Tony Stark's Son (Rework)

“Harry.” 

The world was dark, and gloomy, like that moment right before a huge cloud lets out its water. It was heavy in the air, sticking to Harry’s arms like sweat on a hot sunny day. In front of him was nothing but water so placid he could see his own reflection perfectly staring back at him. In the distance was a beat-down house. The shrieking shack. 

“Harry.” 

That voice wraps around him like an icy hug. When he looks down nothing is there but the dark fog that clings to everything. Yet it seemed a familiar fog like someone familiar was reminding him they were there. 

A bubbling laugh draws Harry to turn around. Behind him is a window and through that window a smiling, warm face. 

Cedric Diggory holds out a sweater with a shark on it. As Harry watches the teen bends down and kisses what looks like a blank slate. The slate turns, emerging with green eyes and his own scar. 

It was a memory. 

“This is a great Christmas gift. I can’t wait to wear it to Hogsmeade. I’m sure Victor will appreciate it.” Cedric folds the sweater up and holds out his own gift. This one was much better wrapped than Harry’s own attempt. He sees himself grab the box and pull on it, the sensation tingling in his own fingertips. He remembers all the tape that Cedric had put on it and how they had all made fun of him about it the next day. “Sorry. Got a bit carried away.” 

“You could say that again.” Harry hears his own chuckle, something that had become foreign to him in the past few months. He never smiled around the Dursleys much, and after Cedric had passed he hadn’t smiled at all. Hearing his own laugh again was startling. 

“Just open it.” Cedric wraps his arm around Harry and looks down at the tape he was struggling to tear through. 

Harry knew what it was going to be before he saw himself pull it out. The necklace was thick enough that it didn’t feel feminine and long enough that it was easily hidden by most of his shirts. On the end of it a small snitch twinkled in the overhead light. When Harry turns it, his name is engraved in perfect cursive. 

“Cedric, it’s beautiful.” Cedric engulfs Harry in a hug. The feeling is echoed in the same cold, a whisper of contact on the other side of the window. 

“Touch it. Like this.” Cedric reaches out and runs his finger over the back of the snitch. To Harry’s amazement — he never got over the novelty of magic — a set of wings unfold and start to flap gently in the air. The snitch rises a few inches before curling in on itself again. 

“This is amazing, Cedric.” Harry turns to look up at Cedric. 

The scene shifts to one with Cedric looking over Harry’s shoulder. He's looking through the window at him, not any fake version of himself. Cedric looks right through him as he always had done all those months ago. 

It is chilling. Cedric’s eyes, as lively as they always seemed in the past, were dead. Harry looks through the window into nothing but cold, dark, death. The fog around him clings to him tighter, squeezing him into a box of gloom. 

“Where is my gift now, Harry?” The window melts away into the same fog that eats at Harry’s skin. What is left is Cedric Diggory in the outfit he wore at the Triwizard tournament. 

The window disappears and Cedric steps forward. His footsteps send waves around them that Harry feels lap at his feet. They were standing in water. It was as cold as ice. When he breathes out it comes in clouds. Cedric doesn’t even breathe. 

“Where am I now, Harry?” Cedric stops a few feet away from him. From here he can smell the rancid, decaying scent floating off of Cedric like a curse. “How did you let me die?” 

“I- I didn’t mean to.” Harry finally finds his voice, however shaky it may be. He takes a step back and stumbles. When he hits the ground the water gives a crash and, to his dismay, screams start to echo with every wave. 

He sees a million Cedrics and Lilys and James and Sirius and Lupins. 

“Harry.” 

They call, their faces showing up in the fog and disappearing a moment later. 

“Harry.” 

Cedric steps closer, blood dripping from his mouth. It drops off his chin and into the water. Red spreads across the entire lake, staining Harry’s hands with crimson. 

“Harry.” 

Sirius appears in front of him, his wand outstretched. 

“Harry.” 

“STOP!” Harry scrambles up to his feet and runs away from Cedric. He runs from the screams and the blood and the water. Small ripples in the water turn to crashing waves, everyone that hurls away from him turns right back and hits him full force. 

One powerful wave knocks him off his feet. Instead of hitting the ground, he continues down. Nothing but water licks at his skin. It is cold, cold as death, and every move he makes to swim up just leads him further down. 

He sees the moon — full as ever — and hears a howl in the distance. 

“Harry.” Cedric whispers into his ear. Harry feels the ghost of his touch on his bare skin, feels the hot burn of his fingertips on his spider mark. “You let us die.” 

“I didn’t. I didn’t.” Harry desperately whispers into the water. 

“HARRY!” 

With one last push, Cedric sends Harry crashing into the bottom of the sea. 

The last thing he sees is Voldemort, his wicked grin and pale skin grabbing him by the shoulder. 

— 

“NO!” Harry shoots up only to hit his head on something hard. “FUCK!” 

“Are you okay, Harry?” Jarvis speaks out from all around him. 

Harry takes a few panicked breaths, looking up through a skewed reality. The previous day comes crashing back to him. He wasn’t in that lake. He wasn’t at the Dursley’s. He was in New York. 

“You are in New York City. The time is 6:37am. There is no one else in the room with you.” Jarvis says in what Harry could only describe in a caring voice. “Would you like me to call Tony for you?” 

Harry lets out a long huff, his head thumping against the carpeted floor of the living room. He had apparently rolled off the couch and managed to get under the coffee table. For once he could blame his beating head on something other than his stupid scar. The glass of the coffee table was making the roof of the living room look fuzzy and bent. He wasn't going crazy after all. 

“Harry?” 

“Nah. Nah, I’m fine. I'm fine.” Harry shifts out from under the coffee table and sits up. The overhead lights were off, which was odd considering Harry hadn't turned them off before his impromptu doze on the couch. Instead of those harsh, bright lights, the lamp to the side of the couch had been slicked on. Its warm glow was easier on the eye and cast the room in a yellow, sunset-like glow. Beside the lamp, on the end table, was the crumpled-up remains of Lupin's letter. 

How he wants to throw that useless string of words away.

Harry stands, grabs the letter, and makes his way over to the on-floor kitchen. It was much smaller than the kitchen he had eaten in the morning before, but decorated in that same too-modern-for-Britain style that boggled his mind. The counters were marble and for the most part perfectly slick. There were a few dents Harry assumed previous guests had put there. That rose the question of why they were still there, but he chose not to think too much about it. The fridge was stocked with basic food necessities, mostly raw veggies, fruits, and dairy products. Natasha had stopped him on his way to the apartment and shoved a few sodas and chips in his hand because 'A kid like you needs some junk food in their system'. Tony acted like he hadn't seen it.

“It seems you suffered from a nightmare.” 

“Yeah.” Harry chucks the letter from Lupin in the trash and opens the fridge. The Pepsi sits in the middle right where he left it, and he snatches it greedily. He hadn’t had a Pepsi in years, as Hogwarts didn’t allow them and the Dursleys had never shared their own with him. Dudley drank enough of them, sure, and Harry probably could have stolen one — which he did — but as he got older he just forgot to care about sodas like he did when he was young. 

“Do you get them often?” 

Harry takes a long drink of Pepsi. Immediately after he hiccups, but at least that warm, crisp feeling fills him with some sort of comfort. 

Did he get nightmares often? Dudley’s words echo in his head, snaps of the multiple times he had woken up just as he had this morning; on the floor with tears in his eyes. 

“I guess I do.” Harry sighs, hopping up on the countertops of the kitchen. “Do you- do you know how to make them go away?” 

It was hard to see Cedric when he closed his eyes. Sometimes his mind would be kind and give him memories and time with him, but most of the time the dreams devolved into what just happened. Cedric wasn’t his to keep and it seemed the universe wanted him to know that. 

“There are medications you can take to lessen the occurrence of dreams, though these are not permanent solutions. Many doctors claim that dreams are a healthy part of the human sleep cycle and should not be prevented for extended periods of time.” The answer was annoying but also expected. The wizarding world had potions to get rid of dreams, some he had been forced to use following the Triwizard tournament. All of those medicines were not for long-term use. It seemed both magic and science couldn't beat the human mind. 

“So I just have to-“ 

A crash sounded from somewhere on the floor. He instantly hops off the counter and grabs for his wand in his pocket. 

“Jarvis? What was that?” Harry hisses, rushing out of the kitchen and back into the living room. He holds the wand out in front of him, his weapon in a muggle world. Hopefully he wouldn't have to use it; explaining a wand to JARVIS did not sound like a fun time. 

“Please don’t be alarmed. It is just Tony’s intern. He was not informed of your arrival and seems to have come in through the window.” 

“The window? We’re in the sky!” Harry gawks at the thought for a moment. For one, how did he get the seamless windows open. Harry had tried a few times last night and had failed miserably. he wasn't exactly the best to figure these things out, sure, but he knew how windows were supposed to work. For two, how did this person even get up thishigh? Harry remembered looking down and getting dizzy. Either this person used a broom or they were seriously injured. 

Harry runs down the only hallway he could thing the sound originated from. There were only about four room on the whole floor, and one of them was a windowless bathroom. 

"Shit!" There was a crash from the room Harry had tried to sleep in last night. He runs to the door and slams it open, the wood clanging against the wall. 

As soon as the door opens Harry is blinded. The force sends him stumbling back into a wall, his wand flying out of his hand. 

“What the- Jarvis!” 

“Who are you!” A shout reached Harry's ears as the same time his vision is filled with white. For a moment he was sure he had been hit by some curse, but something sticky pulled at his skin. It was fogging up his glasses and everything. he flails at the lose of sight, grabbing at whatever was blocking his view and pulling. 

Whatever it was comes off his hands like cotton candy in those stupid bags Dudley always begged for when they were at the fair. It didnt' smell much like cotton candy, which Harry would know considering it was currently blocking his nose. The strong stench of chemicals burned his nose and eyes, both of which start to run.

“Peter please reframe from shooting Tony Stark’s son with any more of your webs. It is impolite.” 

“Uh, Mr. Stark’s what?” Whoever this Peter character was both wasn't very filled in on Avenger affairs and seemed suddenly very stressed. 

“Peter, meet Harry. Tony’s biological son.” 

"What?" Peter spoke in a panic. "Tony doesn't have any kids! He told me himself!"

“This is great and all but I’d really like to be able to see.” Harry hisses from his spot on the ground. The stuff on his face was starting to glue his lips together and it wasn’t a very good feeling. What made it worse was the obvious lack of his wand in his hand. He had probably let go of it in his attempts to breathe again. 

“Oh shit. I'm sorry! I didn’t expect anybody to be here and if I had known I obviously wouldn’t have-. I'm sorry.” 

Harry feels hands on his arms pulling him to his feet, and in the next second, there was something similar to water being sprayed on his face. It smelled bad, like rotten eggs, so he was going to guess it wasn’t water. 

“Hey hold up! What are you-“ Harry pulls away from whatever the man was spraying him with only for the stuff on his face to drip clean off. 

“Sorry! It's a dissolving solution.” 

Harry blinks a few times, wipes off his glasses, and gives the man in front of him a long look. 

The man was more of a teenager if Harry was being honest.  He was at least a head taller than Harry -- everyone was -- and even though he had much more muscle mass than any teen Harry had ever seen he still clung to that awkward, too-skinny-for-my-age look that plagued boys his age. Peter also looked exhausted, too, like he hadn't slept in weeks. 

He was always wearing nothing but spider pajama pants. 

“Uh.” Harry looks back up at Peter’s face with a blush. Of course, he had to be stuck with the hottest teenager he had ever seen. Like, really, even Cedric didn’t have abs that rock hard. 

“I’m Peter!” Peter holds out his hand for a handshake. “Sorry about the, uh, whole blinding thing.” 

“Harry.” Harry looks at Peter's outstretched hand and decides he really didnt' want to shake it. He turns, instead looking for his wand. The wand was on the floor a little way down the hall. Harry walks to it and picks it up, slipping it back into his pocket where it was safe from prying eyes. 

“So you’re, uh, Tony Stark’s son? How did that happen?” Peter disappears for a moment and when he pops back out into the hallway he’s wearing an oversized T-shirt. Harry recognizes it as one of the various shirts he was told to choose from. With a start, he realizes he’s probably wearing this random kid’s clothes. He pulls at the end of the shirt he was currently wearing subconsciously. 

“Yeah.” Harry hums, ignoring the second part of the question. Like he was going to tell this stranger anything about himself. He heads back to the living room, Peter following behind him. “You’re the one with the physics textbook?” 

Because of course, he was the one with the textbook. JARVIS had called Peter an intern, and Tony had talked about his 'intern' when they were in the kitchen. Natasha had even mentioned it. It was obvious whoever this 'intern' was a little more important than the word suggested. That and the overall nerdiness of the kid connected some dots for Harry. 

“Did I leave it out again?” Peter sounds sheepish as he says it. “Sorry about that. I’m pretty messy.” 

“You Tony’s kid too or something?” Harry tries to keep emotion out of his voice as he says it. For one, he didn’t even want Tony to be his dad, and two why should he care if this random kid was his half-brother? 

“Oh no! This was my floor before you got here, though. It’s the closest to Tony’s lab. It’s right through the stairs there.” Harry looks over his shoulder to see Peter pointing at a door Harry hadn’t even tried to open. “And there’s a secret ladder that goes to Steve and Bucky’s floor, too. I’m pretty sure Tony got that removed after I walked in on their ‘date night’ if you know what I mean.” 

Harry scrunches up his nose at that and takes another sip of the Pepsi he had left behind. He could have gone his whole life without thinking about Tony Stark's sex life. 

“Why are you here, then? At six in the morning?” 

“Tony lets me stay here when it’s super late and I can’t make it home.” Peter shrugs and hops up on the counter opposite Harry. Harry follows suit. At least they weren’t fighting right now, at least. 

“What exactly has you up till four in the morning?” 

“Just random stuff.” Peter looks down at the countertop with what looks like a frown. Harry gives him a look, knowing a lie when he hears it, before letting the subject go. 

“I’m not here to take your room.” Harry turns away from Peter and looks around at the floor. There were three bedrooms in total, with a bathroom in the middle of the hall. Harry would hate to share anything with this random kid who burst through the window of a skyscraper, but he wouldn’t exactly hate the company. Peter looks young enough to be his own age. Maybe they could get along well enough to consider each other friends. 

He couldn’t ever be Ron or Hermoine, but maybe Peter could make New York a little less lonely. 

“Oh don’t worry about it. I’m sure Tony already has a team renovating a floor for you.” Peter waves harry off. “This is probably pretty temporary.” 

“Peter is correct. Tony sent in a floor plan for Harry’s own private courters an hour ago.” JARVIS pipes in. 

“Does anyone sleep here?” Harry grumbles. He was already feeling pretty tired again after that dream. Maybe this time he would sleep in his own bed. Or, well, he guessed he would pick another bed to call his own. Sleeping in Peter’s bed seemed a bit intimate, even if that room was the only one that felt even a little bit homey on the floor. Looking back, Harry should have guessed someone lived there with the number of blankets and clothes in the drawers. 

“Not really. Though, I guess you’re not that different. You weren’t sleeping in bed when I got here.” Peter shrugs and walks to the fridge. He opens it up only to groan. 

“Where’d all my food go?” He was whining at this point, like Ron when the great hall wasn’t serving something he liked that day. It was relaxing to see a teenager just doing teenage things. Normally he was too wrapped up in the work of the dark lord to really let himself go like that. 

“Tony had everything deemed unhealthy by most doctors removed from the fridge. That left nothing.” Jarvis says, and once again Harry could hear the infliction in his voice. He was being a smartass right now. “He said he would talk to you about how your habits are unhealthy.” 

“Harry’s drinking a pop!” 

“Harry is severely sunburnt and malnourished.” Jarvis hums. “Harry gets whatever he wants.” 

Peter slams the door of the fridge closed with a groan. 

“I was the favorite at some point,” Peter grumbles. 

— 

Peter ended up moving into another of the three rooms on the floor. It wasn’t like harry had made him; he had offered the room he had taken from Peter, but the teenager had just waved him off and moved his few things out. He was asleep now, at five in the morning, leaving Harry alone in the living room. 

There was a bookshelf to the side of the TV Harry had skimmed over. The only title he knew was The Poisonwood Bible and the only reason he knew about it was because of Hermoine. With nothing else to do, he curled up on the couch to read it. He was already three chapters in and hadn’t comprehended a single word. 

Who was he kidding? He’s not a reader. The only time he ever reads is when it's required of him by one of his professors, and even then he barely skims the words to get a basic understanding of the material. 

He sits the book down beside him and curls up on the couch. 

“Would you like to watch anything, Harry? There are hundreds of channels available to you.” 

“No.” Harry sighs at the thought of watching television. What was the point? The only reason he had ever watched anything on the TV at home was to keep a watch on Voldemort, and there was no dark lord here. United States news wouldn’t give him any insight, and New York news would be too chock-full of other things for Harry to get a look into the wizarding world of the area. 

There was one thing he could do. 

Harry looks over at the coffee table. The potion Lupin had given to him lays beside the handwritten instructions on how to make more. He had said the potion would keep Harry hidden from the wizarding world, but he highly doubted anyone could just forget his face. He was Harry Potter, after all. 

When he picks up the potion he expects it to be cold to the touch and was pleasantly surprised to find he was wrong. It was slightly warm, not enough to be hot but also not room temperature either. It is a dull shade of grey and when he turns the bottle to the left and right shimmers float and twist in it. This was a very basic, nondescript-looking potion. 

“Potions reflect their function.” 

Hermoine’s words echo in Harry’s mind. She had been all about using the color and consistency of a potion to tell its purpose. It had saved their butts a few times on Potions tests, so Harry couldn’t really complain about it. 

He turns the bottle over in his hand once more. On one hand, it could kill him. On the other, it would make no sense for the potion to kill him. Lupin had handed it to him in flesh and blood; unless someone had tampered with it harry would be just fine. What’s the worst that could happen? 

Harry pops off the lid of the potion. A burst of lavender-scented smoke rises in the air, twisting in what looks like a wicked smirk as it floats up to the ceiling. 

“That’s not comforting,” Harry grumbles. 

He holds his nose and throws the whole bottle back. As expected it tasted like shit, like roots and dirt and worms. He coughs a few times, lets out a groan, and sets the potion bottle down on the table. 

Nothing happens. He’s perfectly fine and healthy. Harry holds out his hands half expecting to see some sort of hoof to see his hands just as they always were. 

“Weird.” Harry curls his hands and uncurls them a few times. Everything was just fine.