Last Call

Neither can live while the other survives…

It finally made sense.

Harry checked the time and saw that he had twelve minutes left before Voldemort would storm the castle.

Twelve minutes left to live.

Harry shuddered as he picked himself up off the floor of the Headmaster’s office. Without meaning to, he sent a semi-accusing glare toward Dumbledore’s empty portrait.

If Harry knew that his life would end at seventeen, would he have done things differently? Maybe, maybe not. It would have been nice to know though, to know that it didn’t matter.

Harry sighed as he slipped out of the office and made his way down the staircase to the corridor. The castle was quiet, everyone busy tending to the wounded and the… the dead.

Fred, Colin; Harry knew of their deaths. How many others were there? How many more deaths could Harry have prevented if he had just known?

If Harry knew sooner that the final horcrux resided inside of him, maybe he could have done more to save the others. Harry could have actually been a hero… like his dad.

Harry’s breath hitched during his trip through the castle when he thought of his dad for the first time in weeks. It wasn’t that he wasn’t consistently a worry in the back of Harry’s mind, it was that Harry had a mission to accomplish and thinking about his dad and the space between them that Harry caused would bring him no good.

Would Hermione be the one to tell him? Maybe she would take Ron with her before they buried Harry’s body to tell the one person who never let Harry down that his only son was gone?

Dad might not show it, not to them, but he would be crushed. That, more than anything, made Harry’s heart race as if it wanted to remain in safety, stay beating for Dad’s sake.

Even without talking since Christmas Day, he knew that Dad would be hurt more than anyone.

If Harry knew that his life had such a short timer ticking above it, maybe he could have found a way to go hunt the horcruxes without putting a chasm between himself and his dad. Tony Stark was a genius, truly. Harry might have been stupid to think he couldn’t help, couldn’t keep himself safe.

Not that it mattered, not anymore.

Dad had once told Harry that he had been willing to sacrifice himself to save the world by flying in a wormhole without hope of return. It happened before Harry found out about him, before they connected the summer after Harry’s fourth year at Hogwarts. Harry remembered asking if he had been scared and he thought of his dad’s words as he marched to his own death.

“Scared? No,” Dad said, his eyes far away, back in the moment that he proved Iron Man was the most selfless hero. “I was sad though. Hell, I might have even shed a tear over it. I didn’t want to die, nobody ever really wants to die, but…”

Dad had trailed off and Harry filled in the blank.

“But if you didn’t do it then other people would die,” Harry guessed quietly, admiration for his dad lifting to new heights.

“Yeah,” Dad returned to grin, but it was strained. Harry didn’t think he would ever forget what he said next.

“It’s easy to put on the costume and call yourself a superhero, it’s hell of a lot harder to act like a hero.”

It was hard, Harry knew that.

Walking through the castle, going directly to the forest where he had to die without a fight, was the hardest thing Harry had ever done.

Harry paused outside the Great Hall, taking one moment to look over the people he would be saving. Over where the Hufflepuff table once sat were the Weasleys, laying over Fred’s body and mourning their indescribable loss. Harry saw the Patil twins where the Gryffindor table should be, sobbing loudly while Lavender laid on the floor.

There were more - friends, classmates, professors… all assisting the wounded and grieving the dead.

When Harry turned to leave, to walk away with the reminder that there were so many lives lost and still so many that could be saved, he saw them.

Side by side in death, their hands touching and their eyes closed… Remus and Tonks.

Harry felt a punch to his stomach when he saw them, when he knew exactly what their newborn son lost.

It was everything.

Teddy Lupin lost his parents, he was about to lose his godfather.

That realization, more than anything, had Harry rushing outside for air that wasn’t thick with grief and death. There was a different sort of weight in the air outside; smoke and blood, upended earth and the lingering scent of magic.

Loss was inside the castle, war was on the grounds, and death waited for Harry in the forest.

It made Harry’s every step feel heavy, every breath he took becoming more precious.

Dad was right; it wasn’t scary, it was sad.

Harry only stopped himself when he saw Neville Longbottom helping a kid who was too young to be as injured and bloody as he was. If Ron and Hermione forgot… Neville would know what to do.

“Neville.” Harry took the cloak off his head so he could stop Neville from following the boy to the castle. Harry had to be quick, he couldn’t have Voldemort take the fight to the castle.

There had been enough death.

Neville stopped and Harry quickly explained about Nagini and how the snake needed killed just before Voldemort himself.

“Kill the snake?” Neville asked.

“Kill the snake,” Harry confirmed. When Neville smiled shakily, Harry prepared himself to go on.

“Hey, Harry.” Neville was the one to grab Harry’s arm then and he looked around to ensure they were alone before he leaned in to whisper. “It would be brilliant if your dad was here now, huh? He could just blast the forest to bits, take them all out at once.”

Harry felt the same sick feeling he had from before as he forced a weak laugh and nodded. Harry’s parentage was something of an open secret amongst the DA, many of them had the dubious pleasure of meeting Tony Stark when he found a way to make his suit impervious to magic and stormed the castle.

That had caused a lot of questions about why a muggle superhero had threatened to blow the castle up if Umbridge wasn’t removed from her post. Harry had given the DA the bare details, only enough to shut down the ideas they had about asking Iron Man to help them fight Voldemort.

Harry would never put his dad between himself and Voldemort, not when James, Lily, and Sirius had all been in that exact spot and died for it. Harry would rather die than lose his dad.

It was selfish, in a way. Harry would never have to feel the pain of losing his dad, he was transferring that pain to him instead.

Harry wasn’t perfect though, he could only do his best and screw all the rest.

“Well, damn.”

Dad was covered in engine grease and Harry was trying very hard to not cringe at the soot on his face or the singed eyebrows he had.

The two of them were in Dad’s lab, experimenting with magic and technology the summer before Harry’s fifth year. Dad had told Harry to test out a simple spell on one of his extra suits of iron and the thing exploded.

Harry figured that Tony would too, surely they were expensive and difficult to create. It wasn’t necessarily Harry’s fault that it blew up, but when had that ever mattered when it came to being blamed for it?

Dad looked over at where Harry was holding his breath, waiting for the second explosion, and the singed eyebrows twitched.

“You good, kid?” Dad asked, his eyes sweeping over Harry to check for injuries.

“Fine,” Harry said, a bit breathlessly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that would happen, I swear.”

“Now we know,” Dad said, shrugging his shoulders like it was no big deal for Harry to destroy his things. Dad walked casually over by the still smoking suit and started running his fingers over it, probably trying to determine exactly where they went wrong.

“We just do our best and screw all the rest,” Dad quipped, his lips curling up in the edges when he looked over his shoulder at Harry. “Think we can fail again in a better way this time?”

Harry shivered as he stepped in the forest, almost entirely cloaked in the dark. It was safe then to let his one desire make itself known:

Harry wanted to hear his dad’s voice, one more time.

Even with his legs shaking as much as they were, Harry didn’t dare sit as he reached for the phone that he hadn’t turned on in months. The last time Harry called his dad, it… it hadn’t gone well.

Harry stood outside his parents cottage on Christmas Day with Hermione by his side and was struck by the overwhelming urge to call his dad.

All he had wanted, in the face of such destruction of potential, was to hear proof that there was someone in the world who loved Harry.

Hermione didn’t go far, just far enough that they could protect each other but so that Harry could have the illusion of privacy.

The cell phone Harry had was solar powered, which was just a convenience since even a magic-proof phone couldn’t be charged in Hogwarts back when Harry had been a student. Harry didn’t use the phone, he did diligently place it in sunshine when he could though so that when everything was done… when the world was safe for people associated with Harry Potter… Harry could call his dad.

Harry’s phone powered on immediately and Harry had to ignore the dings of hundreds of missed calls so he could return one. One call after nearly five months of silence…

Harry wouldn’t blame his dad if he didn’t answer, but he thought he would.

“Harry? Kid?” Dad answered on the first ring, despite whatever the time difference between them was. Harry used to know it off the top of his head at any given time - Ron thought it was a real lark that at any second he could ask Harry what time it was in New York and Harry could tell him.

Lately, all Harry had been thinking about were horcruxes.

Harry closed his eyes for a second and allowed himself a tiny smile before he replied.

“Dad, hi,” he said, his voice weak with the emotion of returning to Godric’s Hollow and all that had happened since he left his dad.

“What’s wrong?” Dad asked, his voice coming out in a rush of questions. “Where are you? Molly said you didn’t go back to Hogwarts, neither did Ron or Hermione, are they with you? Is this about noseless? Where are you?”

“I’m safe,” Harry said, which was true enough. He was pleased with himself when he opened his eyes and looked at the destroyed cottage through clear eyes.

“I can’t tell you more than that,” Harry said quietly, truthfully. “I’m sorry.”

“Kid, please.” Dad was pleading and he never did that, not even when he tried to get Harry to quit Hogwarts. That was a bribe - a car and a new broomstick, if Harry remembered right - but not a plead.

“As soon as it’s safe, I will,” Harry said. He gripped the iron rail tightly with one hand and swallowed the lump in his throat. “I miss you.”

Dad released a long sigh, one that was irritated as hell. Maybe Harry shouldn’t have called, maybe it was a mist—

“I miss you, kiddo,” Dad told him. “I miss you more than anything.”

No, it hadn’t been a mistake call.

Even if they ended the call after an argument about Harry letting Dad help him with whatever he was doing.

They wouldn’t fight this time, Harry swore that as he once again powered on the rather indestructible phone to make one last call.

One more conversation with the man who loved him the best and Harry would walk to his death.

Harry took a deep breath while the line connected, giving himself a second to compose himself. It would be his last chance to talk to his dad, he didn’t want to spend a second of it sobbing.

Dad answered on the first call, he always did.

“Harry?”

“Hi.” Harry winced at his own tone, it wasn’t as unaffected or casual as he hoped it would be. Harry sounded like he was in pain, something Dad noticed immediately.

“Don’t hang up on me this time,” Dad said, a warning before the rush of questions. “What’s going on? I can’t get ahold of anyone anymore, kid. I’m completely in the dark here and I’m scared as hell, okay? I’m scared you’re in a bunch of shit and you’re not letting me help.”

Dad had good instincts, but Harry wasn’t subtle either.

They were very alike.

“Can we not talk about it right now?” Harry asked, aware of the time he had ticking away. “Dad, I just… I only wanted to tell you how much I love you, okay?”

If anything, that only alarmed Dad more.

“That sounds like whatever mess you’re in, you don’t think you’ll get out of,” Dad said, his voice pitching in alarm. “Where are you? Let me help, now, Harry Stark.”

“It’s not me,” Harry lied, knowing that even if Hermione wasn’t able to fully disable the tracking technology within the cell phone (she was confident she had, Harry just didn’t think his dad could be outsmarted), Dad would never make it before Harry was gone.

“Remus died,” Harry told his dad, trying to avoid an argument. “He- he just had a son, Dad. Now his son’s an orphan.”

“Oh.” Dad had liked Remus, he always had. He had been closer to Sirius though, they were rather similar in personalities, but Harry knew that losing Remus was another loss to them both.

“Kid, listen to me, okay?” Dad said, speaking quickly as if he knew that Harry would disconnect soon. “Whatever’s going on, I can help. Noseless is nothing compared to the crazy shit my team has faced. If you’re in trouble, tell me where you are and I’ll have all their lazy asses on the jet in an instant, okay?”

Harry knew he would. Harry knew if he said it, he would do it.

That was why Harry couldn’t tell him, he couldn’t tell him anything. Ron and Hermione would have to explain the war to him, the details Harry left out. They would be tasked with it, but there was nobody Harry could trust more with it.

“Okay,” Harry said, another lie. He needed to go, he just needed one more promise from his dad. “Dad, Remus - Remus made me godfather of his son, Teddy Lupin. He’s just a baby, Dad. Can you… I don’t know. Can you give Tonks’s mum, Andromeda, a week or so then try and get ahold of her? See if she needs anything for Teddy?”

It might all be over in a week, that might be enough time for Neville to kill Nagini then someone to finish Voldemort.

Harry would feel better about it all if he knew that Dad would take care of his… er… grand-godson.

A thought that very nearly made Harry smile when he imagined how Dad would whine if he shared it.

“Andromeda Tonks?” Dad asked. “You got it. Do you… Harry, can you call me in a week? Remind me?”

They both knew that Dad didn’t need a reminder, that wasn’t the reason behind his request.

“Yeah,” Harry lied, his last lie to the best person he had ever known. “Dad, I - I love you. I think being your son is the greatest thing to ever happen to me.”

It was true. It was also unfair that they had three years together instead of what should have been a lifetime.

Life was cruel, truly.

“Harry…” Dad trailed off and Harry only had a few more seconds, but he found his words quickly enough. “Whatever you’re doing, I hate that you won’t tell me about it. I hate not seeing you or knowing where you are or what’s going on. But… but I know you, you’re the single greatest creation of my entire life, okay? I know you’re doing what you think is right. I just want the chance to ground you for it later.”

Harry huffed a laugh at the old joke, the one where his dad constantly threatened to ground him and never did.

“I love you,” Harry said again, hoping he could hear it once more in return.

“I love you three-thousand,” Dad said.

When Harry had to disconnect the call, he might have shed a tear to himself over the loss they would both experience.

While the entire magical world celebrated the defeat of Voldemort, while some families were mourning and preparing the final celebration of their loved one’s lives…

The Man Who Conquered was in New York, desperately flying on his broom directly toward Stark Tower.

As soon as the dust settled and Harry was cheered as the conquerer of Voldemort, Harry ran from the castle.

Nobody stopped him; Ron and Hermione knew where he was going.

Harry ran directly through the grounds, not stopping for anything. When he reached Hogsmeade, he apparated to London. From there, he went to the Ministry where Kingsley Shacklebolt was being named temporary Minister of Magic.

“I need a portkey,” Harry said, panting from the speed of which he was trying to get home. The ministry workers were making a fuss over him, crying and trying to speak to him. Harry had to place a shield around himself so he could get to Kingsley, ask for just one bloody thing in repayment for the childhood he lost to a war.

Kingsley had Harry a portkey authorized to Chicago, Illinois in minutes. Harry didn’t want to go directly to New York, there were still death eaters that needed rounded up and threats he wouldn’t take to his dad.

Harry accepted one handshake and bone crushing hug from Kingsley before he left the quiet bemused Minister in his dust as he rushed to get to Diagon Alley.

The shops were still boarded up, warded against theft, and Harry had to beat on the door of the quidditch supply store until someone opened. Harry’s Firebolt was destroyed, he couldn’t apparate the States without being held up by aurors. Flying to New York from Chicago was an easy enough flight, Harry had done it twice before.

The shopkeeper had been wide eyed and stammering when Harry pleaded to borrow a broom.

“It’s an emergency,” Harry said. He was a bit shameless when he told the old woman, “I’ve just killed Voldemort and I need to go check on my family.”

If Harry had to act shameless for a moment to expedite his rush home, so it. The woman had been sobbing and talking about her squib granddaughter as she forced Harry to take a Firebolt 101 for free. Harry swore he would return to pay for it, if the goblins ever let him back in his vault, and the woman had laughed through her tears when she told him she would kill him if he tried.

Maybe that would be funny in a day or so.

Harry could hear the woman calling to others, shouting about Voldemort’s death, as he activated the portkey and let it whisk him away to Chicago.

Within five hours of what Harry thought would be his final phone call to his dad, Harry could see Stark Tower; he could see home.

Better than that - as soon as Stark Tower came in view, a red and gold figure rose above it, flying directly towards Harry with full speed.

Screw it. Harry just killed Voldemort, he just died - he ripped his cloak off, desperate to see his dad and let him see him. If MACUSA wanted to get involved, Harry would tell them to take it up with McGonagall or Kingsley.

“DAD!” Harry screamed at his dad as he neared him and his voice broke on a half-sob born of relief.

“Harry!” Dad flew directly toward Harry and Harry had to jerk the broom handle to keep them from colliding. They both hovered in mid-air, Harry crying and losing his mind just a bit, Dad undoubtedly beaming behind his iron mask.

“You ready to come home?” Dad asked. Even the robotic quality to his tone couldn’t hide the warmth, the relief.

And no offer in the world sounded as sweet as that one did.

“Yeah,” Harry said, nodding. “I - er… I’ve got a lot to tell you.”

Despite being nearly eighteen years old, Harry was grounded for the first time in his life by the time night fell.

Harry couldn’t find it in himself to mind one bit.