Harry Potter and the Unexpected Family

Tony was wrecked.

Never in his entire life had he been through such an emotional wringer as he had on this fucking endless day. Not when his parents died, not when James and Lily left him, not when he was tortured in a cave that his godfather sent him to, not when he thought he was dying of palladium poisoning, not even a couple of days ago when he flew through the hole in the sky and saw the terrifying reality of an unwinnable war against aliens that was still on its way and they were so unprepa-

Fucking hell, Tony, focus. Breathe.

Anyway, none of that compared to everything that he’d discovered today. That was why he guided Harry quickly to the stairs, arm on the kid's back and body angled so that neither of them could catch the eye of everyone in the hall. He couldn’t handle any more at the moment, so he just sped the kid and himself up to his room as fast as possible.

But of course the universe had more horror in store for him today. It’s not like he wasn’t aware that his son had been severely abused in his short life, but actually seeing it was a totally different level of pain that Tony really wished he had the bandwidth to handle right now. (Not that he couldn’t handle it, he was Tony freaking Stark and he could do anything Harry needed from him, but if he was honest, he wished he could have done this whole day running on more than six cups of coffee and 3.5 hours of nightmare ridden sleep.)

Anyway, Tony didn’t have the energy to hide the way he stiffened completely at the seven locks (seven, jesus fucking christ) that had been installed on the door. Harry stiffened right alongside him, face going blank in a way that the kid must have learned from his years protecting himself from the pieces of shit that trapped him in an abusive fucking hom-

Breathe, Tony. Breakdowns are for blacked out labs and the bottom of whiskey bottles, not right beside his suffering son. He couldn't lose his shit right then because Harry deserved nothing less than a stellar and supportive parent. Get it together. Focus.

Tony dragged in a deep breath and forcibly relaxed his muscles. He glanced at Harry quickly when the kid spoke.

“Seven locks on one door is a bit redundant, I know, but Vernon and Petunia were committed to training the most versatile lock picker in Surrey, and I must say they were quite successful.”

Tony let out a surprised burst of laughter at the dry sarcasm. If he needed more proof that Harry was his son, using wittiness as a defense against uncomfortable moments would have been enough. Not to mention the fact that he dealt with locks on his door by learning to pick them; this was absolutely his son. The flat expression was still on Harry’s face, but his eyes had a bit of concerned worry in them. Worry for Tony, who seemed much more disturbed at the sight of the cage his son was kept in than Harry was after having lived in it.

How the hell did he spawn a kid as kind as Harry? 

Tony respected the unspoken request to keep things light for now, and responded with a patented Tony Stark smirk. “Well, it looks like you had a very thorough curriculum, but how about I show you the Tony Stark way of getting into places I’m not allowed?”

Harry snorted, a tired bit of humor clearing away the blankness that Tony hated. The kid looked grateful that Tony had opted to match his levity and more than a little relieved that Tony seemed to be able to keep himself together. He gestured at the door. “Show me what you got, old man.”

Tony grinned, then pressed his thumb to the face of his watch. His thumbprint was read and a mini gauntlet (essentially just a repulsor and the bits to hold it in place) surrounded his hand. 

Harry looked surprised and intrigued as Tony straightened his arm, and didn’t so much as flinch at the high powered energy blast that tore through the handle of his door.

They both grinned, and Tony threw a wink at the kid. “Sneaky is useful and all that, but us Stark men are known for our dramatic flair.”

Harry full on belly laughed at that, and Tony got the impression that his kid took after both of his dads in the theatrics department.

Tony sobered a bit when they finally entered, though he did his best to hide it. The room was tiny, maybe five feet by eight feet total. There was a gross looking faded wallpaper that was peeling in some places, and scuffed floorboards littered with newspapers, trash, and dirty laundry. There was also a wardrobe with a busted door that hung open, revealing a criminally pathetic selection of clothes, and a cramped desk and chair covered in loose paper, ink pots and quills (Tony didn’t even think he had it in him to be surprised anymore that wizards hadn’t even progressed to pens), and some kind of birdcage. In the middle of the room against one wall sat a low, slim bed with one sheet, an almost completely flat pillow, and a ratty old blanket. A tiny window completed the room, and it took multiple internal reminders of his date with a bottle of whiskey to not start screaming at the bars bolted to the outside.

Harry had flushed a bit when they stepped in, looking embarrassed, and immediately began throwing random items haphazardly into the open steamer trunk at the end of his bed. His scurrying broke Tony out of his trance with the window bars, and he moved to help with more caution toward his son's belongings than the kid showed. He couldn’t stand the silence after a moment, so he just started chattering.

“So I don’t know how impressed you’ll be after living in a literal magic castle, but I’m gonna bring you and James to my tower in New York to stay. It’s in the middle of being refurbished right now after the asswhooping we gave those aliens but the top three floors were almost entirely undamaged apart from where the Hulk smashed Loki into the floor - which is a bit less hilarious now that I know who Loki actually is, but it’s honestly still one of my top ten favorite moments in history, I’ll have to show you the footage when we get home. Anyway, it shouldn’t be an issue to move you and James in. And the team too, I guess, since Captain Spangles was going on and on about bonding as a team or whatever. I sorta tuned out so I wouldn’t get hives from the patriotic mushiness, but I guess a bit of training and hanging out couldn’t hurt. Whatever. I already told Pepper to get you both a room ready, but they’re just guest rooms so we’ll have to do a full remodel to give you a proper space to do all your badass magic mambo jumbo, and of course somewhere to stomp off to whenever you need to be a moody teenager, you know? You’ll like Pepper, she’s basically my sister and probably the only reason I didn’t die years ago from doing something stupid. And I’ll have to call Rhodey, he’s been my brother since we met at MIT. He’s not as cool as we are, but that’s alright since very few people are, but he’s good at keeping Stark men from going off the deep end if the way he’s dealt with me all these years is any indication. But you’ll meet them later, we’ll take some time to settle in a bit after all this craziness before we go touring the city, unless you wake up tomorrow with a desperate urge to wait in line to go to the top of the Empire State Building. Of course if you wanted to see it I could rent the whole thing out for the day so we don’t have to wait, or just fly you over with the suit. Do you like flying? In the memory earlier James was talking about you flying on a broom and that Remus guy said you were on a team for that sort of thing. I bet I gave you my adrenaline junkie genes. What do you say I give you a ride with the suit and you take me for a spin on your broom?”

He looked back at Harry, who was standing there with a slightly overwhelmed, slightly nostalgic smile at his ramblings while holding the last armful of his things. The kid quirked an amused eyebrow when he finally quieted. Tony did not blush, he would never do something as basic as that, but it was a near thing.

“Ah, yeah, sorry about that. My battery is running a little low, you know, and my brain to mouth filter kind of goes out the window when I’m tired or hyperfocused or excited.” Tony was the one smirking then when he looked back at Harry. “Although, based on your performance earlier, I’d say you know what I mean.”

Harry snorted, completely unrepentant. “Yeah, mate, I know the feeling.” He threw the last of his stuff in and was getting on his knees by the bed when he continued. “I’m sure the room will be just fine, no need to go to all the trouble of changing it when I’m sure you’ve got a lot of things to be getting on with.” Tony’s brow furrowed, both at the implication that Harry wouldn’t be his first priority and because his voice was now coming from beneath the bed he had just crawled under.

“Got a secret gay porn stash you need to clear out before we leave, kid?”

Harry bonked his head hard when it shot up at the tease, giving way to a quick curse. He crawled back out from under the bed, dragging something behind him to where he could finally flash Tony a look of slightly alarmed incredulity. “What? No, you think I'm under here grabbing bloody porn?” He stood, rubbing the back of his head with one hand and holding a dusty pillowcase in the other. “That’s just where I store some of my more irreplaceable items. Hard telling when Vernon’s going to be in the mood to break something.”

Vernon Dursley was in for a world of fucking hurt once Tony laid eyes on the bastard. The fucker was lucky he hadn’t run into him already, because when Tony was running on fumes, he had a quick fuse, and he didn’t want his first impression with his son to be as a murderer. 

Tony breathed deep again, and then spoke. “That’s a pretty good hiding spot, kid. Got any others we need to clear out before we hit the road?”

Harry moved a bit awkwardly as he closed the trunk after his pillowcase was tucked inside, more gently than the rest of his things. When he straightened, he had that blank mask up again, but the way his hands couldn’t decide if they wanted to be clasped in front of him, tucked in his pockets, or running through his hair spoke of the kid’s nervousness and embarrassment.

“Yeah.” His voice was steady, but got a bit quieter as he went on. “I, uh, I have a couple things hidden away in the, um, in my old cupboard.”

When he finished, he was almost glaring at Tony, daring him to say anything about the nerves or the nightmare that was his son’s past. Tony just nodded a little haltingly, devastated but trying not to show it, and looked down to get his expression together before stepping toward the end of the trunk. He finally met Harry’s eyes.

“Alright, then let’s get down there so we can clear out of this joint. The whole suburban sprawl thing is so not my scene.”

Harry released a breath Tony hadn’t noticed he’d been holding before he grabbed the other end of the trunk. He set the birdcage on top of it and threw the strap of a messenger bag Tony hadn’t noticed over his shoulder before they both lifted and walked into the hall, Tony going backwards out the door first.

He looked over the railing as Harry swung out into the hall, hoping to tell the others to be ready to head out, but he stopped when he heard James saying something while his hand toward the aforementioned cupboard. 

“... set fire to the wretched place.”

He dropped the trunk and gave a hasty shout. “No, wait!”

Loki stood in the sitting room, staring at the door Harry had just left through and unable to stop the way his thoughts kept turning over Harry's words (abused, beaten, bruised ribs, orphan, cupboa-).

“James.”

The near whisper had Loki looking up quickly. He'd almost forgotten he wasn't alone here.

His eyes met the pained, stunned expression of the man who’d come here to protect his son, who’d stood by Harry today when his child didn’t trust Loki to do it. The man who’d made sure Harry was supported and coping all while facing a huge shock of his own. The man Loki still loved as a brother.

There was no one more dependable than Remus.

Right now, one of his oldest friends was standing there like he wasn't sure anything was real anymore. He'd clearly been holding it together for Harry and was now letting himself fall apart. Loki took the opportunity to take in the state he was in. Remus clearly hadn't used the money Loki left for him in his will if the state of his robes were anything to judge by. His eyes were lined around the edges, more than they should be, and small flecks of gray had appeared in the hair at his temples. Loki winced at the new scars he could see on Remus' face and hands. His friend, his brother, had clearly been through hell since he'd left.

Remus took an unsure step toward Loki, which Loki mirrored. Slowly at first, and then all at once, both of the hurting men found themselves wrapped in the strong embrace of the other. Remus was shaking, and Loki did his best to comfort him even if he felt weak himself. The four of them had always been easy and open with their affection, never shying away from cuddles, hugs, arms slung around shoulders and the like. It was totally platonic (until it wasn’t anymore for Remus and Sirius, but they were exceptions), just another way to show each other that they cared. It was so simple to fall back into those habits. Loki pulled the other man closer with a hand pressed to the back of Remus' head in a move that always used to calm him, and he was rewarded with a slight unclenching of the muscles that clung to him. The words ripped their way out of Loki as he spoke.

"Merlin, Remus, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I left you all."

Immediately, Remus shook his head. His voice had that same scratchy quality it always used to get when he was trying not to cry. What a pair they made.

"No James, you died, you bloody died and now you're back and I'm just so happy and that's so horrible because I just lost Sirius two weeks ago and today I found out just how much I failed your son and I shouldn't be this elated."

Remus pulled out of Loki's hold very suddenly, grabbing his upper arms in a grip that hurt despite the gods' increased durability. His eyes burned with intensity.

"James, you have to know, I promise, I tried to get custody for years. My condition, they wouldn't let me, not to mention Dumbledore told everyone Harry was safe." Remus seemed to be panicking, trying to convince Loki. "I swear I did everything I could think of but I didn't know where he was and if I had any idea what he was going through I would have torn down every house in the country to find him."

Loki cut off any further rants by leaning forward and put both his hands on Remus’ face, pressing their foreheads together and looking into the man’s frantic gaze with a firm, affectionate stare. That Remus could think that James blamed him for the torment of his son was preposterous.

"For Merlin’s sake, Remus, I know you wouldn't leave him on purpose. I know you did everything you could, that’s just who you are. Thank you, Mooney, for being there for him now. He trusts you when he can’t trust me, thank the norns because he needs bloody someone to rely on and I know you were there as soon as you could be."

Remus shuddered and slumped forward into the hold, resting more heavily where their foreheads met and gripping Loki's wrists. His entire body screamed relief at the words, like they were a benediction absolving him of a grave sin. 

They stood there for a moment, eyes closed as they just took in each other's presence. Loki, in Asgard, had never had this sort of easy physical affection that he'd been blessed with as James. It was something he’d absolutely taken for granted before, but now, after such a traumatic separation and with the context of his other life, it was that much sweeter. Loki relished it before the twisting thing in his stomach forced him to speak.

"I … need to be here for Harry, to build his trust in me and keep him safe and give him the family he deserves, and right now I fear I may collapse if one more horrible truth is revealed to me." He opened his eyes to meet Mooney's once more. "You know he was my brother, my love for him is as fierce as it always was, but I can't mourn him yet. I need time before I face it, and Harry has to come first."

Remus let out a breath, then gave Loki a tragic sort of smile. He gripped the back of Loki's neck in reassurance. "I know, James. He'd understand too."

Loki blinked back tears, nodding before he straightened and dropped his hands to Remus' shoulders as he rearranged his face into something more controlled.

"You'll join us in New York for a bit, yes?"

Remus nodded. "Dumbledore has reassembled the Order in the last year, and he's been sending me out on missions to the different werewolf packs, but since the … incident two weeks ago he's giving me some time. I expect I have another two weeks before he contacts me."

Loki swallowed the bile that rose at the delicate phrasing, since he knew vaguely that something horrendous had happened two weeks ago that he couldn't acknowledge yet, but he didn't push. Instead, he nodded again, and straightened.

"Good. Tony has plenty of room, and I’m sure he would be happy to house you. Let's go gather the others, shall we?"

Remus nodded as well, but pulled Loki into one more hug before they walked out together.

They found the Avengers standing in the hall in various states of anxiety, anger, and sorrow. Natasha looked more emotive than Loki knew her to be even if her anger was still incredibly subtle, and Clint was twirling an arrow between his fingertips in agitation. Bruce's hands trembled slightly where he'd hid them under crossed arms while Thor had the tragic expression of someone who'd just seen someone kick their favorite puppy. Steve and Coulson both looked regretful, and Fury just scowled.

All of them were facing a short, narrow door underneath the staircase. It stood open, blocking Loki’s view of the space inside.

Loki felt like the air had been ripped out of his lungs. This was it. Here was the door to the cupboard his son had lived in for his first ten years in this prison. This was where his son would have cried when he was injured or sick, where he would have hugged himself when he was lonely and feeling abandoned. This was where a freshly orphaned Harry would have called for parents that would never come. 

Loki might vomit. 

Clint spoke from where he was standing, his gaze unblinking as he stared into the space Loki still couldn't see from his position. "I think that Dumble fucker is an idiot." The stony, flat sort of expression was chilling on the normally happy-go-lucky man. "If I lived in this hole for ten years, I’d want to make the people that put me there pay. I sure as hell wouldn’t do shit to help them. That old man is lucky this closet didn’t become the kids' villain origin story."

Natasha clenched her jaw. "How did he turn out so … pure? After all of it?"

The entire team was thinking the same thing. They'd all watched Harry with unwavering focus since they arrived, and from everything they’d seen it was completely obvious that the boy couldn't hurt anyone. Not to say that he wasn't strong or capable as a fighter, he’d have to be to survive what he did, just that he was clearly a protector more than anything else. He'd been angry when they arrived because he was defending his dead father's honor, but it fell away when he was proven wrong. He allowed them to enter and say their piece when he saw Loki's desperation. He'd blanched at the idea of even threatening physical harm to get information from them, let alone trying it. Hell, the kid even asked for consent before allowing the others into Loki's memories. When Tony and Loki showed their devastation at his history, Harry comforted them instead of blaming either one for not being there. Not to mention how there had been that hope buried deep in his eyes even before he had proof that Loki and Tony were his parents. 

These people knew better than anyone that Harry's story had the potential to create a monster. It was a marvel that he had become the hero they all met.

When Loki finally gathered the strength to step forward, the others shifted to give him a full and unimpeded view of the cupboard under the stairs. He was surprised that, at first glance, the place of his child's torment looked almost innocent. It was smaller than he’d imagined, just four feet wide by three feet deep with a steeply angled ceiling from the descending staircase. The taller side was lined with shelves that held cleaners, old paint cans, a toolbox, and all other manner of random household maintenance items. A small broom and vacuum were tucked neatly into the corner, and the whole of the place was coated in dust and dotted with spiderwebs.

It looked ordinary, until it didn’t.

The thing that had Loki reviewing his most heinous torture methods for use on the Dursleys was the signs of a child still lingering in the cramped space. A small crib mattress was still on the floor, folded over to make room for a couple of cardboard boxes but obviously a relic that hadn’t otherwise been disturbed. On the otherwise blank right wall (the short one under the lower side of the stairs) was a small sign that read, in a lopsided child’s writing, “HarRy’s rOOm”. If he leaned in, he could see that there were two tiny gold star stickers in the lowest corner of the wall facing the door, probably the spot least likely to be seen by his tormentors. They triggered a memory of a conversation he’d had with Lily, when she explained that gold stars were given by muggle teachers to students who excel. Loki felt like scum when he realized Harry had probably saved them as a reminder that someone thought he was a good boy.

Loki felt like he was looking at a monument to his own inadequacy as a father, a shrine to his inability to protect the most precious soul in the universe. 

He wanted to rage. 

He wanted to cry.

Instead he stepped forward and bent his head with a deceptive sort of calm. He leaned into the cupboard (Loki was probably imagining the feeling of darkness in the very walls of the tiny space) to remove the faded and tattered blanket resting between the folds of the paper thin mattress. He carefully and methodically folded it before snapping his fingers to transport it to a safe place. He then did the same with the sign Harry had hung proclaiming his “room”. When he was done, he let his hand raise again with more destructive intent.  “I doubt Harry will be upset if I set fire to the wretched place.”

“No, wait!”

Loki’s chin jerked up at the shout from above him to see Tony was the one stopping him. He had rather thought that Tony would be upset that he hadn’t been the one to blow up the whole house, not the one standing in the way of his petty act of aggression. His confusion was wiped away quickly. 

“Harry still has things in there.”

Loki blanched; he would have never forgiven himself if he’d harmed something his son valued. He looked up at them, knowing his slight panic and guilt was on full display. “I’m sorry Harry, the space appeared empty of any personal items.”

Harry shrugged, not looking particularly upset but he did look confused. It was probably that same befuddlement about why they were so invested (Loki swore vengeance on Dumbledore for keeping his son away from him and the Dursleys for hurting him to the point he can’t recognize natural parental affection). Harry then smiled a bit. “Are you saying that my six year old self was clever enough to hide things from a trickster god and a bunch of spies? Honestly, I think that says more about you than it does me, mate.”

He walked down the stairs, leaving behind the trunk and cage they’d dropped on the landing in their hurry as Tony followed him. Loki glanced at Thor, who shot up the stairs once Harry and Tony had cleared them to grab the trunk and set it out on the front porch like it weighed nothing. Harry thanked him, visibly uncomfortable with the help, before setting his bag by the door and meeting the group where they were clustered. Loki’s son seemed to hesitate slightly at the door to the cupboard, and Loki was unable to imagine what haunted his son's memories before the boy dove in on his knees. Everyone watched in interest as he pulled up a floorboard in the corner away from the door and under the edge of the remaining mattress. He tugged out a very small shoebox, likely from tiny children's shoes, and tucked it under his arm in a way that made it clear that no one should ask what he’d saved. Loki's eyes shifted between his son's face and the dark doorway behind him. 

Harry gave a tired, slightly bitter sort of grin. "You're right, I wouldn't mind if you set fire to the bloody thing."

Loki’s eyes matched both his enthusiasm and his regret as he placed an arm around Harry's shoulder to gently direct him away from the line of fire, using the opportunity to bring him close. He turned to look into his son's eyes and spoke softly.

"Are you ready?"

Harry nodded, throwing up that stoic mask Loki hated as he looked back into the cupboard. His son was watching closely as Loki raised his hand and sent a ball of flame out that quickly consumed the interior of the small, innocuous looking prison, the fire dying out before it went past the little doorway.

Loki felt more than heard the breath that Harry let out. It was the kind of release that's long and slow and drags up from your toes taking something heavy with it. Loki squeezed Harry tighter in support.

As the fire burned out, Harry spoke. "There's one more thing I have to do before we go."

Harry hadn’t imagined the feeling he’d get when he saw the cupboard destroyed. If he’d guessed, he would have expected a bit of vindictive pleasure, maybe a little grief for the time he lost when he was forced in there. 

He was unprepared for the crushing relief that came from seeing his cage destroyed, but even more surprising was the slight sorrow. That cupboard was both his prison and his safe haven. He resented the hours spent staring at the ceiling, nursing injuries and forced to listen to the sounds of the perfect, normal Dursley family that Harry would never be a part of. But he was always safe in the cupboard. No one hit him there, no one hurled objects and words meant to cause him pain. It was the only place that was his. Even his room now was still Dudley’s second bedroom in his mind.

Well, he’d never look at the thing again, so it didn’t really matter how he felt about it now. Even if all this new family stuff went tits up like the rest of his life, the burnt shell of a closet under the stairs felt like a promise that he would never again allow himself to be put back in this hell. 

The realization that he was saying goodbye to Privet Drive gave him a bit of a high. Harry had to hold in a giggle at the sheer lightness of it. Before he could second guess himself, he gave in to something he’d always fantasized about doing.

“There’s one more thing I have to do before we go.”

Harry scurried over to the mantle in the sitting room. Hanging above it was a frame, almost three feet tall, containing a portrait of the Dursleys. It was one of those tacky, overly posed things, a perfectly ordinary image of the Perfectly Normal British Family they aspired to be. Harry had always loathed the portrait, because more than anything else in the house it felt like a lie. These people were vile and cruel and did nothing but make Harry’s life miserable; to have a version of them staring down at him while presenting the look of a smiling, respectable family left something curdling in his stomach every time.

Harry went to grab the frame but found that he wasn’t quite tall enough to lift it off the wall.

Cheeks a bit red, he turned to where everyone was looking in from the hall through the double door. He cleared his throat. “Thor, could you lend me a hand, please?”

“Of course, Nephew!” Thor was grinning as he stepped forward, clearly confused but with the enthusiasm of a puppy being asked to play. He only used one hand to pluck the giant thing from the wall and hand it to Harry, who huffed just a bit at the bulkiness (not the annoyance of being so short, or course) as he set it down against the wall in front of the electric fireplace they’d gotten after they closed the original one to prevent any more letters coming in that way. He grabbed a fire poker (he’d been slapped quite smartly for daring to ask why they kept the pokers after they boarded up the fireplace) and did something he’d fantasized about for years.

Harry swung the poker with all his might straight into Vernon Dursleys slimy grin.

The impact was spectacular. Glass shattered and rained down around Harry’s worn trainers. The frame had buckled under the weight of the cast iron and the force behind the blow, leaving the wood snapped into irregular pieces. The photo of the Dursleys was crumpled in on itself a bit, and the point of the poker had pierced right through his uncle’s fat head. Harry was breathing a little heavily, and took a steadying breath before he straightened, neatly put the poker away, and turned to the shocked faces of the group behind him.

“I hated that picture.”

They were silent for another second. Clint started laughing first, followed closely by everyone else as Tony cheered and Loki’s eyes sparkled in vicious amusement. Harry untensed a bit, grateful that he didn’t have to worry about any sort of repercussions for his impulsive bit of violence. He grinned at the group before grabbing his bag that he’d dropped by the front door and leading the way out of that house.

A large number of his neighbors could be seen watering plants on their front porch or peeking from behind curtains, quite obviously staring at the strange vehicles and large group of odd strangers leaving #4. Harry gave the street a jaunty wave and grin, knowing that that more than anything would have set off Petunia, and then stepped to follow the leather trench coat guy who’d come to walk in front of him.

He turned to Remus, who had been walking just behind him to the right. “Tony said we’re going to New York. I don’t want to impose, I’m sure you’ve got your own responsibilities and such, but I imagine you’d like a chance to reconnect with James.”

Remus nodded readily. Harry hadn’t noticed when he first came down, but even though Remus had red rimmed eyes and a posture that spoke of exhaustion, he looked younger and more alive than he had in a long time. The last Harry had seen Remus look like this was back during his stay at Grimmauld the summer prior, when the Order had just reassembled and he was spending all of his time with Sirius.

Remus stepped closer, talking gently. “James asked if I’d come and stay with you all for a couple of weeks, and I thought it would be a good idea for us to be together for a while. We've all had a bit of a shock, and we’ve all missed each other in these past years apart, so I should think that some quality time is very much in order.” He then gave Harry a piercing sort of gaze. “I also wouldn’t let you wander off into a new, intense, and possibly uncomfortable situation without company. I’m here for you Harry.”

Harry gave a tight smile and ducked his head. As much as he wished he didn’t need the safety blanket that was Remus, Harry was grateful for the familiarity. This whole situation was absolutely wild.

They all piled into the two large SUVs quite quickly and without much fuss. Harry ended up in a vehicle with Remus, Tony, and Loki, which was to be expected, being driven by the mild agent fellow, Coulson, Harry thought his name was.

Harry had closed his eyes and rested his head against the seat to stave off any attempts at conversation. He was much too tense to nap, even if he was tired enough for it, but he couldn’t handle anything else right now. He just took the time driving to let his thoughts go wherever they wanted to for a bit. 

After about forty minutes, they all piled out again and boarded a very sophisticated looking plane. Harry had never flown by muggle methods before, so he perked up a bit in excitement, and listened as Tony described how he’d designed it and it was four and a half times faster than commercial flights, so they’d be back in New York in time for bed even though the sun had already set in England. 

They all settled quickly again, Clint and Natasha in the front at the controls while the others were mixed in the back. Harry sat close to Remus, on the end of one of the two rows that faced inward. Directly across from him sat Loki and Tony, once again holding hands and leaning forward almost eagerly to start a light, uncomplicated sort of conversation. Harry was glad they’d all come to the unspoken agreement that there had been enough drama for the day and steered clear of heavy topics

The two spies quickly got them all in the air and set the plane to autopilot so they could turn around and join the mild conversation. Harry heard some stories from the others, answered some simple questions from the group (his favorite color was green, he would probably live on sweets if he could, he was a Gryffindor, he never tried any sports aside from quidditch). It was about an hour into the flight that Clint spoke up with a question.

“So, kid, I meant to ask you earlier. What’s with the knives you've got strapped to your back under your shirt?”

Oh. He’d quite literally forgotten they’d see those when they looked at his back to heal hi- 

No, wait, Clint hadn't seen his back. He shot the man a sharp look, but he gave up when the sharpshooter just grinned in a perfect picture of innocence. The bloke was a spy, so Harry shouldn't really be surprised. Besides, those two knives weren't charmed to go unnoticed, only the one in his boot.

Still, those who had seen them perked up at the question too, obviously having forgotten this curiosity in the midst of everything, and the others looked intrigued as well.

Harry shrugged. “Just a precaution, really. Being me is pretty hazardous, you know, and I learned a long time ago that being unprepared can have some unacceptable consequences, so I do what I can to be ready for whatever the next shitstorm is going to be.”

Clint and Natasha just nodded at the words, obviously understanding that being on guard was just the way some people have to live. Steve seemed to get it too, but looked much more downtrodden at the admission than the others.

Harry glanced at Tony and James (Loki? he really wasn’t sure how to think about the man) who both looked a bit pained by his words. Harry was too tired to try and parse out exactly why that might have upset them. He was just looking out for himself; Harry didn’t really see the issue there.

Loki, obviously trying to keep the conversation lighter, smiled at Harry. "Why did you choose knives as your weapon?"

Harry shrugged. "Honestly, they made the most sense. They're easy to hide, can be taken most places especially if you’ve got a good notice-me-not over it. You can use it as a handheld or throwing weapon, and wizards aren't expecting physical blades in an actual fight. They only use them for prepping potion ingredients and ritual type stuff, so the surprise aspect can give you an edge."

Loki was extremely pleased; he had started leaning forward even more while Harry talked, nodding along at his thought process. "Those are very good points. I myself favor daggers as well for many of the reasons you mentioned." Harry hadn't known that. It sparked a bit of warmth in his chest, and he let the pleased surprise show on his face, just slightly, with a raised brow and tired little smile. James grinned back. "May I see your knives?"

Harry nodded, only feeling the slightest bit wary to part with one of his daggers for Loki to look at. Normally, he felt extremely anxious to be without them, but something told him Loki would rather swallow the thing blade first than make him uncomfortable with it.

Loki admired the craftsmanship, commenting on them as he did so. Apparently, even across the nine realms goblin made weapons were some of the finest; the only ones Loki had ever found to be superior were those made in the dwarves' forges (which made Harry curious, but he saved his questions for later). He said the balance was very fine and the quality of the metal and the construction were fit for Asgardian royalty. (Harry quite firmly locked away all intruding thoughts that he was technically royalty now. Dealing with that at his best would be a nightmare. Dealing with it now? Right up there with inviting Tom Riddle to tea).

Loki seemed really excited about the daggers, and was still talking about them. He said that Harry's were simply beautiful. The etchings of vines interspersed with lilies, and the stag outlined near the cross guard made him tear up. Harry blushed at that. 

Clint spoke up then. "We get it, magic man. Cool knives, super special, all that jazz." Clint turned to Harry then, pulling his legs up under him to balance cross-legged on the small pilot seat while he popped his chin in his hand, elbow on his knee. "Tell me what a notice-me-not charm is."

Harry smirked; of course the spy would want to hear about that.

"The way I'm using it, it's basically a concealed weapon on steroids. If you don't know that I have it on me and where, you'll never be able to find it."

Clint snorted. "Kid, I clocked all three of your weapons the minute I walked past you to get inside the house. Wand in your hand with a holster on your opposite arm, and two knives strapped to your lower back. Nat, Coulson, and Fury saw ‘em too, and I bet some of the others caught the knives. It might work on your average Joe, but we're trained for this shit."

Harry's smirk never changed. "Four."

"What?"

"I carry four weapons on me at all times. Your 'training for this shit' was pretty shit training, if you ask me."

Clint narrowed his eyes suspiciously. It was clear he was not ready to be beaten by a fifteen year old kid. "Prove it, short stack."

Harry stood, a challenging little grin on face. He was still exhausted, but after all the shit from today some easy fun was just what he needed, so he injected just enough humorous smugness into his tone to entice the group. "Alright then. I have one more weapon somewhere on my person. First one to find it wins."

Everyone agreed, and started studying Harry. He turned around when they asked and shifted his clothes a bit when requested, giving them as good a view as possible. 

Bruce gave up quickly, having very little hope given that he hadn't even noticed the knives that weren't cloaked by magic. He didn't have a shot in hell against the others. Steve looked progressively more frustrated, Coulson and Clint getting more and more focused. Fury hadn't made any sort of gesture to indicate he was participating, but the growing scowl on his face was proof enough that he was angry at not being able to find it. Thor looked delighted, chuckling after a minute and saying that Harry was "full of mischief, just like your father", which made Harry feel a bit awkward but he moved on. Tony was staring and mumbling under his breath as he searched to no avail. Loki was grinning like a Cheshire cat, a glint in his eye that reminded Harry he was a god of chaos, and this sort of thing must be just his cup of tea.

It was Natasha that won.

"Your right boot." She tipped her head at it. When Harry lifted an inquisitive brow, she elaborated. "I'm not sure what it is, but the fact that I can focus on every part of your body except your right ankle means that you're probably hiding something there with magic. Your weapon, I assume."

Harry nodded, bending over to pull out a shorter push dagger that matched the other two. Clint gave an obnoxious "damn it!" while he waved his hand around at the supposed unfairness of the contest and how he was new to this magic crap but he’d find out how to beat it next time. Even with his whining, Harry, used to diversionary dramatics from the twins pulling a prank, was able to see the spy give Natasha's wrist a subtle, affectionate squeeze with his other hand.

Huh. Interesting.

They all settled back into easy conversation as Harry felt more and more exhausted. He honestly wasn’t sure how he was still upright. He lost a bit of his dozing fog to nerves, however, when Clint spoke up from the controls. 

“Everyone strap in, because we’re here.”