“Aunt ‘Tunia,” Harry muttered nervously, lisp evident in his voice, “the teacher at school said that today’s mummy’s day so we gotta say thank you to our mummys. So thanks.” He smiled up at the stern woman. The three year old, despite everything they did to him, still felt hope that one day his aunt and uncle would return the affection he always showed them. He hoped that one day he could earn their love because Harry did love them. They were the only adults in his life up until he started nursery a few months back, and he wanted them to care for him like they did Dudley. He didn’t know what it was that Dudley had done to earn their love, because he always seemed to have it, and one time he’d asked him but the bigger boy just shoved him and told him to go away.
Petunia frowned. The boy was being weird again. What toddler remembered things like that? Her precious Dudders hadn’t remembered, and that was fine by her, but the boy was again, constantly trying to one up her son. Just like Lily had done to her.
“I’m not your mother,” she snapped, finishing scrubbing the frying pan she held. She’d tried getting the boy to do it but his weak arms weren’t strong enough to scrub off the dried food so she’d begrudgingly pushed him out of the way and done it herself.
Harry gnawed at his lip in thought. He glanced up at her through his eyelashes, fingers wound together in front of him.
“Where is she?”
“Dead.”
“When’s she gonna come back?”
Petunia’s hand clenched around the pan handle, stupid boy. “Go to your cupboard.”
He was annoying her, and the only reason she hadn’t already struck out at him was because he had school tomorrow and last week they’d been questioning both her and Vernon on account of some weird bruises and the little freak ‘acting off’, so they had to be careful. The stupid boy had apparently fallen off of his chair in attempts to get away from the teacher when she reached for something on the table in front of him. It was hard not to ring the boy’s neck in when they’d gotten a call from the school. Just one more week and then they should be in the clear, just one more week and then they could beat some sense back into the little brat.
“But I need to wish her a Happy Mummy’s Day!”
Petunia spun around, frying pan still gripped in her hand. She at first knocked him in the back of the head and then raised it above her shoulder in a position to swing it down, hard, if the freak gave her reason to.
“Stop asking questions! Dead is gone! Your freak of a mother and drunk of a father are never coming back, because they don’t want you! Go to your cupboard, now!”
“But Aunt ‘Tunia—”
Petunia slammed the pan down on the counter a foot away from where Harry was standing. She watched him stare at the pan in shock for a moment before bolting from the room and slamming the cupboard door closed behind him.
She inspected the counter for damages, but since she found none, she put the frying pan away in the cabinet and decided to add it to the list of things the freak would have to pay for when they were in the clear. Served the little brat right.
~~~~~ Present day ~~~~~
“Daddy?” The little boy jumped onto the bed, startling the man awake.
“Harry? Are you okay, did you have a nightmare?”
“No… but I-I made you something! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have woken you up.” He trailed off at the end, looking away sadly. It was a stupid idea, he probably won’t even like it and will just be annoyed that I disturbed him.
“You made me something?” He asked, scrunching his eyebrows in confusion and sitting up on the bed. The nearly six year old passed him the piece of paper and the daisy flower he’d picked specially for him just that morning. Tony looked at the card and immediately felt his heart seize when he saw it.
‘Happy Dabby Daddys Day!’
There was a drawing of him in the iron man suit, carrying Harry as they flied through the sky. He’d drawn the sun and some trees and Tony thought it was the most perfect piece of art he’d ever seen.
“I wrote on the back too!” The boy added with enthusiasm. He turned it over and ran his finger over the boy’s handprint he’d traced, and then, in pointy blue letters it read:
‘To Daddy fank thank you for being my daddy and always being there for me when I need you. You are my sooper supper hero. I luv you soooo much to the moon and bak. Luv Harry xxxx’
“Oh Harry.” He drew in a shaky breath, trying to hold it together.
“Do you not like it?” He asked timidly, unsure of what to make of the tears piercing the man’s eyes. His magic wasn’t picking up on any sad emotions so he didn’t know what to think.
He pulled the boy into a hug, running a hand through his messy hair when he heard the worry in the boys voice and said, “I love it, I love it so much. These are happy tears. Thank you sweetheart.”
“Really, you like it! You’re not mad at me?”
“Of course not kid, why would I be mad? It’s beautiful.” He chuckled, unaware of just how much courage it took the boy to ignore his inner demons and give him the card after he’d been brutally turned down in a similar situation just two years ago.
“Aunt Petunia didn’t like it when I tried to thank her on Mommy’s day.” He mumbled into the man’s shoulder. Tony just kissed the little boy’s head, containing a sigh as he heard another detail of his son’s horrible past. It had been nearly a year since he’d found out about his son and he’d taken him away from those wretched people, but there was still so much he’d yet to learn about him. All he could do was take it one day at a time, and make sure that every day he told his son just how much he loved him and that he’d never, ever stop.
“Well I love it.” He smiled and Harry beamed up at him. “But not as much as I love you.”
“I love you more.”
Tony gasped in shock, and then with a playful growl he said, “now you take that back you little minx.”
“No.” The child protested, sitting up on his knees, seemingly waiting for what was about to happen.
“Take it back.” Tony tickled the boy’s ribs which had the child bent over giggling and squealing as he half heartedly protested the attack, the other half wanting it to continue.
“Nooo,” the child cackled, gasping for breath.
“Surrender! For no one loves you more than I!”
“Never!”
“All right then, you asked for it.” He lifted the boy up from under his arms, and placed him at the top of the bed. There, he lifted the boy’s top up, exposing his tummy and blew a raspberry onto the exposed skin. The child wiggled in laughter, trying to get away. His face bright red as he was unable to take much more. “Okay, okay, you win!”
The man pulled away to look at the child and with a grin asked, “you surrender?”
Before the boy could protest, his father’s fingers moving to tickle him again made him stop and squeal away, “I-I surrender!”
The child sat up, swinging his legs off the bed, and with a cheeky smirk said, “But I do love you more.” Then ran off before his father could even reply.
“You cheeky little-”