Chapter 2
If Harry strains her ears, she can almost hear Hermione’s protests for her current life choices.
It’s not that Harry feels any regret whatsoever for what she’s doing, it’s just that she understands, that, from an outsider’s perspective, this might be a tad barmy.
But, in her defence, this wasn’t part of her agenda. She had gone to the graveyard with the hope that she would perhaps toughen up and face her sister- well, if Hermione’s name inscribed on stone constituted much of the actual person- Harry won’t get into that thought process again. That would dampen her mood, which would be a shame really, because Harry finds herself embedded in so many emotions and none of them are currently on the negative side.
She doesn’t know what to make of Tony.
Not that she’s wary of him, she’s not. Well, she was a bit at first, it’s unfortunately something the Wizarding World has ingrained in her so thoroughly, this lack of trust from anyone that isn’t her family. But Tony doesn’t appear to want anything from her apart from some companionship and that’s. That’s warming.
In fact, Harry cannot read Tony the way she usually does with those she comes into contact with. The boy in question is currently staring out the window of the corvette as she drives, his sunglasses reflecting the open road, and his face is relaxed. There’s so much Harry wants to say to him (thank you for doing this thank you for saying yes thank you for being in this car right here right now), but she finds that if she did try to say all of this she would burst into tears in sheer relief of his presence. That would frighten anyone away, including Harry. She grips the steering wheel tightly to ground herself in the moment. Briefly turning to Tony, Harry gives him a smile.
“I’m surprised you did this.” Her voice comes out incredibly soft, showing her sincerity. Tony gives her a surprised look, like what they’re doing isn’t something he’d thought they’d actually discuss.
“Yeah, well, you know me, I can never refuse a pretty lady.” He gives her a sly wink with a cheeky grin(Harry finds it rather charming, because it fucking is), but Harry isn’t stupid. She knows he’s avoiding any serious discussions, and it’s actually a relief. Harry doesn’t know what she would’ve done if Tony replied with some philosophical response. She bites the inside of her cheeks at that thought, because she’s known the boy a day and knows for an absolute fact that if he’d started sprouting philosophy she’d check for a temperature.
“Ooh is that a smile? She’s smiling five minutes in, this trip’s gonna be fun.”
“Oh, you don’t know that. This could be extremely boring. Perhaps I’ll take you to a tea convention. Imagine that, Tony, us sitting around and drinking tea.”
“You’re hooting your own British stereotype horn there, Harry-Warry-Woo. And who knows, maybe I love tea. Maybe that’s why I went off with a Brit, my goal is to get in those tea conventions the UK’s been holding out on us Americans.”
“I have yet to understand your thought process.” Harry muses (Harry-Warry-Woo? Oh dear.) She’d pay money for Ron to be here, he and Tony would get along like a house on fire.
She’d pay money for Ron to be here for a lot of reasons- no, no not there, back away from the Black Thought Hole, Potter.
“You’ll get used to it, you’re kind of stuck with me for a while.” Tony says with humour, but there’s an edge of caution in his tone, as if she’ll decide to sack the whole road trip off. When it was her idea.
Tony doesn’t think very highly of himself, she notes, which is irksome. So far there’s been nothing about him she doesn’t like (apart from his low self-esteem, of course), and even if there was, his positive traits are overwhelming.
In her most sincere tone, she replies. “Good. I am happy it’s you. Yeah?”
She knows she’s being rather intense, but Tony needs to understand that he’s not some sort of burden, like a piece of luggage that should currently be in Harry’s trunk. He is infinitely better than that.
From the corner of her eye, she sees him give her a brief glance, a slight freeze in his posture. He turns back to the window, a subtle clench in his jaw.
Fuck. Harry didn’t mean to make this awkward. She quickly turns on the radio in the car, relieved when Tony perks up from whatever state she threw him in. He recognises the song playing, and starts singing along, taking off his sunglasses and using them as an apparent microphone. He’s lost in his own world for a bit, then turns to her with a sloppy grin.
“Come on Hare-Bear, sing it with me.”
She flashes him a careless shrug. “I would, but I’m afraid I don’t know the song.”
As soon as she says this, Tony switches off the radio. “Say it isn’t so.” His face is morphed into mock betrayal, one hand over his heart. He does seem quite genuine in his confusion, though.
“It is indeed.”
“Harry! It’s the Final Countdown!” When her expression is set in stone (because what, she doesn’t know what that is, is that bad?) he continues. “Doo doo doo doo”, he sings in a high-pitched voice to the beat of the song she vaguely remembers hearing five minutes ago, as if Harry will suddenly smack her head and go, ‘Oh! That song! How silly of me! I didn’t remember it when it was playing, but you singing it takes me back to when I saw them live!’
Her face shows no familiarity. She’s taken back to yesterday, when Tony looked like a bird had shat on his shoulders due to her not knowing who he was. He’s utterly ridiculous, it’s rather sweet.
“Harriet, Harriet, Harriet. So much I have to teach you. That’s not even the good stuff. You heard of AC/DC? Led Zeppelin?” The next words are stuttered out like he’s genuinely pained. “Black Sabbath?”
“Well, now you’re just saying words.”
His shock is real, and Harry honestly feels bad for a solid second, before she remembers she doesn’t know much about music, she hasn’t just sacrificed his first-born child.
“I’m legitimately tempted to jump out of this car.”
“Ah, best do that when we’re off the motorway”-
“Or maybe we should go to your hometown? How far away is the rock you lived under?”
Harry blindly throws whatever she can reach at him (“Ooh Harry look! Gum!”) and after that, it’s not awkward at all.
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The hotel they stop by is a bit bland looking and saying it’s dingy is polite, but Harry’s hungry and tired and is worried Tony’s going to catch her in her increasingly bad mood before she can eat and sleep, which is not something someone who’s known her for almost two days should have to see. In said past two days she’s started to care about this boy’s opinion, she doesn’t want him to see her and think, ‘woah! High maintenance’, especially since she can actually imagine him voicing that thought to her. There’s also the chance that he could leave, and that’s- no, no she doesn’t want that. Not at all.
“This is joyous,” Tony walks into the reception area as if he owns it, looking at the décor surrounding him with a slight grimace. In all fairness, the walls are coloured an ugly shade of pink. Harry’s reminded of Umbridge, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth as she swallows. “Wow,” Tony looks around, probably noticing that all the people nearby are over the age of seventy, at least, “had I known there was a festival in this hotel I would’ve arrived sooner.”
“I hope no one can hear you.” Harry says to him, though she says it half-heartedly. “Waiters can spit in their customers food and drink. What’s the equivalent to that in a hotel? Pissing on the beds?”
Tony’s snort is loud, and everyone who’s lounging about in reception turns to give him different facial expressions that all translate to ‘shut the fuck up.’ Harry gives his arm a good flick while he tries to pull himself together, Harry herself attempting to reign in her hysterics.
She doesn’t even find her joke particularly funny, but she’s never met someone whose laughter is this contagious.
“We should do fake names.” He whispers into her ear, unknowingly sending tingles that drift down her spine into the formation of goose bumps. Odd. “Like we’re spies or something. I’ve always thought about the James Bond life being for me, so since I’m now friends with an actual English person my goal has actually gotten pretty legit.”
“Now hold on a minute.” Harry won’t even unpack Tony’s statement, it’s more than what Harry and Tony have in the trunk combined. “I’ve heard of the premise for James Bond”-
“Of course you haven’t seen it”, he groans aloud, looking at the ceiling in dismay.
-“But I know that if I’m not James, I’m just the girl he has an affair with and is never heard of again.”
“Oh no, no no”, Tony amends, his voice dripping in sarcasm. “You’re totally Moneypenny.”
“Is that a person? Is that a good thing?”
“Sorry Haribo. Only the people who’ve seen James Bond can answer that, whoops, my bad.”
Before Harry can give him a smack (a gentle one of course, Harry’s not an animal), the receptionist sitting at the front desk clears her throat, a forced and suspicious smile on her face. Harry does realise that she and Tony have been standing in the middle of the area for quite some time, but she still finds herself unnecessarily annoyed by the woman’s disruption.
“May I help you two?” The woman is old and has glasses that rest on the tip of her nose, as if she wants people to believe they shouldn’t fuck with her. Her assessment of the woman makes her frown. Harry should stop making assumptions, she can’t judge someone before she knows them.
“Yes,” Harry begins breezily, walking with Tony by her side to the reception desk. “We were wondering if we could have a room?” She immediately regrets the words as they tumble out of her tongue, because she would never want to force someone to share a room with her or assume that is what anyone would want. It’s just cheaper this way. It is.
Next to her, Tony remains still, like he’s not shocked by her suggestion. Maybe her stress has simply been her projecting.
“One room?” The woman raises an eyebrow, looking at them through her glasses as if they’re being ridiculous, or scandalous, or something completely untrue. One of her eyebrows is raised in silent judgement. It makes Harry’s hackles rise, and she remembers why she’s not a fan of talking to strangers. Tony made her forget that, it seems.
“Yep,” Tony says, staring at the old, rude, receptionist with a charming and winning look on his face. His eyes are guarded though, not like today in the car, when he was talking and laughing and singing with Harry. It’s an unwelcome change, but it makes Harry feel better in knowing he’s on the same page as her about the lady at the desk’s self righteous attitude. “You see, the Mrs and I’ve been travelling all day, and sadly she lost her ring in the sink of some gas station. It’s all very dramatic, I’d hate to bore someone as busy as you with the details.”
The woman stares at Harry in consideration, who stares wide eyed back at her, not expecting that at all. Tony lunges on his side to the left of Harry, arm distance, she notices, most definitely avoiding another flick on the arm.
Whatever. Two can play at that game.
“Yes,” she mumbles. “It’s been a hard time. Especially since the old Ball and Chain over here has been telling everyone about the ring fiasco like it’s some trivial gossip!” She death stares Tony, whose mouth is slightly agape in surprise. He snaps it shut, his eyes beginning to twinkle.
“Well, darling, it hurt me as much as it hurt you. Maybe even more.” He points at Harry while looking at the receptionist, who is currently watching them like a game of tennis. “Took me two days to find her the first, what I thought was perfect ring. Guess what? She doesn’t like it, says there are too many diamonds. Takes me another four weeks to find one she’ll love. And where does it go? Down some gas station bathroom”-
“I think we’ve discussed this quite enough.” Harry hastily interrupts when she sees the accusatory stare the receptionist has aimed her way. She might be having way too much fun creating utter crap, but she is not sleeping in the car tonight thank you very much.
“Yes dear.” He replies, giving the woman at the desk a look that screams, ‘what can you do?’
Oh, she’ll tell him what he can do-
“Your names please, to check in.” The woman asks Tony (giving her the cold shoulder, how did this happen?) so Harry tries to get back into her good books.
“I’m…Mary,” Harry says, not giving up the Unspoken Bullshit Challenge just yet, and cautiously giving out her hand for the woman to shake. She tries not to outwardly scowl when the woman shakes it, she doesn’t like to be touched, and wonders if she perhaps shook her hand too hard? She now feels incredibly awkward. She hopes Tony will say something that will ease her state of mind.
“And I’m Joseph.” Tony declares, also shaking the womans’ hand, a victorious expression on his face.
Harry wants to sink to the floor.
The woman gasps, the first real emotion she’s seen from her all night. “No way!”
“Way.” Tony solemnly confirms. “I know what you’re thinking- too good to be true.”
“Isn’t it?” Harry says, smiling through gritted teeth.
“Imagine our shock when we met!” He exclaims, ignoring Harry’s comment. “When we met I thought she was- what’s that British expression? Pulling my leg?”
“Some people deserve a leg pulling once in a while”, Harry says, matter of fact. “Or perhaps just a leg kick?”
“But as we continued talking, I just knew it was fate that intervened.” Tony is looking at the lady with so much seriousness that she’s surprised he isn’t in fact an actor. “And when the time comes for us to have a baby- well, we’re not exactly buying any baby name books, if you catch my drift.”
The receptionist and Tony share a heavy look, and Harry wants to melt into a puddle.
“Anyways”, Harry interrupts their- whatever just happened, and gives the receptionist a tight-lipped smile. “Me and…Joseph, were wondering if we could have a room for tonight. Two beds, please. We’re having marital issues, if you couldn’t tell.”
The woman looks at Harry condescendingly. Like Harry is insignificant, something that she could easily find at the bottom of her shoe. It’s not that that angers Harry, it’s the way she smirks in response to Harry’s question, as if she can easily fix Harry’s problems. It slightly reminds her of people she met after the war, people that would ask her personal questions right off the bat, as if it was in their complete right to know that kind of information. It’s unnerving and makes her visibly bristle, though she knows it’s her own fault the receptionist made her feel like that in the first place.
The receptionist types on the keyboard on her desk, staring at the computer’s results at whatever she’s found. She scans the computer, then scans Harry. Her eyes are sly.
“I’m afraid all our rooms with two beds are full.” Harry knows the bitch is lying. She should definitely stick to her gut more often on the basis of first impressions.
“Are you sure about that?” Harry asks, though it comes out as a demand. Beside her, she can feel Tony’s amusement.
The receptionists’ face is grave, what complete and utter bollocks. “I am sorry for the inconvenience. It’s room sixteen on floor three.” She makes to hand Tony the keys to the room, but Harry snatches it from her withered, clammy palms, not caring for the woman who now looks down right appalled. She turns round and walks up the stairs to their room while Tony pays for it. She'll pay him back later, she nods to herself, she just cant give that woman anything else, she would see it as a waste of time.
“You okay?” Tony asks her once he’s caught up with her and they’re out of earshot, his amusement gone entirely. He sounds a bit wary, and that adds guilt to her anger.
“I’m fine,” she snaps. She then turns to Tony, though she doesn’t look at his face in fear of any the respect he had for her go out the window. She sighs, all her anger swiftly leaving her body. “I’m sorry, it’s not you. I just can’t stand nosiness. People prying in our lives, even if it’s not real, it’s just…it pisses me off.”
When she finally has the courage to look at Tony, he peers seriously at her, his eyes knowing. “I get it.” He mutters, his gaze piercing. “I get that a lot. Stark, remember?” She nods, because from what she’s heard, Tony’s as famous as she is. They’re very similar, she notes, they just come from different worlds.
“How could I forget?” She manages a small smile for him, and that in turn makes him smile again, though his eyes are sad. Harry feels terrible that she made him look like that.
“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” Harry tells him truthfully, hoping they can put this behind them. They were having so much fun.
“You’re gonna have to say a whole lot more to hurt my feelings, Harry- wait, I don’t know your surname, what’s your surname?”
It’s funny that he doesn’t know. Two days and he never needed to know the complete name of his runaway mate. She could lie to him, but she wants to treat him with the respect he deserves, something that awful receptionist didn’t have the courtesy to offer her.
“It’s Potter.” She shares. Harry feels laughter bubble up in her chest when he gives her a look of actual excitement.
“Potter?! I’ve been calling you Hare-Bear when your surname is Potter? You’ve been holding out on me Potter. You know I’m saying that all the time now, right. Potter, Potter. Harriet Potter.”
Nothing more’s said about her anger, but Tony acts slightly different after that. Not negatively, but more at ease, like he’s found something about her that he understands. They enter the hotel room after the surprisingly long stairway, and stare at the scene that’s unfolded in front of them: roses scattered all over the bed with red curtains patterned with tacky hearts, bottles of champagne on either side of the bed placed on red desks. On the bed, instead of normal, human pillows, the ones they’ve been given are in the shape of hearts. It’s a honeymoon suite, she realises, dumbfounded. Turning to Tony, they look at each other for a long five seconds in mute shock, and proceed to burst into heavy laughter, Tony falling to the floor.
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Tony’s gone to take a shower.
That’s not a bad thing, it’s good. He even asked if she wanted to go before him after they ate dinner, very gentlemanly, so it’s good to know he’s both kind and hygienic. It’s good. Hygiene is very important, it’s good to know Tony won’t let her down in that regard, so, yes, that’s good. Great. Fantastic.
It’s just that Harry is now thinking, and consequently that’s leading to some stress. Because Tony didn’t bring any clothes with him to the bathroom, which means that Tony will come out of said bathroom in nothing but a towel.
It is possible that Harry should have at least considered on a deeper level that travelling with an incredibly handsome boy may not have been the best of ideas.
She has to chuckle to herself though, because the one time she’s been rethinking running away with essentially a stranger is when she’s realised she might see him half naked.
Yes, Harry knows she’s a bit of a mess.
She drums her foot against the floor, not knowing what to do with herself at this current moment in time. When packing she forgot to bring a book, so she ends reading the ‘do not disturb’ sign over and over again, tracing her fingers around the letters slowly. Eventually, she realises what the sign could be used for, thinks of Tony in the shower, and blushes for an unreasonably long amount of time.
This is nothing compared to when the boy in question comes out the bathroom.
In nothing. But. A towel.
Fuck.
“I didn’t use all the hot water”, Tony says, sauntering to his suitcase like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Harry averts her eyes out of respect, staring at his face and nothing more. She feels rather proud of herself for every second her eyes don’t stray, if she’s being truly honest. “So the shower’s all yours,” Tony continues, unaware of Harry’s internal predicament. “Unless you’re not into the whole, cleaning self-thing. Which, um, gross, but I’ll get used to it- are you okay?” He frowns. “You’re looking kind of sick.”
“Oh, um, no, no. It’s just very hot in here. Warm! I mean warm. Very toasty. Is there air conditioning in this room?” Perhaps Tony’s rambling is contagious.
“Oh, right.” He goes to the air conditioner when he spots it, noticeably, still in his towel. Was there no robe in the bathroom? Should she request one from a member of staff? He begins to inspect the conditioner, a curious look as he fiddles with the machine hooked in the wall. “Meh, not a great mechanic system. Give me time and I could totally make it better, I’m talking different levels so it can emit different blast strengths. You reckon the hotel would mind if I reworked”-
It’s not that what he’s saying isn’t interesting (like yesterday, she’s struck once again by his intelligence, his mind is fascinating) it’s just that he’s talking. Still half naked. She’s seen this before (of course she knows what a male body looks like), it’s just that this is Tony. He’s the prettiest man she’s ever seen.
Does he not realise? Has it not crossed his mind? Did he not pack clothes?
“Harry?” He looks concerned, and that makes her feel awful. He’s one of the kindest people she’s ever met, and she’s trying not to…ogle him, like some piece of meat!
“You sure you’re okay? Want some water of something?”
“Oh, no I’m so sorry. I just need to- to shower- that’s. Yeah. I’ll be better after my, my shower.
He gives her a slow nod and then an odd look when she all but sprints to the shower. Once she’s inside and has locked the bathroom, she leans against the door, realising that she is quite and utterly fucked.
The soap is in the shape of a love heart though. So that’s nice.
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When she comes out of the shower, she finds Tony in the midst of a nightmare.
He is shaking and moaning, and he clutches the sheet on his lap for dear life, sweating and looking so utterly afraid that her heart plummets down her to meet her stomach. Seeing someone in pain has never sat well with her. She’s reminded of Hermione telling her about her ‘saving people thing’, and scoffs at that thought, because she couldn’t save her, could she? She couldn’t save anyone.
But this isn’t about her, it’s about Tony. He’s suffering, and he’s afraid and all Harry can do is go over to the chair he’s apparently sleeping on.
“Tony”, she whispers, gently shaking him on the shoulder. When he doesn’t respond to that, she shakes him slightly harder. “Tony.”
He’s getting increasingly panicked, which is certainly not good. She finally uses some force, shaking him with much more strength and he wakes with a jerk, his eyes widening in shock and a scream so agonised shooting through the air. He looks around him in confusion, leaning further back when he sees Harry. He doesn’t recognise her for a split second, and when he does, his eyes go bright, and his voice is hoarse.
“Sorry”, he whispers, looking away from her, embarrassed. She places her hand gently on his shoulder, unsurprised when he forcefully shrugs it off. Harry’s not offended, this isn’t about her.
“Don’t be sorry”, she whispers back to him. No one else is in the room with them, but she knows first-hand that speaking loudly will ruin any peace he might have at this moment. She backs away from him, knowing he needs space right now. She sits on the edge of the bed, uncaring that she is probably sitting on a thorn from the roses right about now.
For a while there is silence, Tony’s chest rapidly rising and falling. He’s not having a panic attack, but Harry knows at this rate he’ll get there, so she begins to talk.
“Did I ever tell you about the time Ron threw up all over my teacher’s shoes?” She begins, still whispering though. She won’t make him flinch with normal volume, she refuses to do that to him again.
He shakes his head vigorously, still inhaling and exhaling at a pace that is alarming. “Ca- can you tell- tell me abo- about it?” He asks breathlessly.
“Well, it was at a school event, the Yule Ball. It’s essentially a prom at my school, and. Well, Ron was jealous that Hermione, my friend, was with another boy. He also didn’t like my date, Cedric- though that’s because Ron is very protective of me, a whole different matter. Anyways, Ron is sulking away, like a child having a temper tantrum, while Her- Hermione is dancing with this gorgeous man. And Ron has these- well he had these two brothers, who felt bad for him so gave him copious amounts of fire whiskey, an incredibly potent drink. Two hours later, and Ron throws up all over my terrifying teacher’s shoes. Ron had to clean all of Snape- my teacher- all his shoes for the rest of the school year. Now whenever Ron sees fire whiskey he has this facial expression. If you could see it Tony, you’d laugh hysterically. I wish he was here now, I know you’d just laugh and laugh.”
When she finishes her story, her heart hurts and she wants to cry very much, guilt hanging in the air like foreboding rope. But Tony’s breaths are normal now, and he’s looking at her with such vulnerability that it steels Harry. How can she cry, when she needs to be strong for her friend?
“I can’t wait to meet him one day.” He says, his eyes glistening, though she knows he’d be embarrassed if he realises that.
“You will. Provided you don’t tell him about what we’re currently doing, he’d have a fit.”
He shakily chuckles, lifting himself slightly off from his chair. That leaves Harry frowning.
“Why on earth did you fall asleep on a chair?”
Tony shrugs, still not himself again. It pushes Harry to say what she does.
“Get on the bed. You’re mad if you think I’ll allow you to sleep on a chair.”
His voice is strained. “Nope, then where’re you sleeping? I don’t mind the chair.”
“I mind.” Her tone is not up for debate. Tony and her have a staring contest, before Tony sighs in defeat and shakily gets up, plopping himself on the bed as soon as she’s taken all the roses off. He looks wrecked and numb, so Harry abandons all sense of decorum when she lies down with him.
“Wha- what you doing there, Harry?” He asks in a high pitched almost squeak. Under any normal circumstances that would amuse Harry greatly.
“I’m going to bed. Unless you want me to sleep in the chair?”
“What? No! Of course not. This is good. This is great, it’s, ah, nice.” She places her head on his chest, and he must still be scarred from his nightmare, because his heart is beating very quickly. Tony shouldn’t worry though. Harry will protect him. It’s a melodramatic declaration, she knows, but why sugarcoat her thoughts with an understatement? She’ll protect him, and that’s that.
Cautiously, Tony’s arms wind around Harry, and Harry further burrows her head into his chest. He’s wearing a pyjama shirt, she notes, but Harry wouldn’t have actually cared had he still been in his towel. That is not her main focus anymore. Eventually, Tony relaxes into his position, his arms slightly tightening around her and his legs intertwining with hers. It’s lovely. She could get used to this, though she knows it’s just for tonight.
“Thank you”, he mumbles to her just before she completely drifts off, her arms wrapped around him in her own brand of protection and comfort. And, for a brief second before she’s completely lost to unconsciousness, she feels his head dip down to meet the top of hers, lips pressing gently into her hair. And that’s that.