“You can call me Bucky.”
Monday, September 24
Harry was mildly annoyed the entire drive from school back to the tower.
Not only had Peter been practically ignoring him, but now they were fighting.
All Harry had done was ask him what happened when he saw Peter arrive that morning, late, with a black eye and it set Peter off which set Harry off.
“Hey, what happened?” Harry had asked, reaching up hesitantly where Peter’s eye was bruised and cut.
Peter pushed Harry’s hand away and turned his head. “None of your damn business,” he muttered.
Harry bristled defensively. “Sorry for caring.”
Peter had laughed and his eyes weren’t nearly as warm when they met Harry’s. “Oh, sorry, I forgot you’re the only one allowed to keep secrets around here.”
They’d attracted a small crowd in the hallway, students whispering about their argument, and Harry had been embarrassed so he got short.
“I don’t give a damn about your secrets,” Harry drawled. “If someone’s beating your arse, I guess it’s your problem.”
“That’s right!” Peter yelled at him. “It’s my problem, not yours!”
If Peter wanted to be a prat and yell at Harry and get bruised up, that was his decision.
Harry just didn’t have to deal with it.
“Bad day?” Happy asked, eyeing Harry subtly from the corner of his eyes.
“And about to get worse,” Harry scoffed, thinking of the ‘tutor’ waiting for him back at the tower. Harry was better at magic than he was at algebra, but Harry was also in a pissy mood and would rather deal with none of it.
Happy nodded understandably and turned the car smoothly in the underground garage for the tower.
“What sounds good for dinner?” he asked when Harry climbed out and slammed the car door harder than was probably necessary.
Harry shrugged. “Do you guys ever get sick of takeout?” he asked, mostly just to be disagreeable.
Happy laughed and pressed the button for the lift. “All the time, but nobody knows how to cook here.”
Harry considered it for a minute while they rode the lift. Tony hadn’t seemed real set on making Harry clean or cook or sleep in any cupboards, and Harry knew how to cook, he just preferred not to.
But one dinner didn’t sound terrible, and Harry could text Sirius and make him come since he’d been avoiding Harry for days.
“Think someone can get groceries if I give you a list?” Harry asked Happy.
Happy lifted a single brow at Harry. “For what?”
“For groceries,” Harry scowled. “Obviously.”
Happy, unflappable bastard that he was, just laughed and raised his hands innocently.
“Fine, fine,” he said amicably. “Send me a list and I’ll grab stuff.”
“Thanks,” Harry said, already pulling out his phone and typing up a list. It didn’t take him long to think of what to cook, something easy but complex enough to help soothe Harry’s annoyance. Really it took the longest to type out all the spices and things that most kitchens always had in stock and Harry knew that Tony’s absolutely didn’t.
By the time Harry finished his list, the two of them had arrived on the floor where Harry and Tony’s flat was. Harry had nearly walked right past Tony’s office, distracted as he was, and only stopped when Happy called out a quiet reminder about his tutor.
“Harry, hey.” Tony was leaning against the front of his desk with his arms crossed and an easy smile on his lips. He nodded his head toward the bloke Harry met before, Stephen Strange. “You remember Strange?”
“Doctor Strange,” Strange said. He stood up and offered a hand to Harry when Harry joined them by Tony’s desk.
“You don’t look like a doctor,” Harry said deadpan. He eyed the weird clothes the man wore, complete with a red cape, and figured he would stand out even amongst wizards.
Strange didn’t seem offended, he merely smirked. “Don’t call me if you ever have a brain aneurysm then.”
“I won’t,” Harry said coolly.
Tony clapped his hands together and laughed. “Alright, well, you guys can work in here and—”
“I’d prefer somewhere more private,” Strange told Tony abruptly. “Somewhere without distractions,” he added pointedly.
“Oh.” Tony deflated and Harry held back an amused grin, certain that he just wanted to watch them practice magic. “I guess you guys could work in Harry’s room, if Harry doesn’t mind?”
Harry shrugged. It wasn’t like they’d be alone in Harry’s room, not with Jarvis and whatever other spyware Tony had.
“Fine,” Harry agreed. He gave Tony a forced grin before he led Strange from Tony’s office to his room. Harry had to shoo Joey away and close the door, otherwise he’d just run back in and beg for Harry’s attention the whole time.
“You don’t need that just yet,” Strange said when Harry pulled his wand from where he had it stored in his closet with his broomstick and cloak.
“I don’t need my wand to practice magic?” Harry asked disbelievingly.
“Nope, because this isn’t the traditional magic that you’ve seen before,” Strange said, perfectly serene. He stood in the center of the room and looked so out of place in Harry’s room that it was almost comical.
“What I can teach you is more centered in the mystical arts of sorcery rather than the more recent magical arts,” Strange told Harry. “Mastering the art of sorcery will have you so in tune with your own magic that spells will flow from your fingers with hardly a thought.”
Harry’s interest was caught in that explanation. He’d seen Strange do a few acts of magic when he’d arrived for the interview Tony set up, and truthfully Harry had never seen anyone else do magic like he did.
“So how do I learn sorcery?” Harry asked eagerly, earning an approving smile from Strange.
“You have to clear your mind; clear mind, open spirit,” Strange said. He sat on the floor with his legs crossed and his hands palm up on his knees. Harry sank down to mimic his position when Strange closed his eyes and inhaled slowly.
“You have an advantage, you already know you have magic inside of you,” Strange said calmly, his eyes still closed. “You block yourself with your disconnect from your body, your mind, and your spirit. To wield you magic to your best potential, you have to make those three areas become one.”
“How?” Harry asked. He’d been leaning forward, drawn in by Strange’s intelligent and smooth voice. “How do I make them become one?”
Strange opened one eye and quirked his lips in a crooked smirk. “Practice. Lots and lots of practice.”
“Brilliant,” Harry muttered. He settled back down in the relaxed pose Strange had and tried to copy his deep and even breathing.
“Surrender yourself to the peace swirling inside you, the magic that cares for you, and give yourself up to it. Allow it to flow freely, connecting your body to your mind and then your spirit.”
Whatever the fuck that meant.
Harry tried to ‘surrender himself’ to peace, but his mind wouldn’t focus.
Somewhere in the house, Harry could hear Joey barking. Hopefully Tony or someone would take him outside so Harry didn’t have a mess to clean up.
It was around nine at Hogwarts… Harry wondered if Hermione would call him before bed.
Focus.
Harry couldn’t feel anything ‘flowing freely’ inside of him except for mild annoyance at not understanding the instructions.
“You’re not clearing your mind,” Strange murmured.
“How do I clear my mind?” Harry huffed, opening his eyes again and glaring at Strange. “You’re telling me to connect my body and not telling me how!”
Strange didn’t get annoyed at Harry’s outburst, he only seemed amused.
“I was like you when I went looking for answers,” Strange said calmly. “I was pissed off at life and looking for something to just fix it all. And you know what I found instead? True purpose, kid. And that’s what you’ll find too.”
“I don’t need ‘true purpose’,” Harry scoffed irritably. “I just want to learn magic so I’m not a sitting duck when Voldemort comes knocking and tries to kill my family.”
Strange nodded and his dark eyes had a glint of understanding in them.
“You won’t be,” he assured him. He lifted one of his hands and tapped the golden eye shaped necklace he wore. “I’ve seen it, Harry Stark, I’ve seen what your future holds. All you need to do is concentrate now and you’ll be the greatest sorcerer to live.”
Harry leapt to his feet, filled with a mixture of some sort of terror and longing.
“I don’t want that,” Harry said quietly. That sounded like something Voldemort wanted. Harry didn’t want to be the ‘greatest sorcerer to live’, he just wanted… he just wanted to live.
Harry wanted to live and find out what life could be like when he wasn’t plagued by problems he couldn’t solve or relationships he couldn’t manage. Harry wanted to find out if being an adult was worth it and maybe learn to drive a car properly.
And until then, Harry had his dad, his godfather, and if Peter ever stopped being a dick, he’d have his boyfriend again.
It was all a hell of a lot more than Harry had over the summer when he’d… fallen… off that rooftop.
“I just want to live to see sixteen,” Harry told Strange firmly, waiting for his nod before Harry sat back down with his legs crossed. “And maybe keep people safe in the meantime.”
“It’s always those who shy away from power the most that are destined to wield it,” Strange murmured. He probably thought he sounded mysterious or wise, but Harry just thought he sounded daft.
“So just to be clear, we’re not working on defense or transfiguration at all?” Harry asked as disdainfully as he could.
Strange chuckled and shook his head, his face once more relaxing in a passive expression.
“Not yet,” he said cryptically. “For now, let’s make you one with yourself.”
It took less than an hour before Strange declared that Harry had made some progress and should try and ‘clear his mind’ as homework.
“I’ll do that,” Harry snarled quietly, frustrated by obviously not making any real progress, despite what Strange told him. Harry had a pounding headache and ignored his ‘tutor’ when he went to talk with Tony in his office.
There were bags of groceries on the kitchen counter and Harry sighed, regretting his offer to make dinner. If he’d known that he was going to spend an hour trying, and failing, to ‘become one within himself’ he wouldn’t have bothered.
Come help me cook?
I don’t know how and I’m not home, sorry kiddo.
Then you don’t get to come eat dinner when I cook it.
Sirius sent a string of pleading faces with teary eyes and sad pouts while Harry made the glaze for the pork and began brushing it down carefully.
Fine you can come. Seven o’clock Siri.
Can I bring a date?
Harry paused when he’d been chopping the clean potatoes and stared strangely at his phone. It wasn’t that Harry didn’t want Sirius to be happy, Sirius deserved it more than anyone, it was just…
Have you been avoiding me for a date??
Harry slammed the pork in the oven and began roasting green beans while he waited for Sirius’ response.
It wasn’t like Harry and Peter started dating and Harry said ‘screw you’ to anyone else. He still had breakfast with Tony and tried to see Sirius. He chatted with Hermione almost every night and text Pepper about their days while she was still away on her business trip.
Sirius was a prat.
I’m not avoiding you, I’m giving you space to hang out with your dad. This is something new, someone I met. I won’t bring them if it’s going to upset you.
Oh no, I’m not upset. Bring them. It’ll be brilliant.
Harry clicked his phone on mute and stuffed it angrily in his pocket. He wasn’t upset, he was brilliant, excellent really. Sirius was out partying and getting dates and avoiding Harry. Peter was being a dick and getting in fights and pushing Harry away.
At least Tony was still there.
It was peculiar that he was, as Harry had sort of assumed he’d be ready to push Harry toward Sirius immediately, but… but Harry rather liked having someone around that remembered he was a human being.
Once Harry had the different dishes all cooking, he wandered toward Tony’s office and only hesitated for a moment before knocking quietly.
“Come in!” Tony called immediately.
Harry poked his head in and saw that Strange was still sitting in there across from Tony with an easy smile on his face. Harry narrowed his eyes at him for a moment before looking toward Tony.
“I can’t find any Tylenol,” Harry said honestly, curious about why Strange was still there.
“Headache?” Tony guessed accurately. He dug in his desk drawer at Harry’s curt nod. “Hey, actually, you got a minute, kid? Come in and talk.”
Harry scowled and curled his shoulders inward while he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. This was the part where Tony ranted about Harry wasting his money and Strange’s time by his failed session.
Tony tossed Harry the bottle of Tylenol and Harry grabbed three, swallowing them dry, then perched on the edge of a chair beside Strange at Tony’s gesture.
“Are you having a hard time concentrating in school?” Tony asked, knocking Harry off-kilter with the random question. Tony and Strange both looked completely at ease, both watching Harry with patiently curious expressions.
“I…” Harry faltered and his sarcasm fled him in face of Tony seeming genuinely interested. “Sometimes?” he offered. If the class didn’t interest him or it became too much lecture without enough hands on practice, which it seemed like that was all muggle school did.
“Would you say that you’re impulsive?” Strange asked Harry.
Harry said yeah the same instant that Tony said yes.
The two of them met each others eyes and Harry felt his lips twitch in an effort to fight back a grin at the confident response Tony gave.
“Not as bad as some people I know,” Harry explained, thinking of Sirius. “But… yeah, I- er… I’ve been called that a lot.”
Strange nodded and then lifted his hand, spinning it in a small circular motion and causing what looked like a magical hole to appear in front of him. He reached through it, ignoring Harry and Tony’s sounds of surprise at the magic Harry had never seen performed before, and pulled his hand back out with some colorful papers.
Harry accepted one of the papers Strange silently offered him and began reading it while Tony read the copy Strange gave him.
“This is like a checklist of my life,” Harry said with a bemused scowl when he read down the list of questions. It was a test of some sort, one that Harry was certain he’d pass.
‘Do you frequently say things without thinking it through first?’
‘I am frequently bored and look for more interesting activities.’
‘When I am involved in something interesting, I lose track of time, place, and other obligations.’
‘Do you work better with your hands?’
‘Do you find yourself fidgeting or moving around when you’re meant to be sitting still?’
‘I find it difficult to shut my mind off to rest at night.’
“Would you say you identify with most of the questions or statements on that sheet?” Strange asked Harry neutrally.
Harry glanced at Tony, hoping for some sort of clue on how he was meant to respond. Tony was leaning back in his chair though with his hands laced behind his head and his eyes thoughtfully trained on the ceiling.
“Maybe,” Harry said evasively. His stomach felt uneasy with the questions and the way Strange was watching him. If Harry didn’t understand what was going on, it was probably best to stay evasive.
Strange nodded anyway, seemingly satisfied to take Harry’s ‘maybe’ as a ‘yes’. He looked toward Tony and cleared his throat pointedly. Tony nodded.
And then Harry, who had a rubbish day, snapped.
“What?” Harry demanded, jumping to his feet irritably. He looked between the two men accusingly. “What’s this all about? Because I couldn’t clear my bloody mind?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” Tony said hastily. He dropped his hands and leaned toward Harry across his desk. “Strange used to be a doctor before he gave it all up for magic.”
“I am still a board certified neurosurgeon,” Strange snapped at Tony haughtily. “I’m world renowned.”
“Whatever,” Tony waved him off. “Anyway, he thinks you might have ADHD.”
Harry curled his nose. “I don’t,” he scowled.
Tony raised a brow at Harry. “Do you know what it is?”
“Yes,” Harry lied through his teeth. “And I don’t have it.”
Whatever it was.
With his piece said and his headache dimming, Harry turned on his heel and stormed out of Tony’s office. He had food to check on and a friend to call.
“Hello?” Hermione answered her phone on the second ring, her voice sounding like Harry woke her up.
“What’s ADHD?” Harry asked. He had his phone set in between his cheek and his shoulder while he juggled finishing off dinner and talking at the same time.
Hermione sighed in the phone and Harry heard the rustling sound of what he was sure would be a stack of homework in the background. Knowing Hermione, she probably fell asleep while studying in the common room.
“Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder,” Hermione parroted off, slipping in what Harry and Ron called her ‘I was wrongly sorted’ tone. “And before you ask, yes, you have it and I’ve always thought so.”
Harry scowled even though Hermione couldn’t see it. “What’s it mean though?” he asked.
“It doesn’t mean anything bad,” Hermione said, gentling her voice some when she undoubtedly picked up on the stress in Harry’s. “Your brain just works differently, Harry. Concentrating is hard for you and you’re more restless than everyone else.”
“Can I- can I fix it?” Harry asked. He squeezed his shoulder to his cheek tightly so he could pull the pan of pork from the oven. It looked and smelled perfect, much better than anything else Harry had attempted to do recently.
“You can treat it,” Hermione told him. “It’s really common, Harry. I think most people just take medicine for it. Did you see a doctor or something today?”
“Something like that,” Harry said. He started grabbing plates from the cabinet and begrudgingly got an extra one for Sirius’ date. “Oi, Sirius has a date,” he told Hermione, keen to change to subject.
Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about being told he had some ‘deficit’ that made his brain work differently and he’d rather process it by himself instead of with Hermione. Harry loved Hermione, but sometimes there was such a thing as ‘too supportive’.
“Does he?” Hermione sounded surprised. “I mean, Sirius is handsome and all, but he’s awfully erratic and moody. I certainly wouldn’t date him.”
“He’s really not ginger enough for you, is he?” Harry asked slyly, smirking to himself.
Hermione fired back quickly, but Harry could practically hear her blushing. “Well I’d say you seem to prefer people more athletic, skaters, perhaps?”
Harry’s mood dropped back down at the reminder of Peter.
Peter who Hermione didn’t even know Harry was dating… if they were still dating.
“Yeah,” Harry said absently. “Tell everyone I said hi, will you?”
Hermione said something, but Harry hung up on her.
One day, just one bloody day, Harry would like to have things go his way.
Dinner was tense.
Tony didn’t bring up the ADHD thing, and he had nothing but praise and compliments for Harry, but it was still tense between them. Happy tried to fill the awkward silence between them with comments about the food, questions for Harry about he made it, and comments to Tony about the building repairs that needed done, but it was still strained.
Harry didn’t think he’d be so happy for Sirius to finally arrive, twenty minutes late, with his date. Sirius bounced toward the kitchen where they were sitting at the makeshift table, pulling some bloke along with him, and Harry smiled just a little to see the wide and happy smile on Sirius’ face.
The bloke with him looked a little young, really, but he was fit too.
Harry could see why Sirius was dragging him around with him.
Sirius’ date had chin length dark brown hair that matched the light scruff he had on his sharp jaws. But Harry thought he seemed uneasy being there and that made Harry uneasy. The bloke was staring at them all with blue eyes that were flickering around so quickly that Harry subtly scooted his chair closer to Tony and further from him.
“Favorite godson! Favorite godson’s dad and…” Sirius paused in his greeting, looking at Happy curiously. “I don’t know your name.”
“Happy,” Happy said. “We’ve met… multiple times.”
“If you say so,” Sirius said cheerfully. He waved his hand toward the bloke with him and was beaming. “This is James.”
Harry coughed on the water he’d taken a sip of with bloody poor timing and twisted away when Tony patted his back.
“James?” Harry asked once he cleared his airway. He glared at his godfather. “Your boyfriend’s name is James?”
Why on earth would Sirius start dating someone with the same name as his dead best mate? Was that not as horribly uncomfortable as Harry imagined it would be?
James raised the hand he had stuffed in his leather jacket and Harry saw his fingers were made of silver metal. He smiled slightly at Harry, a kind and crooked smile, but there was something about him that still had Harry’s hair sticking up on the back of his neck. Something that felt a lot like danger.
“You can call me Bucky.”