“You’re grounded.”
Friday, September 28
Harry felt tired when he drug himself to breakfast. He hadn’t slept great, he felt… shaky.
Harry’s insides felt shaky which wasn’t normal and even with all of Harry’s ‘episodes’, he knew it wasn’t normal.
“Morning, kid, how you feeling?”
“Fine,” Harry lied in an exhausted mumble. Harry’s fingers looked like they were trembling when he reached for the cup of coffee Tony offered him. It was a movement that didn’t go unnoticed by Tony.
“Tremors are normal side effects of the Adderall,” he said. “Having any nausea? Feeling lightheaded? Dry mouth?”
Yes, yes, and yes.
“No,” Harry said. He wrapped his hands around the cup of coffee and let the heat seep through his skin. He’d been taking the two medications for three days already and he felt awful. He didn’t feel ‘focused’ or ‘happy’, just… tired and shaky.
It had been stupid to think that he’d find happiness in a pill or take a medicine and suddenly start understanding chemistry. Harry had gotten his hopes up, thinking maybe Hermione was right and it would be like treating a cold with a Pepper-Up Potion, but Hermione was wrong.
There was a first time for everything, apparently.
Tony watched Harry closely during breakfast and Harry felt his eyes on the back of his head when Harry took one of the orange and white pills—
ADHD medicine in the mornings, antidepressants in the evenings
—and Harry turned snarkily and stuck his tongue out.
“I took it, happy?” Harry scowled. He snatched his backpack off the floor beneath the table. “Bye.”
“Bye, kid, have fun!” Tony called at his back. “Love you!”
Harry turned and barely had the energy to roll his eyes at him before he got on the lift for another fun-filled day of high school.
As excited as Harry had once been for school, it was what Tony called ‘an exercise in patience’ for him recently. It was the same routine every day that week- Harry saw Peter covered in bruises or cuts, Peter avoided Harry, and Harry ignored Peter.
Gwen tried to play go-between with them, but Harry wasn’t in the mood for it that day.
“He’s still mourning,” Gwen said loudly, so fucking loudly, while she walked Harry to his locker so he could grab books for his first class of the day. “You just have to give him time.”
Harry hummed and tried to make his clumsy fingers work on his lock. Why did lockers even need a lock? All Harry had in his were textbooks, notebooks, and a mess of ink pens and dull pencils. Who would bother stealing them?
When a sudden rush of anger about why he had to lock up bloody pencils washed over Harry, he swatted the lock harshly and caused it to bounce off the metal and then settle right back in place.
Mocking him.
“What’s your code?” Gwen asked, nudging Harry to the side with her hip.
“07-03-01,” Harry told her flatly, glaring at the lock like it was the root cause of all his problems.
Gwen looked at Harry and grinned, little dimples popping in her cheeks. “As in July 31st?” she checked.
Harry shrugged, refusing to be embarrassed about it. “As in something easy to remember so that my inattentive and wrongly wired and depressed brain can’t possibly forget because it’s TYPED OUT ON MY ID!” Harry aimed a heavy kick to his locker, popping it open the instant that Gwen got the lock off.
“Wow.” Gwen stood there and watched Harry while he glared at the absolute mess inside his locker.
“What?” Harry snapped at her, misplacing his anger at himself, Peter, life, on Gwen.
Gwen, with terrible timing, grinned at Harry and raised a too perfectly shaped eyebrow.
“What’d you get?” she asked.
“What’d I get what?” Harry asked bitterly while he quickly snatched his English textbook.
“Well you got your very own SSRI now, right?” Gwen asked. She crossed her arms over her chest, holding her smile. “So what did you get? Zoloft? Paxil? What pills are making you all cranky and pale?”
Harry waited until the other kids around them, the ones that stopped to whisper about Harry Stark screaming and kicking his locker, wandered off to answer Gwen.
“Lexapro,” Harry told her slowly. “And… and Adderall.”
“Aah.” Gwen looped her arm in Harry’s and smiled at him, Harry’s momentary outburst easily forgiven apparently. “Lexapro is such a bitch, but Adderall? You could totally sell Adderall for like $10 a pop if you wanted.”
Harry still felt crappy, like he was three days post-crucio, but he laughed then in the face of Gwen’s constant pep. Harry swore that the school could explode, hundreds of people could die, and Gwen would find something positive to say about it.
Peter used to agree with him. They used to play a game where they made up increasingly dramatic and morbid situations and then tried to pretend to be Gwen, finding a silver lining.
“Okay, meteor crashes from the sky, blows a hole in the middle of the city, hundreds are dead, more are injured. What’s Gwen say?”
“What an interesting opportunity to study outer space!”
Harry saw Peter up the hall, turning toward his junior English classroom, and he scowled.
“I’ve got plenty of money, why would I sell my medicine?” Harry asked Gwen, his previous mirth gone. “And why would anyone buy them?”
Gwen laughed when she stopped outside Harry’s English class. She patted Harry on the head condescendingly and shook her head at him playfully.
“Oh, Harry, my sweet summer child,” she cooed. “You have so much to learn. I’ll see you later. Toodles!”
Harry stealthily pulled his phone out during his second hour class and hesitated between texting Hermione or searching it up on the internet. In an effort to not listen to Hermione complain about Harry texting her during class, Harry went to the Internet.
‘Selling Adderall for money’
Harry got a crash course on drug use during second hour and just before he walked in third hour he got a text from Tony.
If you need money, let me know. No need to sell your pills.
Harry rolled his eyes and sent Tony a quick reply before he had to go to Spanish.
I’m not. Why are you being nosy again?
Harry pocketed his phone and quickly made his way to class, needing to get there before Peter so he could get a seat away from him.
“Harry!”
Harry looked up from where he’d been glaring at the floor in surprise and saw a girl in his grade, Brittany, waving at him in the back corner of the class. She was one of the ‘art kids’, as Gwen had called her, and Harry had seen her around the school recently.
“Thanks,” Harry said, sliding in the empty corner desk beside her. He hadn’t talked much to Brittany, but every time Harry did she was always polite, if a bit snarky, to him.
Brittany smirked and tucked a lock of her black and green hair behind her ear. “No problem. I figured you were trying to avoid Peter.”
“I am, a bit,” Harry said. He yawned and propped his chin in his hand, exhausted. “And teachers; the more teachers I can avoid, the longer I can sleep.”
“No worries,” Britany said. She stretched out and propped her chunky black boots on the basket of the desk in front of her. “Señorita Carmen won’t see you behind Mike’s big head.”
Harry snorted; their classmate Mike did have a rather large head. It was something Harry never appreciated before he was able to slump down behind him and hope to sleep for a bit.
It was one of the brilliant things about muggle schools, kids just slept everywhere all the time. Harry saw kids sleeping in classes, in hallways, even slumped over the table at lunch.
While Brittany was doodling on the cover of her notebook, drawing little loops that were almost hypnotic to watch come to life, Harry could feel someone looking at him. When Harry lifted his tired eyes, he saw Peter’s bruised ones staring at him from the opposite back corner of the room.
Peter stared at Harry and Harry saw something in his eyes, maybe even regret, but since Peter had embarrassed Harry, yelled at him, and ignored him for days, Harry just yawned pointedly and closed his eyes.
Harry could understand pushing people away and grief, it wasn’t like Harry didn’t understand grief, but Harry wasn’t going to be screamed at in the middle of the hallways.
It was embarrassing, it was demeaning, and personally Harry felt like he was six years old, stuffed in a cupboard, every time someone screamed at him.
So fuck Peter…
Peter…
Harry peeked one eye open to squint at Peter while Señorita Carmen began discussing what they would be going over that day.
What the hell was Peter’s middle name? It sounded better in Harry’s head to curse at him when he had the full name. It was like when Molly yelled at Ron or when Harry lectured Sirius…
Harry quickly ripped a scrap piece of paper out of his notebook and scrawled a question on it. He handed it to Brittany who nodded and stealthily handed it to the girl on her other side. Harry tracked the paper until it was slid on Peter’s desk.
Peter glanced down at the paper and frowned, he scribbled something and then passed it back without ever even looking at Harry.
When Brittany gave Harry back the note, Harry saw that Peter answered his simple question.
Fuck Peter Benjamin Parker.
Harry half-arsed dozed through third period, and fourth, and when lunch started he went out front to sit on the wall in front of the school. There were others out there, swapping snacks and chatting together, but Harry wanted to sit by himself for a while.
He pulled his phone out, plugging in his headphones and turning on something loud, and saw that Tony had text him back.
I get alerts when you start googling drugs. How’s your day?
Crappy but I think I found a way to make easy money.
Kid, the dimes and nickels still confuse you and now you’re going in the drug trade?
Harry scowled, it made no sense for the larger size coin to be worth less than the smaller silver one.
You did drugs.
Yeah, but I didn’t sell them. Plus, if you’re trying to make money in New York, cocaine is worth way more than your medicine.
Harry considered the side effects of what the Internet said about why people without ADHD wanted to buy Adderall.
If I open the capsules and the powder in them is white, do you think I can sell it to stupid kids and call it cocaine?
Tony almost immediately sent an entire screen full of faces laughing so hard they had tears coming from their eyes.
That’s my boy. Don’t sell your pills. Stay awake during your classes. Love you.
Since it seemed like Tony had Harry’s schedule memorized to the second, Harry just finished reading his message when the ball rang for fifth hour.
But when Harry hopped up and began winding his headphones up to stuff them in his pocket, he saw a bloke standing across the street on the sidewalk wearing a black jacket and ball cap. Harry blinked, and he was gone.
Which meant that the pills were giving Harry hallucinations as well, which was so bloody brilliant that Harry couldn’t even find the words to describe it.
Harry felt like fifth and sixth hour passed in a foggy haze, just a blur of words and piles of homework being handed out.
In Harry’s opinion, Mister Lee gave out more chemistry homework than even Snape on his worst day did.
Seventh hour was miserable though, Harry hated seventh hour. He liked it at first, but Harry hated it then. Seventh hour was when Harry was forced to participate in gym class and watch Peter run up and down the basketball court in shorts and a tshirt, never breaking a sweat, and making everyone else look like uncoordinated toddlers in comparison.
And when Harry was feeling like he was going to throw up or pass out and his fingers were clumsy and shaky, it was even worse.
“Line up!” Coach Mann, the actual name of the burly and mustached basketball coach and gym teacher, blew his whistle and had everyone line up in their gym clothes at the start of the period.
“Listen up! Thanks to a recent injury,” Coach Mann turned and narrowed his eyes at Ashley Corduroy, a pretty junior girl who was using crutches ever since she broke her ankle playing volleyball last week, “we’re going to start a new unit. How many of you have heard of cornhole?”
Harry didn’t raise his hand since he didn’t know what corn had to do with gym class, and Flash seemed to shoulder Harry on purpose when he raised his hand high.
“What’s wrong, Stark? They didn’t have sports in your fancy private school?”
“Shut up, Flash,” Peter snapped from down the row where Harry stood.
Harry turned his head and glared at Peter. “I don’t need your help, Parker.”
“I’m sorry, am I interrupting your date, gentlemen?”
Harry straightened up and glared at the floor with his face burning at Coach Man’s remark that the rest of the class snickered about.
“No, sir,” Harry mumbled, an echo to Peter’s own reply.
Coach Man started practically screaming the rules of ‘cornhole’ to them and Harry couldn’t really understand how it was meant to be a sport, but it didn’t sound very hard either.
“When I say your name, grab your partner and go stand by a board!” Coach Man yelled. “Adams and Castillo, Devon and Drayson.”
Harry had never been so thankful that Tony registered him as Stark as he was then. It would have been annoying beyond belief if he had to—
“Parker and Stark!”
Harry looked over and saw Peter staring blandly at him.
Why couldn’t Tony’s last name be… Zook?
Being Harry Zook would be loads better than being Harry Stark was in that moment.
Harry snatched four red beanbags and then backed up by the blue board across from Peter and his red board.
“You can go first,” Peter said flatly, avoiding meeting Harry’s eyes.
“Fine.” Harry grit his teeth and then tossed the beanbag, over-shooting the board and watching his bag land on the floor behind the board.
“Not so hard, Stark!” Coach Man barked, roaming around the room and getting paid to critique the way teenagers threw beanbags.
Harry’s irritation shot even higher when Peter tossed his underhand and made it land right in the center of the board by Harry’s feet. Harry threw his next one and it hit the board but didn’t make it in the hole.
“God damnit,” Harry breathed quietly, losing his temper for no real reason.
“You almost had that one,” Peter said lightly. He tossed his, another perfect shot, and had the audacity to grin at Harry.
And Harry, who had already felt like he was on a spinning ride of anger that day, did something incredibly stupid.
Harry grabbed one of his beanbags and took a step forward so he could throw it as hard as he could right at Peter’s stupid, bruised face.
“What the hell?” Peter caught the beanbag before it could even hit him and he glared at Harry. “You’re throwing shit at me now?”
“You’re talking to me now?” Harry asked. “What happened to your bloody space?”
Peter threw the beanbag he caught at Harry and Harry barely caught it before it smacked his forehead.
“You don’t understand,” Peter snapped. “You’ve got no freaking clue what I’m dealing with!”
“Yeah?” Harry threw the beanbag as hard as he could and scowled when Peter easily caught it. “You’re right, Peter, I’ve got no idea what it’s like to lose anyone! Not me, I’ve got no bloody clue at all!”
“Parker! Stark!”
“YOU’VE GOT YOUR DAD! I WATCHED THE ONLY DAD I’VE EVER KNOWN BLEED OUT ON THE STREET!” Peter screamed, ignoring the coach just as Harry did. “I COULD HAVE SAVED HIM, HARRY, AND HE DIED!”
“BOO FUCKING HOO!” Harry shouted. “I SAW MY CLASSMATE, A NICE KID, A FUCKING SEVENTEEN YEAR OLD, DIE LAST MAY! AND I COULD HAVE SAVED HIM BUT I DIDN’T! YOU DON’T SEE ME BEING A DICK OVER IT!”
“OH, REALLY?” Peter laughed hatefully and Harry felt his entire blood boiling angrily. “I GUESS THAT’S JUST ANOTHER FREAKING SECRET YOU GET TO HAVE!”
“I HAVE A HUNDRED SECRETS AND I’M NEVER TELLING YOU ANY OF THEM!”
Harry was caught by surprise when Peter threw the beanbag at him, smacking him hard enough in the head that Harry fell backwards on his arse.
“Oh, shit.” Peter ran to Harry, shoving past Coach Man, and crouched down beside him. “Shit, Harry, I’m sorry.”
Harry flinched away when Peter reached out for him and reached up to touch his head where the beanbag hit him.
“I’m bleeding,” Harry said disbelievingly, looking at the dab of blood on his fingers. He looked over at Peter with anger and shock burning in his eyes. “You made me fucking bleed.”
Peter was pale, the bruise on his left eye a startling dark circle in his colorless face. “Harry, I’m sorry, I- I didn’t…”
Coach Man stormed over to them slapped his hand on Peter’s shoulder, causing Peter to twitch.
“Parker, Stark, get to the principal’s office now,” he growled. “Move!”
Harry scrambled to his feet, his fingers absently pushing against his head, and tore through the gym, ignoring the whispers and laughs of his classmates, so he could grab his backpack and go to the principal’s office.
Fuck Peter Benjamin Parker.
Harry was so anxious while he sat outside the principal’s office, waiting for the principal to call Tony, that he felt like he was going to be sick.
Why had he started a screaming match in the middle of class? Why did he throw that first beanbag?
Harry bit his lower lip hard and bent at the waist, gripping his hair tightly and trying to keep from actually sicking up in the hallway.
“Harry, I’m so sorry.”
Harry ignored Peter. It wasn’t entirely Peter’s fault, Harry had been the one to throw the first beanbag. Sure, Peter was the one who threw a little bag hard enough to cut Harry’s forehead, Harry was the one who was stupid and impulsive and couldn’t just act right.
And since the only dad Peter had ever really known was dead, Harry was the one who was about to find out what Tony was going to do when Harry got him called for getting in a fight.
“You look like shit, kiddo.”
Harry looked up quickly enough to give himself vertigo and let out a heavy sigh of absolute relief to see Sirius strutting down the hallway with his hands in his jean pockets and a crooked smile on his face.
“Oh, thank God.”
Harry jumped up and rushed to Sirius, gripping him in a fierce and hard hug.
“Where’s Tony?” Harry asked after he let go of his godfather who had never looked so perfect before in Harry’s entire life.
“Working,” Sirius said breezily. “He said he got a call from your school and I offered to come pick you up. Is this the headmaster’s office?” he asked, nodding to the principal’s office.
“Yeah.” Harry glanced uneasily at Peter, who was looking away with a clenched jaw. “Don’t- don’t say anything stupid,” Harry warned Sirius in a whisper. “He’s the principal and if I get expelled then Tony’s going to be furious.”
“Me? Say something stupid?” Sirius laughed and ruffled Harry’s hair, ignoring Harry’s wince at the dull pain he’d had in his head all day. “You’ve got me mixed up with someone else, kiddo.”
“Muggles are a mystery, mate,” Sirius said while he guided Harry down the hallway to the exit after his quick conversation with the principal. “Oh, and you’re expelled for three days.”
“That’s perfect,” Harry sighed. “Just when Tony and I are getting along… Sirius, you brought the bloody Ducati?” Harry demanded when they got outside and he saw the flashy red motorcycle of Tony’s sitting in front of the school.
“Course I did,” Sirius laughed. He climbed on the bike, throwing his leg over it gracefully then patted the seat behind him. “I don’t know how to really drive Tony’s cars, I’m not being escorted around like some posh prat, and Tony said this baby’s all mine. Let’s go home, kiddo.”
Harry rolled his eyes and climbed on the bike behind Sirius, wrapping his arms around Sirius’ waist and gripping tightly. Sirius drove like a maniac and Harry wasn’t going to get another head injury before Tony even got a chance to kill him himself.
When the bike peeled off, Harry had a fleeting image of a man with a ball cap and a black jacket on, just standing against a lamppost.
Harry couldn’t see his eyes, but he got the peculiar feeling the bloke had been watching him.
“What are you doing?” Harry reached out and grabbed Sirius’ wrist quickly when they made it back to the tower and Sirius went to get off the lift at the wrong floor.
Sirius turned and looked at Harry with a confused pucker between his eyebrows. “Going home?”
“You’re- you’re not going up with me?” Harry asked.
Sirius gently removed Harry’s hand from his wrist and placed a soft touch to Harry’s shoulder. “Harry, the worst he’s going to do is ground you,” Sirius said, his tone earnest and honest. “He’s not going to hit you or scream, alright? And if he does, call me and I’ll come kick his arse.”
“Swear?” Harry asked. He had to swallow to make his voice not sound so choked. “Siri, you swear you’ll come up if I call you?”
“Always,” Sirius promised. “Your dad’s a good man, you’ll be fine.”
“You’re just saying that because you shagged him,” Harry said, working hard to detach himself from the anxiety and fear that was pooling in his stomach.
Sirius laughed and stepped off the lift and gave Harry a cocky salute. “A good man with an excellent arse. Good luck, kiddo.”
Harry swallowed hard and looked up at the top of the lift when the doors closed and Harry was moving up to the top floor he shared with Tony.
Tony having what Sirius dubbed an ‘excellent arse’ had nothing to do with him being pissed that Harry got in a fight and got suspended for three days from school.
“Jarvis?”
“Yes, Mister Harry?”
“What… what kind of mood is Tony in?”
Harry waited while his heart raced in his chest, knowing Jarvis would respond, he always did.
“Based on Mister Stark’s facial expressions and the vocal pitch he is using, I would say that he is mildly to moderately irritated and will likely want something with sugar in it for dinner.”
Harry couldn’t even smile at his and Jarvis’ system. Jarvis began tracking what foods people wanted for meals based on their moods during the day. If Tony was ‘mildly to moderately irritated’ then Harry really didn’t want to step off the lift.
Then the bell dinged and Harry squared his shoulders, reminded himself he used to be a Gryffindor, and resolutely went to Tony’s office to get it over with.
“Come in,” Tony called after Harry knocked on his door.
Harry took a very deep and very slow breath and then he stepped in Tony’s office and shut the door behind him with his back pressed against it.
“Wow, you look like hell.” Tony spun in his desk chair and whistled loudly. He did look irritated, he had lines across his forehead and the dark green tshirt he wore was wrinkled with oil stains all across the front. “I hope you beat the hell out of that kid, I never did like him.”
Harry barely caught himself before reminding Tony that he once blackmailed Harry to text Peter. Instead, Harry just stood there silently and watched as Tony tossed a green tennis ball in the air and caught it a few times.
“You wanna come sit or do you wanna just stand there and squint at me?” Tony asked after a minute. “I figure we should probably talk about this mess.”
Harry nodded and slowly moved in the room, sitting stiffly on the edge of his seat with his spine ramrod straight.
“So…” Tony tossed the ball in the air and caught it, a small blip in Harry’s radar. “What happened?”
Harry tucked his hands under his thighs to keep from twisting them around. “I don’t know, I’m sorry.”
Tony wasn’t even looking at Harry, he was watching his ball. “Principal Hardass said you and your geek got in a fight in the middle of gym?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” Tony asked, his nose crinkling up in either anger or confusion.
“I don’t know, I’m sorry,” Harry repeated automatically. He really didn’t know, he just…
“I just got mad,” Harry blurted. “I threw the beanbag and I started yelling and I’m sorry.”
Tony sighed and tossed his ball once more before setting it on his desk and fixing Harry with a look that Harry couldn’t begin to interpret.
“You good?”
“What?” Harry blinked. “I- I’m fine.”
“Your principal said you got hurt,” Tony said. “Move your hair so I can see your forehead.”
Harry did it on reflex, inching back when Tony frowned.
“God damn, what’s that kid eating?” Tony asked. “You’re going to have a goose egg tomorrow. Do you need Tylenol or something?”
“I’m fine,” Harry said. He dropped his hair and smoothed it down before tucking his hands back under his thighs. Harry stared at the desk, watching where Tony’s fingers were, and waited for Tony to start screaming or- or whatever he was going to do.
All Harry heard for almost two minutes was a clock ticking and the occasional vibration of Tony’s phone from his desk drawer.
“Uncle.”
Harry blinked and glanced up to meet Tony’s eyes. “Pardon?”
“Uncle,” Tony repeated. “It’s a universal sign for ‘I give’. I’ve got no idea why you look like we’re at a funeral or why you got in a fight with your friend today. So, uncle.”
“I don’t know why we got in a fight,” Harry said to Tony’s hands. He cleared his throat, embarrassingly feeling like he was going to cry. “I’m sorry.”
“Quit saying sorry!” Tony smacked his desk and Harry twitched back in his chair.
“Damn it, kid.” Tony sighed again and then dropped his head on the desk face down. “Damn it, Harry. Just- just go to your room or something.”
Harry jumped up at once and went straight to his room. He ignored his dog and his owl and stripped his clothes off, leaving them in the middle of the floor, and climbed in the shower after turning the water as hot as he could.
For someone he never planned to like from the start, Harry felt miserable that he and Tony were clearly fighting again.
“Harry? Can I come in?”
Harry was sitting at his desk, trying to make a start on the homework he’d been assigned and he called out a quiet agreement.
“Hey.” Tony opened Harry’s door wide open, letting Joey escape to the sitting room, and leaned against the door jam. “Whatcha doin’?”
“Spanish,” Harry told him.
“¿Cómo te va?”
Harry blinked dumbly at Tony and Tony grinned.
“Not so good then,” Tony quipped. He ran a hand through his hair and looked older than usual when he crossed his arms and rested his head on the doorway. “Look, I didn’t mean to snap at you, but you were just sitting there staring at me like I was going to hulk out and bash your face in. And it just- you just look so damn much like me, you know?
And now I’m babbling because I think you thought I was going to hit you and it pissed me off because you shouldn’t think that. Kids shouldn’t think that, alright? So… so I’m never going to hit you.”
Harry licked his lips and thought of the way that Tony never lied to him. Harry lied to Tony all the time, about stupid stuff, but Tony hadn’t lied to Harry as far as Harry knew.
Tony might have claimed ‘uncle’, but Tony wasn’t Harry’s uncle.
Tony was his dad.
“I’m nauseous,” Harry said quietly. He held his hand out and let Tony see how his fingers were shaking. “And I’ve got a tremble.”
“Those are pretty common side effects of the medicine you’re on,” Tony said. He stepped through the room slowly and reached out to lightly grasp Harry’s hand, studying it closely like he did the experiments he worked on in his lab. “If it’s still going on Monday, we’ll ask Strange about it, alright?”
“Alright,” Harry agreed quietly, feeling odd.
“And,” Tony dropped Harry’s hand and grinned at him, “you’re grounded. Not my idea, it was all Pepper, but you’re grounded all weekend.”
“What does being grounded mean, exactly?” Harry asked curiously. He’d heard of people being grounded, but Harry personally had never been grounded.
“No idea.” Tony laughed and messed his hair up again. “It’s been a shit day and I’m going to be gone this weekend. Want to go hit the Xbox? I can make the captions in Spanish so it totally counts as homework.”
Harry closed his textbook immediately and felt something heavy float off his shoulders when he followed Tony to the sitting room.
And Jarvis was right, Tony had wanted something sweet for dinner. They shared a pizza and a brookie while Tony refused to speak English for the rest of the night, claiming it was part of Harry’s punishment and education.