How to drown via soup
Why the fuck did he agree to this?
Why the actual fuck did he let himself think this might be a good idea?
Even for a moment. It was long enough of a moment that his mouth said yes long before his brain processed the request. How was he even supposed to live here?
Harry took in a deep breath, his eyes scanning the room he had been left in. It was huge; much bigger than even Dudley’s old room on Privet Drive.
Three of the walls were painted grey, and the other was a window, overlooking the city. A large bed was against the far wall, and furniture littered the room, more than he ever had. He had a desk, a dresser, a nightstand, chairs - but the room was spacious enough that it didn’t feel crowded, not like it would’ve in his old room. There were three doors, one leading into a closet, one to the hallway, and the other led him into a bathroom.
He could live here and want for nothing.
Which was probably the point. Stark probably didn’t want to see Harry outside his room, and as soon as Harry stocked up on food, he wouldn’t have to go out of this room for anything.
The thought brought a dark trail with it.
Obviously Stark wouldn’t want to see him. What kind of life had Harry condemned himself to? He trudged over to one of the chairs by the window and looked out at the city. The sun was glaring into his eyes, and it seemed like everything was different.
Looking out at the city, however, it seemed nothing had changed. Crowds filled the sidewalks, floods of cars filled the streets. Everyone was busy as ever, and his plight was as insignificant as always. The world kept spinning.
What to do now?
Harry didn’t know what he was supposed to do.
So he took a shower, for what felt like the first time in weeks. He put new clothes on that he found in the closet, folding his old clothes neatly and stashing them inside a cabinet. Just in case.
Then, he emptied his rucksack onto the bathroom floor, clearing out the trash and carefully refolding his cloak to fit snugly at the bottom, and grabbed some extra clothes to fold on top. Then, he grabbed a bottle of soap. An extra toothbrush he found under the sink. A pair of scissors. A blanket (he had to really focus to put a shrinking charm on it, but it would totally be worth it).
Harry grabbed a few more things here and there to put in his bag. Things he hoped no one else would notice had gone missing, things he would need if he ever had to go back. Just in case. He would grab some food later, and ideally some medical supplies, but other than that, he was set. Harry stashed the rucksack under the bed, and he laid down on the floor next to it, finally clean enough to not feel bad about ruining the rug.
Not even fifteen minutes later, he heard footsteps outside his door. His eyes darted to the shadow of feet under the door, wishing they would keep walking.
Then, a knock rang out. Weird; Vernon never knocked.
Harry slowly got up, preparing himself for the worst. The only time Vernon ever came into his room was to hurt him, and the only time a professor had ever been to his dorm was when he was in trouble - there was no way this could have any sort of positive outcome.
So he braced himself.
And waited.
And waited.
“Harry, may I come in?” Tony’s voice said from the other side of the door. He didn’t sound mad.
He was asking permission? From Harry?
“I…sure?” Harry responded hesitantly, eying the door warily. Tony opened the door, leaning against the doorframe in what seemed to be an effort to appear casual. His eyebrows, however, were scrunched together, just like Harry’s were when he was worried.
Stop. No. He was nothing like Stark. Despite whatever biological material they apparently share.
“Harry, dinner is almost here. Would you like a quick tour of the floor before we eat?” Stark said.
Of all the things Harry would have thought Stark would say, this was not it. Not even close. He was expecting something more along the lines of ‘get out’ or ‘I changed my mind’.
And yet.
What was he supposed to say?
No. That would be the logical response.
Spending more time with Stark couldn’t end well. But knowing where the exits are would definitely help. And Harry wasn’t sure what Stark would do if he didn’t give him the answer he wanted. It almost seemed like a trick question.
“Sure”
Stark grinned, seemingly pleased at Harry’s answer. He must’ve chosen the right option then. Stark left his doorway, beckoning Harry to follow.
Harry hesitantly walked out of his room, making sure to stay a good five feet behind Stark. He watched carefully as Stark animatedly talked about the tower, pointing out rooms and adding in his own commentary and landmarks.
“FRIDAY has a few microcameras and a speaker in every room, except the bathrooms. Most of them only monitor heat signatures and vitals, but the ones in public spaces are a little more extensive. There’s small lights embedded in the hallway floors so she can guide people, so if you’re ever lost, FRIDAY can show you,” Tony said, gesturing toward what Harry assumed to be the corners with cameras and spots on the floor with embedded lights.
They continued out of the hallway and into a wider room, with soft gray walls and a large couch that looked comfier than a cloud. There was a bar in the corner and a TV on one the walls, artwork and designer wall art artistically decorating the space. One wall was floor to ceiling windows, showcasing a different side of Manhattan than Harry had in his room.
It looked artificial - like no one had ever sat on that couch, strangers picked the art and the TV had never been turned on.
Harry gave the bar a wide berth as they passed through the room.
Five minutes later, FRIDAY interrupted Stark’s rant on the window tint features.
“Boss, dinner is here,”
When they got to the kitchen, Pepper had already set the table, with three warm bowls of stew and bread waiting for them.
Harry carefully sat down, his eyes darting between the two adults on either side of him. After a minute of awkward silence, Pepper started eating. Tony followed suit, but Harry was still staring resolutely at his spoon.
“So, Harry, do you…um…like to build things?” Tony said, his voice trailing off when he felt Pepper staring at him. Harry shrugged, but he did pick up his spoon, so Tony counted it as a win.
It still didn’t feel like a win.
Because Harry was on the verge of running away again.
Because he couldn’t be a father.
Because Harry had bruises all over him.
Because this is the first time he is meeting his kid and dear lord, he is worse than Howard.