Chapter 3
It’s not often that Tony gets embarrassed.
He means, yeah, there have been some incidents that he’s not been proud of, and by some, he means a lot. Just ask Rhodey. Actually no, no no, don’t. Ignorance is bliss and all that crap.
But, if someone was to ask him right here right now, ‘Tony, most embarrassing moment, go!’ He’d instantly, with no hesitation whatsoever, think about last night. And not in the fun way.
Fuck. Tony is an idiot.
He didn’t mean to have the dream, and by dream he means ridiculously over the top nightmare that he genuinely has suspicions that it was conjured by some beyond evil force of nature. He shakes thinking about it, so with all his mental strength he attempts to push it from his mind. But he can’t.
He had dreamt about the Crash.
He was in the car with them, staring at the motorway and having the distinct feeling he was forgetting something, when he had looked to his right. Instead of seeing Howard, he saw himself, bottles of scotch cradled by both of his hands instead of them on the wheel. He had started to panic because no one was driving this wasn’t safe and his mother was in the back why was he drinking with his fucking mother in the backseat-
He remembers waking up, a scream yanked from his throat violently and he couldn’t breathe, but why should he have? Why was he breathing when he should have been there, he should have been driving had he known Howard was drinking. He could have saved her.
He remembers a hand on his shoulder, and he knew it was Harry’s he knew that, but it had felt like Howard’s own scorching form of comfort and it had made him clam up, because how could Howard have done that? Why did he do that to himself? To her?
He remembers Harry. How she spoke to him with such warmth and sadness in the depths of her eyes and how he felt increasingly grounded, all because of her. How she felt saddled up next to him and how her hair smelt like vanilla and sugars and spice and everything nice. (He’s allowed to embellish this, okay? It’s his story, fight him.) And he remembers waking up in the morning, actually refreshed but alone, with a note next to him on the bed saying, ‘Went to get breakfast for us. I’m assuming you also like coffee, xx.’
So, yeah, all in all, Tony feels embarrassment to his inner core, like he no longer has organs in his body, it’s all been replaced by volumes of humiliation. It sucks.
So, like any normal person in their right mind would do, he has decided to ignore what went down last night and pretend that it never happened.
Harry seems to be fine with Tony acting like it never occurred at all in no way ever. She hasn’t said anything about what he’s now calling That Incident and is going with Tony’s flow. (Okay that sounds weird. Letting Tony take control? No that’s worse.) What he’s trying to say is that she’s not talking about last night, and the most she’s done to remind him of That Incident is the occasional side eye she gives him around once an hour. So all in all, it’s nothing too extreme.
But, they’ve been driving (he’s driving this one time- as long as no alcohol is in the vehicle he has a grand old time behind the brakes- and the car is awesome, its wheels are so smooth he’s basically driving on a cloud), and apart from the music blaring out the radio not much has been said between them, unless Tony’s ramblings count. They don’t.
“Where are we?” He asks after a while, because the silence is irritating, and shouldn’t Harry speak all the time? With her accent, it’s a travesty that she doesn’t talk all day every day.
“Shouldn’t you be the one to tell me? You are the one driving, after all.”
“That’s where you lose the argument, Harry Poppins. See, as the driver I have to control where we go, and I have nothing to offer with my hands since they’re gripping the wheel. Plus I heard women can multi-task, so, don’t prove women wrong.”
“Taking on the honor of representing women everywhere, I’m pretty sure we’re in Ohio. I saw a sign back earlier, but men can’t multi-task, so I didn’t want to distract you.”
“Ohio,” he says bemusedly, because out of all the places they could be in right now, they’re in Ohio. “Well that’s…fun?”
“Why the cold shoulder for Ohio?” Harry asks, eyebrows raised in question.
“Meh. Nothing much. Haven’t heard anything good. But the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame’s here, which would be awesome for me but you’d hardcore get booed from the scene, Miss What’s AC/DC. There’s also the National Museum of the US Air Force, which is pretty much Rhodey’s wet dream. Yeah I take it back, Ohio’s sexy.”
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Ohio is not sexy.
They end up getting lost. They are stranded in the Middle of Nowhere (beautiful town, very easy to get to if you have no sense of direction) and Tony wants to pull at his hair, but reconsiders it when he remembers that Howard was starting to bald before the Crash. Next to him Harry stares at the map in her hands in dismay.
“I don’t think we’re going to be able to see the Rock Hall of Fame.” She sounds very guilty, but hello? Tony was the one driving, it’s his fault.
“Meh, it’s probably shit anyways. Besides you wouldn’t get any of the culture there.”
“We already established that.”
“It’s worth repeating. I need to buy you all rock bands that are worth remembering, pronto.”
“Wasn’t rock a thing, twenty years ago? I’m no expert”-
- “You don’t say”-
-“But I was under the impression pop had taken over?”
“If you say you’re a fan of the Spice Girls I will drive off without you. I’m not kidding.”
“The what?”
“Thank God.”
“We need to focus Tony. We’re stuck somewhere… it appears to be a charming town.” She notes, and Tony wants to chuckle, because only Harry would find a town charming.
“And look!” She points to a building in the far distance, making the rural town have more urban qualities than he expected. “That seems to be a convention of some sort, look at the banners and cars lined up. Seems we’re not stranded after all.”
Tony squints to read the banner title, and when he manages to read it, his lips pinch together. He feels like he’s tasted something sour. “Yeah but look. It’s a book convention.”
Harry spurts out a laugh, her eyes full of mirth and humour. “Remember how I said we should go to a tea convention? This is the next best thing!”
“Harriet Potter”, Tony warns. A fucking book convention.
“I thought you liked books!” Harry protests, pretending to neutralise her face when he gives her an unimpressed glare.
“Fun books! Like science stuff! Vernor Vinge, Connie Willis- man 1992 was a good year.”
“Okay, okay, we’re not going in. I’m just interested in muggle books, I suppose.”
“What’s muggle?”
“Oh, I mean current. Current books.”
“Uh huh.” He does not believe her. What is muggle? Is that an English student thing? Oh God, she wants to do English Literature as her college degree, doesn’t she?
“I do want to go inside though. We’ve been travelling for around five hours now, and that’s just today. I need to use the loo, and”- she goes to the trunk of the car, opening it and taking out a plastic bag. “What I find is that in public places, they have…free food!”
Tony’s mood immediately shoots up, clever girl. “I do love free food.”
He really does. Harry beaming at him is a small bonus.
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“Why is it that everywhere we’ve been to has no one our age?” Harry asks, looking at her surroundings with curiosity while glancing at the newspaper she picked up from the floor. They’re at the gate of the convention, and outside in the garden everyone is really, really old. Finding someone in their twenties is currently more difficult of an advanced game of Where’s Waldo. Harry’s eyes are wide, and Tony didn’t think they could get any greener, but here he is.
“My guess: people our age are off drinking their body weight. Festivals, raves, clubs. Ooh and surprisingly, orgies.”
Harry turns to give him what he’s now referring to as the ‘This Boy Is on Drugs But I Haven’t Seen Him Snorting A Line Of Coke So Far In Our Merry Travels So I’m Confused’ glance, though he reckons her thought process is a tad more layered.
“I sincerely doubt that people our age are having orgies.”
“That you know of. Not everyone tells you everything, Hot Pot.”
“Oh, so you’ve been in an orgy?” She teases, though her cheeks form a soft red tinge. Aww.
“First of all, lack of respect for my privacy, Potter. Second, it doesn’t count as an orgy if it was in a sex cult.”
“My mistake.” She grins, and coincidentally, his lips turn upwards.
“Buuuuuuuuuuuuut, and I’m not tryna toot my own horn here, I’m gonna be recognised. Inevitable, long awaited really because so far? Been a bit offended with people who don’t know how to read the news.” His stare at her is pointed.
“Ah, but there’s a lot in the news Tony. For example, I read the weather forecast just now in the Ohio paper. Did you know that sunny skies were predicted today? I’ve only seen a grey sky as of yet, and color me disappointed! Might as well be back in England.”
“It’s a shame I didn’t meet you sooner, your life is wild, I’m jealous, look I’m turning green, seriously, look!”
He receives a gentle punch to the arm (she’s always purposefully gentle, it’s so cute, he may as well have met her in Disneyland. At It’s a Small World. Ha! Funny.)
“As for the recognition issue, we could disguise you?” Harry suggests, a devilish smile greeting her face. Hot.
“Yeah, sunglasses and a baseball cap’s not gonna cut it. Sorry babe. Nice try though”, he pats the top of her head and rejoices when she scowls at him, though she doesn’t seem pissed off. What’s it gotta take to piss her off? A rude receptionist, apparently.
“No you arse. There was a joke shop nearby. We could buy you a beard?”
“It would be a great moment for me to come out as gay, right? Then I could just use you, my own free beard!”
Okay, he definitely deserves the smack this time.
-------------------
“I think it looks dashing.” Harry comments, looking at him speculatively. Tony frowns.
“I dunno, a white beard is a bit Gandalf.”
“Who?”
“Huh, maybe the book convention is a good thing after all.”
“Trust me, it’ll make you look wise.” She tries to look as serious as possible, but the ends of her lips begin to twitch, and soon she’s giggling hysterically.
“Laugh it up, Potter”, he says, looking in the mirror of the joke shop. He actually looks good, if he doesn’t say so himself.
“I- I’m sorry,” she chokes out, after she’s stopped laughing. “You actually look rather dashing.”
“Well great minds think alike.”
But then realisation forms on her face, and the good mood dies instantly. He misses it, even if it was at his expense. Why did it go?
“You okay?”
“Mm? Oh yes, it’s nothing. It just reminds me of my late Headmaster.”
“Kinky.” Instead of that easing the tension, it does nothing. Like throwing a glass bottle at a brick wall. There’s a small crease in Harry’s eyebrows which Tony wishes wasn’t there. He may not know her amazingly well, but he does know that that crease forms when she’s thinking too hard, lost in her own world. Tony hates that. He wonders if she thinks of the people she’s lost, probably including that Headmaster. She’s been through so much, how does she do it? How does she smile that carefree smile, how does she get him to mimic her enthusiasm? Tony can fake being an enigma, but Harry actually is one. He hopes one day she’ll tell him what she’s thinking.
Christ, he needs to calm down. He’s known her a few days.
“Maybe I’ll go with another beard.” He takes off his current one, and her eyes snap up to his with a hint of shock, as if she forgot he was there. He’d be offended, but then he’d be a hypocrite.
“Wear what you want, Tony. I don’t mind.”
“I didn’t like the white beard. Didn’t do much for my face shape anyways. Maybe when I’m old I’ll be able to pull it off.”
Harry nods absentmindedly, her finger unconsciously touching her forehead. When he looks closely, he sees a faded scar in the shape of a lightening bolt. Huh.
Tony takes a black beard that sticks on his face, along with a moustache and a pair of round glasses. The cashier looks at him warily, as if she knows him from somewhere, and Tony wants to cackle when he puts his accessories on and the woman loses any familiarity she thought of him. Wicked.
----------------------
The convention is as dull as he thought it’d be. Everyone here seems uptight and rude and dressed way too fancy for a book convention that takes place in the day. He recognises some famous authors so he guesses the event is pretty legit. He’s still bored though. They should be in the Rock and Roll Hall of fucking fame, this is agitating.
“This is jarring!” Harry moans in frustration, pretty much mirroring his own thoughts. “They won’t allow us in the room with all the food unless we RSVP’d. Who the fuck RSVPs to a book convention?!
“Well well well, guess I was right, and you, Miss Potty Mouth, were wrong.”
She pouts. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting free food.”
“Well, looks like we’re in luck”. Tony looks over at the nearby table, seeing that it has all the name tags, and grins, triumphant over his fucking genius. “Because as it turns out, I’ve been listed to attend this convention. I get it, people miss me when I’m absent, curse of being so charming.”
“You’re attending?” She sounds sceptical. Slightly rude there, Potter.
“In a sense.”
“Oh dear, are you trying to be mysterious?”
“It’s part of the package deal, Hottie Pottie. Chicks dig my whole…enigma.” He tries to give her his best pose, but he knows he’s failed when Harry laughs, her eyes lighting up her whole face. It’s ridiculous how sappy that makes him feel, and he’s not a sap. He’s not.
“I’m serious Tony,” but she’s obviously not. “How in Merlin’s name were you invited to a book convention? Have you written something?”
“Okay, I confess, Tony Stark wasn’t invited. But…. Hans Weber was.” He takes the name tag and sticks it on over where he knows his collar bone is.
The dawn of comprehension arrives on Harry’s face, her understanding what he means. Her mouth forms an ‘O’ shape, she looks so innocent he has an urge to cover her in bubble wrap.
“I dunno Tony. What if the people arrive?”
“Nah, we’ll be here five minutes tops. You get the free food, I get the free booze, boom, we’re out. Let’s find you a name”, he looks at the table and there must be someone watching over him because the stars have aligned for him in this moment. “You”, he brings the name tag, sticking it over where he knows her boob isn’t, he’s a gentleman, a tempted gentleman. “Are Leah Dune.”
“Oh no, this is another pop culture reference, isn’t it?”
“Slightly.” He’s not even surprised she doesn’t get the references anymore. Not surprised, just disappointed. So much to teach this young Padawan. “I am Hans, and you are Leah. The spelling’s a bit off for each name yeah yeah, but still, I’m funny and I know it.”
“You’re ridiculous”, she says to him, but they manage to get in, and Harry teasingly bumps her hips with his in silent victory.
-----------------------
Tony distracts the people around the buffet (it’s a buffet! Yay!) while Harry puts everything edible to man in the plastic bag. He’s probably gonna have to eat icing off a tuna sandwich, but did he mention the food is free? He must’ve.
The security guard (in a book convention, man this is a weird place) eyes his beard with a confused expression on his face. It’s obviously one of the fakest beards he’s ever seen in his life, but Tony’s not been recognised, so he has no shame.
“And you are?” A man approaches him to his left. He looks at him like Tony’s an eccentric artist. He might be. He has no idea who this Hans Weber is.
“Hans Weber, at your service.” They shake hands and the man’s snotty face immediately lights up.
“Mr Weber! So lovely to meet you? Last I heard you were on an expedition in Germany!”
“…Ya. Vat happened.”
It’s the worst accent he’s done in his life, he wants to write a letter apologising to Germany. Alas, he’s in Ohio.
“Where do you originate from in Germany?”
“….Jus de local German area.”
The man nods slowly.
“…Berlin, is vere I reside. It is very... vancy.” Oh my God. Shut up.
“Ah I see, I see.” The man looks satisfied enough with his answer, but Tony wants to get out right about now. “And who are you with?”
Tony has an opportunity. He seizes it.
“I apoligize, my English is…. Bad.”
“Of course.” The man says with conviction, and then proceeds to speak. German.
Tony has many regrets.
While this man is speaking this monologue, Tony’s head frantically searches the room for Harry. When he finds her, she appears to be eating a cupcake, her expression at ease. Probably the exact opposite of Tony right now. He tries signalling her with his eyes, and she actually meets them, it’s a miracle. His hopes are dashed though, when he sees her point her thumb to the bathroom behind, grabbing a second cupcake on the way to.
So, using his genius skills (he can do this), he decides to do the only thing available in his arson.
He flees the scene, running at a pace that he’s actually impressed with himself. The last thing he sees before he enters the other room is the man looking around him in bewilderment.
Crisis. Averted.
Harry meets him in the next room.
“You having fun?”
“Ya!” He realises he’s still doing a German accent, stops, then continues in American. “You?”
Harry grins at him. “The food is excellent; the people seem nice enough if a bit stoic when they realise you’re not a worldwide famous author. I took the nametag off when someone asked me about my apparent award-winning bestseller. It seems that to all the men here, they had no idea Leah Dune was so ‘young and fresh looking.” She imitates a leering drooling man, and Tony doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or clench his jaw. He begins to settle on a compromise, which of course to him means an incredibly witty comment, but he then hears his name, his real name, spoken behind him by a middle-aged woman, and all of a sudden his cheeks turn red and nothing matters to him anymore.
“Stark Industries! A tragic story, really.”
“Yes, Howard was truly an innovator. Gorgeous wife, too.”
“Well, yes, yes, but the tragedy lies in that boy! Do they expect him to surge the company upwards? A ruin in the making, really, Howard’s downfall was having a useless son, and only one at that.”
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“Look at the facts, Jim. Howard may have had a sharp mind, but Maria Stark. Not much other than a pretty face. At least the son can write a book about his father. Or perhaps make a film.”
Tony is two seconds away from harming a woman, his temper is flaring so wildly that he thinks he might be sick. Everything around him has become a blur, everything about that night has come rushing back in waves so large he feels like he’s drowning. Before he makes a scene, before he turns around and does something he’ll regret he storms out of the room and finds the nearest bathroom, throwing up all the contents in his stomach. And he thought he was hungry.
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Even though the bathroom is huge, bigger than bathrooms should be, really, he feels so terrifically suffocated. The stalls have no graffiti engraved in the walls, and yet Tony can practically see words written all over them. ‘Useless son’, ‘not much other than a pretty face’, ‘at least the son can write a book about his father!’ The words may as well be carved in his surroundings like a visible scarring dent.
No. He would never be better than that man, that disgusting man who thought it was a good idea to drink when he had, with her in the fucking car. Tony wants to be better than Howard, but he doesn’t think that’s a goal for him anymore. He can’t- what is he doing? He’s literally run away from his responsibilities, he hasn’t bothered to check in with anyone what if they think he’s gone what if they take the company from him he’d have nothing they can’t do that to him he’ll end up like Howard except alone.
But to say that about his mother. To say that about her, who brought him funny plasters when he was hurt to make him laugh, who listened patiently when he told her of a new idea for an invention, who told him that hugs would squeeze all the bad thoughts out- Who was this woman to insult his mother? What was wrong with her what was wrong with everyone-
“Tony?” Harry’s voice is almost as soothing as it was last night, but it still feels like someone’s dumped ice-cold water on his face or shown her a gaping wound with nothing but a plaster on it. Harry repeats her question, this time with a lack of surety. That throws Tony off, because she seems like someone who’d have everything sorted out.
(He knows that’s not true. He realised that when he saw her rage at the bitchy receptionist. He likes that she has a temper, that she’s not perfect, because he understands her. This is all very beside the point, but these days when he digresses he usually thinks of her. When did that become a thing?)
“What’re you doing in the boys’ room, Pottery Barn?” He tries to sound nonchalant. He fails miserably. Too much heavy breathing, he reckons.
“Well, Tony, there’s a little secret I have to tell you,” she jokes, but it falls flat seeing as she has a shitty audience.
He probably hasn’t said something for a while, because Harry speaks again.
“I wanted to make sure you were alright.”
“Oh I’m fine. Fine and dandy. Lucy in the sky with diamonds. Living in that yellow submarine.”
“You’re trying to distract me with pop culture references, aren’t you?”
He can’t get much passed her, it seems.
“I just need a breather. It’s crowded in there.” He admits after a long fucking time. Does she feel awkward? He does. This is kind of like last night, except he can’t just randomly fall asleep to defuse the tension, and by the looks of it, she won’t either. Plus, she’s not cuddled up with him, which isn’t- which is cool.
“And filled with rude people,” she adds, her voice surprisingly bitter. Ah, she must have heard what those people said too.
“It doesn’t matter”. He doesn’t like the defeated tone he’s using, but he can’t help it. They weren’t wrong. They’re not wrong.
“Evidently, that’s not true. You’ll be happy to know that there was an unfortunate incident for a certain group of people. Yes, sadly, someone accidentally spilled a carton of orange juice over the big mouthed ring leader of a group of knobs. Apparently, it was a very expensive dress. The person that spilled it didn’t seem to care though. How sad.”
His mood is beginning to lift, though his heart still feels like it weighs a ton.
“That misfit needs to be taught a lesson.”
“Ah, sadly she ran away before security could dispose of her, not before giving the group the finger, that savage. Currently no one is able to find her. Rumour has it that she’s been rewarded for her heinous crime, however.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes. She has the privilege of talking to a lovely boy who doesn’t deserve the crap people are spewing about him. Behind his back no less, the cowards.”
He doesn’t reply to that, because doesn’t she get it? He isn’t who she thinks she is, and he feels so selfish that he’s trying to hide this ugly part of himself. He just doesn’t want her to leave, is all.
“Stop that?”
“Stop what?”
“Thinking they’re right. They’re not. They don’t even know you Tony, how on earth can they judge you when they have no material about you to go off on other than a media rag column?”
Again, what can he say to that?
“You have a very low viewpoint of yourself,” she notes softly, making his heart stop for a split second. How does she even know that? They’ve known each other for three days.
“I’m Tony Stark.” He snaps in a voice that’s cutting, and he realises that that’s his defence mechanism. Christ, when did his name become a defence mechanism?
“And I’m Harry Potter. Names only hold so much power.”
“Bit lost at that.”
“Well, you have a prestigious name, and your father was well respected, it seems. But that hasn’t stopped the people outside from disrespecting you, his own son, as if you’re not a real person, just another page in a magazine those arses read to escape their boring lives. Take it from me, people will slander your name simply due to their own insecurity.”
He’s a bit gobsmacked (and he doesn’t say gobsmacked a lot, because it’s a weird word) if he’s honest. Not that he’s going to let his shock show.
He’s also glad, that she never mentioned his mother, or any thoughts he’d had about her. Harry probably knows that’s something he doesn’t want to discuss, and he’s… he’s touched.
“That’s… didn’t know you had that whole wisdom appeal going on. Very Obi-Wan Kenobi, if we’re still going on that Star Wars wagon. Actually, scratch that, you’re probably more of a Yoda. Same height and all that.”
“Ah, jokes based on my height, how fun, not to mention very original.” There’s laughter in her gorgeous British speech, so he knows she’s a good sport. And a really, really good person. And mysterious.
“How do you know all that about the media?
She’s silent for a moment, and Tony thinks he may have crossed the line he knew he’d eventually barrel through, but when she replies, her voice is hesitant but sincere.
“I’ll tell you one day. Not soon, but one day.”
He hears a door open and thinks with disappointment that she’s decided to go, which is fine, honest, she has no obligation to him so. But Harry yells out, “Oi mate! You mind? I’m having some me time, go find your own bathroom.” The door then closes with a muttered “Well, I never!”
Finally, Tony cracks a smile.
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Trying to leave the Convention is more of a challenge than expected.
“You! Security have been looking for the both of you, actually.” A security guard marches towards them. Before Tony even thinks about it he’s in front of Harry, who scoffs, her posture screaming ‘bitch please’, and stands next to him, her foot slightly in front so she’s basically become a shield. It’s very attractive, if she was a seasoning she’d definitely be something spicy. Or sweet. Like a spicy cake. He is getting way too carried away with this shitty metaphor.
“Me?” Tony places his hand on his heart.
The guard holds out his finger at Harry, who looks very unimpressed. “That lady you spilled your drink on wants money to pay for her dress. Pay up.”
“That’s no way to speak to Mrs Dune.” Tony interrupts, though he’ll pay for the dress if he has to. Harry did it for him, anyways.
“Good thing you're here too. We received a phone call from a Hans Weber, saying he wasn’t allowed in the convention centre -said his name tag wasn't there. Doesn’t take a genius to guess that the boy in the obviously fake beard with the name tag of Hans Weber had something to do with that.”
Wow, he really lost track of time. Harry and him don't have the best luck do they?
"Oh so Hans Weber shows up but not Leah Dune?"
"They probably have a history." Tony tells Harry confidingly.
"You two wanna shut up and follow me?" The guard sneers, it's a bit much.
“I’m getting some animosity from you, it’s compelling, you’re like a sexy Dracula, I dig it.”
“Tony,” Harry hisses, and if eye rolling was a noise, his ears would hurt like a bitch.
“Nah it’s cool, he can’t prove anything.”
With one swift tear, Harry rips the beard of his face, her eyes brightening at his dumbfounded expression. “Whoops.”
“Harry!” He whines.
“I think it’s time for us to depart,” she says matter of fact to Tony, not giving the guard a second look. It makes Tony feels important.
“You two are coming with me,” the guard approaches them, a bemused expression on his pale face.
“Sorry to waste your time, nice meeting you, bye!” Harry shouts as she takes Tony’s hand and runs with him in tow. Soon they’re both sprinting as the guard tries to keep up with them. They’re both laughing and breathless when they reach the car, and Tony has never felt like this before. He feels free. Why was he thinking that he’s neglecting his responsibilities? He’s seventeen, he’s allowed to have fun, he’s allowed to do what he wants and who cares if Howard would disapprove? He’s gone now, Tony can’t change the past (that would be cool though) and he’s going to be better than Howard was. Not that he’ll be anything like Howard though, no.
He’s not going to be a Howard, because Howard never had a Harry.