harry didn’t think twice. His feet pounded against the ground as he sprinted toward the ruins of Stark Mansion, heart slamming in his chest with a rhythm that was pure terror and adrenaline. Smoke curled up from the twisted wreckage, the acrid smell of burning metal and debris filling his lungs, but he didn’t slow down. All he could think about was getting to Tony, finding him, making sure he was alive.
‘Please don’t be dead. Not before I even get a chance to know you.’
Sirius was right on his heels, a large, black shadow with desperate whimpers spilling from his muzzle. Harry didn’t dare look back at Padfoot, he couldn’t lose focus, couldn’t let any doubt seep into his mind. He had to believe that Tony was alive. He had to be.
Harry stumbled forward, his hands reaching for the nearest piece of rubble. The twisted remnants of metal and concrete were still searing hot, biting into his skin as he tore piece after piece away, barely feeling the pain through the rush of desperation. He flung shards aside, ignoring the blood that smeared his hands, his only focus the buried figure he was sure had to be somewhere beneath the rubble.
But with every chunk of debris he threw aside, there was only more wreckage. No sign of Tony. The fear grew heavier, sinking into his bones, threatening to break him apart.
“Please,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Please don’t let him be gone. Not like this. Not before I even… not before we…”
His mind raced, memories colliding into each other, the pain of losing Fred, the countless others who had slipped through his fingers, loved ones lost to the violence of his world. Why did it always have to end this way? Why did the people he cared for seem to slip away before he even had the chance to hold on to them?
Padfoot whined softly, his muzzle nudging against Harry’s arm, but Harry didn’t look up. He was lost in his frantic search, the rubble a blur as he clawed at it, desperate to find any trace of life. The rubble bit into his fingers, the pain blending with the ache in his chest as he dug deeper, faster, the sound of his muttered pleas becoming more frantic with each passing second.
“Please… don’t be dead… just hold on,” he mumbled, his voice cracking as his hands began to shake. “Please, just give me a chance…”
Suddenly, Padfoot clamped down on something beside him, pulling back with a soft growl. Harry blinked, disoriented, until he saw it, Padfoot held his wand gently in his mouth, nudging it toward him.
Harry’s fingers stilled, realization washing over him. Magic. Merlin, why was I even doing this by hand?
Gingerly, he took the wand from Padfoot’s mouth, a surge of relief mingling with his desperation as he raised it, his heart pounding even faster as he prepared to cast. He knew he’d need to move fast, there was enough smoke and haze blanketing the scene that he was pretty sure he wouldn’t risk the Statute of Secrecy, but he couldn’t waste a second.
He pointed his wand at the debris, his voice trembling with focus. “Wingardium Leviosa.”
The rubble lifted, piece by piece, shifting aside with a precision he could only hope would lead him to Tony. With every motion, every whisper of magic, he felt the weight in his chest lift, just a little. His eyes scanned the shifting wreckage, desperate to catch any hint of life.
“Come on, please,” he muttered under his breath, eyes fixed on the rubble as if sheer force of will could make Tony appear. His pulse roared in his ears, the spell a constant murmur as his wand guided more and more debris away.
Then he heard a noise, faint at first, just barely audible over the low hum of the spell. A small, metallic click.
Harry froze, his wand still outstretched as he turned, heart plummeting as he met the gaze of the tall stranger from the bus. The man’s eyes were sharp, cautious, and in his grip, there was a gun aimed directly at Harry.
Harry’s throat went dry, and he felt Padfoot shift beside him, a low growl rumbling in the dog’s chest as he glared up at the stranger.