Chapter 9
Consciousness returns to Tony with all the finesse of an ice skater, being thrown across the rink, twice. It's an instinctive wakening though, like his arteries have been clogged with electricity that's jolting and spreading through his body way too fucking fast. His eyes shoot up, his posture immediately straightening and his forehead moves rapidly only to bang against someone else's.
"Fuck!"
"Bloody hell!"
Tony knows that voice, he also should've known that forehead (he'd literally just touched it prior to whatever just happened to him, feeling her, wanting more, wanting to borrow time even just to rest his head to hers) and his attention is pulled to Harry, whose rubbing her forehead while searching his face- as if he's grown a massive zit.
Or just woke up from being...blasted out a door?
Yeah, a zit is less likely, considering the circumstances.
"You okay?" He beats her to the punchline, his eyes roving over her. She seems okay, no blood on her face so most likely no head injury (unless it's an internal wound but crossing that bridge when coming to it and all that), but he stops the FBI inspection when he sees an imprint of a hand.
On her face.
Also noting the cut. On her lip.
He puts two and two together.
"Asking me if I'm okay? Tony, eyes on me, how many fingers am I holding?"
Tony gets up, feeling once again like he's been electrocuted and making Harry slightly jump in most likely alarm. He's decided to go on a little hunt and he doesn't really know what he's thinking of achieving by finding this fucking psychopath, but no one puts a hand on Harry let alone an imprint-
Harry's gotten up, holding Tony as he sways. And, oh. Maybe he hit his head a little harder than he thought. Except he can't have hit it too badly, he feels weirdly fine.
"Tony, hey, hey, stop." She presses, holding his elbows in her dainty hands. He feels a poke in his arm and looks down to see a stick jabbing him. A wand, Patrick had said.
Right, yes. Everything's coming back to him now.
"How are you feeling? I managed to fix your head, I think you may have had a concussion. But, well, I've never been the best at healing. How many fingers am I holding?"
Tony indulges her, staring at her two fingers. "Seventeen."
Harry glares. "Tony."
"Alright, fine, two. What do you mean healing?"
A groan catches his attention, and his gaze flies to a crumpled figure who is clutching his chest. Something feral growls within Tony and he makes to move forward.
"Tony," Harry warns, bringing her hand to meet her chest. "It's alright. He can't hurt us anymore."
"How about I double check?" He tries to get passed her, but Harry's hold becomes more firm. "Harry."
"Tony. Don't do something you'll regret."
Tony stares at her cheek. "I really won't."
"We are taking him to the authorities. I won't have you in trouble, alright?"
"He hit you, Harry. He kidnapped us and he hityou. You can't expect me to just"-
"For now." She interrupts, eyes beseeching. “The bracelet," she holds up her bare wrist, "is off me now, and yet it's weakened my magic considerably. I can't do much at the moment, meaning I can't app- teleport us, to the voices of authority. Meaning we are going to have to get out of here by car, meaning people are going to ask us questions if they see a beaten down man. So please, Tony. Right now. Don't?"
He doesn't think Harry realises how much information there is to unpack from that one statement alone.
1.) Magical bracelet? Has weakened magic.
2.) Voices of authority? Previous statement implied Wizarding Community.
3.) Teleportation? A thing.
It all really leads to the whole 'Magic Exists' subject that he never planned to revise for, but he is way too drained to pick that apart for the time being. He's just gonna allow himself to go with the ‘witch’ flow right now.
"Where's this magical bracelet now?" He concedes from the argument, but that's only because Harry's inflamed cheek is beginning to fade. His question also makes Harrys countenance brighten, so Tony'll take it, whatever.
She points to where the Piece of Shit lies, still clutching at himself. Pussy.
"I placed it on his wrist. He's no longer a threat."
"That's probably also due to you having shot him?"
Harry huffs. "Don't be silly. Just a spell I inflicted; it'll wear off in a few minutes."
Again. Too drained to question that.
Harry turns to Tony, giving him a once over again with a simple flick of her eyes. She must have a good assessment because her facial lines smooths out in relief.
"We are quite isolated around here, but there is some form of life a few blocks away, I heard a couple of cars drive by during your unconsciousness. Patrick'll be fine in a few minutes, we'll go find transportation to a hotel. And have food, I'm hungry." She sneaks a peek at him, guilt radiating around her like perfume. “I’m sorry.”
Tony watches her, and there's something unsettling about how she speaks. Like this is normal, like she's dealt with this leadership aspect, as if it’s an ideal she's faced for years. Tony can only look at her in apt fascination, something unidentifiable fleeting in the pit of his stomach.
He thinks it might be fear.
“Let’s get some food. Patrick’s not eating, rainy day in hell and all that.”
----------------------
It's Harry, Tony and Patrick all in one stuffy little cab.
It’s a miracle they actually have money. Harry told him not to worry about it, which means it’s magic related. So what, that’s her Bat Belt now? He is ninety nine point nine percent sure he has a look on his face that threatens to snap if there’s another mention about magic until Tony’s downed some junk food like it’s served to him in an inhaler, so he doesn’t push the money topic and neither does Harry.
The driver on the other hand is just driving away, not realising or not caring for any of the tension between the three. Tony has plopped himself between the two in the back row, illogical because, well, Patrick could open the door of the car at any time and save his ass, but there is no way in hell Patrick's sitting next to Harry who insisted she sit in the back to keep an eye on everyone so, fight him. This is the best decision he's ever made...possibly ever. And to keep Patrick from being a drama queen and fleeing the scene, he's resting his hand on Patricks' bony knee, a threat implied throughout the journey. If he goes out the car, Tony's using Patrick's ass as a place to land on him when he jumps out right after.
The driver keeps giving Tony and Patrick glances through the rear view mirror, and Harry's definitely giving Tony some powerful side eye. And because Tony's a little shit at heart, from time to time during the awkward drive, he gives Patricks' knee a little squeeze.
Tony deserves a medal.
"I think it's very brave." The driver comments, eyeing them again. "What you folks are doing. The world's not the most accepting about- well, I guess I don't need to tell you that."
Nosy drivers. Ah, Tonys' bread and butter.
Another squeeze to Patrick's knee (the Creep meanwhile has a face that is slowly turning crimson, hell yeah); Tony puts on a gushing mask, cooing at his newfound lover. "Me and Patty go way back. It feels like this morning we were on a roof together, talking about our future. Isn't that right, Krabby Patty?"
Patrick's glare is monstrous. Plus, if Tonys’ side eye is as impressive as Harrys is, he knows she has a similar expression written on her face.
The driver nods, clearing his throat with a booming, hearty chuckle. "Get a room! Or a cab of your own, eh!"
Tony puts on a giggle to rival that of the drivers, nuzzling his head on Patrick's stiff shoulder. "We'll save that for the motel, right honey?"
There's a sharp pain in his shin, jerking him up in shock. Surprisingly, it's not Patricks' doing.
"What was that for?"
Harry gives him a smile that could give out toothache and ultimately a cavity. "I don't know what you mean, honey."
The rest of the car ride is left in silence, Tony’s hand on Patrick’s knee firm.
----------------------
They stop at a crappy looking restaurant in a town that looks like all the citizens use a cane. But Tony's hungry and so is Harry (maybe Patrick is, he doesn't really care in the slightest- the Creep probably brought a snack while they were passed out so whatever). They order a food and Harry's eyes never leaves Patrick's when she begins to question him.
"How did you find me?"
Patrick scoffs, crossing his arms in lame defiance. "You won't be getting anything from me, Miss Potter."
"You didn't seem to mind tell us your life story while we were tied up in front of you."
"I had reason to believe that you would be telling my life story, as you say, to your graves."
Tony feels his hands curl into fists. Better that than using the knife in front of him.
Harry looks undisturbed though. She nods as if what he said was normal, and continues the questioning like no hurdle was just hit. "So your plan was to kill me, then."
"Indeed. Do imagine the payment I would be provided from certain individuals.”
Harry cocks an eyebrow. “More than me alive?”
“As of recently, yes.”
Tonys’ nails dig into his flesh. So since the kidnapping he’s realised Harry is...famous.
It makes sense. He remembers the budding panic he felt in that bathroom, at that book convention that feels like ages ago, yet feels like no time at all. The advice she gave him
Names only hold so much power.
As if you're just another page in a magazine those arses read to escape their boring lives.
Chosen One. The Harriet Potter.
He has the sensation of beginning to understand certain things, yet understanding nothing at all. It's-
He experiences the impact of being useless. And if Patrick’s not full of shit... it means Harry’s a trouble magnet. Well, he should’ve known from the start. She attracted him after all.
"I suppose you wouldn't tell me whose put me up on the black market. It's reassuring to know the dead or alive option is a category." She huffs out, eyes unseeing. Under the table, Tony nudges his hand with her own. He feels a tug of his lips going upward when their hands practically mould together in a tight unrelenting grip.
"Why the bunny?"
Harry has the semblance of curiosity. Patrick doesn't even look Tony's way. Asshole.
"What?"
"I mean, if the magic thing is actual magic, and not just a gene that's developed into a mutation, just a theory but I'll talk about that later, if magic is actually real and you could turn into any animal. I mean a bunny. Really?"
Patrick finally locks gazes with Tony, his lips thinning. Tony doesn't know how he was ever scared of this person. The only thing that brought fear within him was him being out of his depth, tied to a chair. Pointing a weapon at Harry.
Is it too late to connect a right hook to this guys jaw?
"I don't need to explain myself to you, muggle."
"Pet names already? Saucy. What should I call you? SpongeBobs best friend just doesn’t have the penash my main man should have, you know?”
"It doesn't matter if you don't tell us anything," Harry interrupts, casually waving a hand (the other one's locked in his own, so, sorry Harry). "We're apparating to the Wizarding World tomorrow, the authorities can deal with you then. Perhaps Azkaban awaits a new prisoner.”
Tony's eyebrows have definitely rocked up to meet his hairline. "We what now? What’s Ass Cabin?”
Harry turns to him, biting her lower lip in trepidation. Tony's mind is also a range of thoughts; Harry mentioned a Wizarding World, or a community or something like that. Does he want to go? He felt useless around one (alleged, his mutation theory is solid) wizard, he can't help it if he feels out of his depth in a freaking community of them, and he doesn’t say that lightly- he rarely gets intimidated anymore. But. He needs to see this world for himself. And. Where Harry goes...well, you know.
"You-" Harry's next words are said carefully, an edge of fear in her tone. "You don't have to come with us. I would never force you to tag along."
Okay, so Tony's definitely coming with.
“I’d say we could leave today, but someone had to go and capture us without taking our luggage. Not angry, just disappointed. My clothes are hot.”
All Patrick does is offer a smirk, and Harry squeezes his hand from under the table. He gets the message.
The food arrives, and no one says a word while they down what’s supposed to be tacos. In all fairness, if Patrick decided to comment on the weather or just open his mouth in general, Tony would find it hard to have his self control in check.
"I have to...relieve myself." Patrick announces halfway through the meal, already getting up as if entitled to move from the vicinity.
Self control, self control, self. Control.
Tony rolls his eyes, staring hard at Patrick. "Just say you need to pee or shit like a normal person."
"I didn't want to visualise that at all," Harry says, setting her fork aside, her appearance pinched. "And we are not letting you wonder loose. You're lucky we brought you food."
“Which we’re not paying for. You have a wallet on you? We sort of only went and got robbed.”
Patricks' posture straightens, eyes narrowing. "It won't be long, and I know better than to abuse my...mercy."
"Yeah, cause Harry would kick your ass, again," Tony snorts. He brings his other free hand towards Harrys' corner, who in turn bumps her fist against his, all the while focusing on an increasingly scowling Patrick.
"If you truly believe that, you would be secure with my journey"-
"Your journey? All aboard the Orient Express, the Titanic to Patricks' Mexican food revival?"
"Tony, no!" Harry pushes her plate further away from her, he's pretty sure she'd be glaring at him if she didn't have such an air of disgust. "Some people wanted to finish their meal!"
"Some people are taking a journey to abandon their meal"-
Harry puts a hand over his mouth. If he was a lesser man he would totally lick her palm.
Alas.
"Does this mean I can leave for the lavatory?" Comes a very annoying voice; both Harry and Tony look to Patrick, whose peering at them with speculation, head slightly tilted in thought.
"If you're not back in five minutes"-
Patrick bows his head at Harry (what a kiss ass), "I understand".
When he goes to the stalls, Tony turns his attention right back to Harry. "I say we kill it before it lays eggs."
"Not funny, Tony." He can tell Harry's biting her the inside of her cheeks to stop herself from laughing, so Tony knows she's a big fat liar. After that they sit in silence, the first time they've really done that since...the um, ordeal. This is the first time he's been stress free with her in a while as well, except for that elephant in the room. Tony wants answers, he wants them now, but he doesn't want a half assed response in the less than five minutes it'll take for Patrick to take a leak. He'll let Harry handle the small talk right now, since everything he wants to say to her at this moment is just plain heavy.
"Eleven erections." Is what Harry decides to say.
Honestly, he'd have preferred silence.
Tony brings his arms over his chest casually, hoping he's not seen as defensive. He has a strong feeling he is.
"Oh you know, kidnapping situation, tied up, stress makes people think up the craziest shit."
"I see. But, did you know, that if there is a heaven, my arse would definitely be on all the propaganda posters?"
"I hear a bee, oh no I hate bees, all that buzzing, ugh. Kill me now."
Harry giggles brightly, and even exhausted her laughter is infectious. She bumps her hip against his; a hard feat seeing as they're already sitting so close together it probably looks like they've been glued at the booth.
"I suppose I am a pervert though," she muses. "An example you ask? First night on our road trip: you come in with that towel around your waist. I didn't know what to do with myself."
Something clicks. "You ran to the bathroom!" He says, glee imbedded into his triumphant tone. He knew she was acting weird! His mood sobers down quickly, though. He's smart, he's too smart, but even the dumbest of the dumb would know what stunt Harry's trying to pull.
"The Girl Who Lived." Harry says after the silence begins to thicken. Tony looks at her intently, pulled into whatever she's gonna say without a moments hesitation.
"Patrick mentioned something like that. Anything to do with a, um, Dark Lord?"
A muscle in Harry's face ticks, almost cringing. It makes Tony's stomach clench; he almost apologises before Harry jerkily nods and continues.
"I mentioned me leaving the UK due to the terrorist attacks," he nods. "Well, my world was at war. And I was the figurehead."
All Tony can do is stare, the beating of his heart intensifying. He's starting to feel a bit nauseous. Harry makes to continue, except a flash of realisation crosses through her visage and she stops, giving him a grin that's half bitter half amused. "Patrick's taken a while, hasn't he?"
Tony's out of the booth in record time. "You check the bathroom I check outside?"
Harry gets up herself, giving him a sharp nod. "Deal."
He runs outside, checking for any tall skinny bastard who won't ever pee again if Tony has any say. He might be extremely paranoid and Harry could find him in an awkward position (yeah, maybe in hindsight they should have swapped roles, sorry Harry) but that's only a small though when he sees Patrick, running away from the scene.
Not fast enough. Tony took track in college. Occasionally.
"Patrick!" He screeches, sprinting at a rapid pace that is actually impressive in how quick he's approaching the lanky bastard. Patrick's head whips around to see him and his eyes widen, turning his head back and attempting to run quicker; as fucking if, Tony's pretty much in Patrick's distance and he shamelessly dives in for a tackle. "You useless flaking piece of shit"-
————-
"Now Patrick. I personally think we got off on the wrong foot," Tony tells him back in the restaurant, dabbing some tissue on Patricks' bloody nose. He wants to do a little dance when the customers in the diner all turn a blind eye to Patrick’s...state. "Not gonna lie there, slightly your fault. Call me crazy, but if someone's planning on going all Misery on me, they should at least buy me dinner first. Where were you for all those dinners, Patrick?"
"Do you ever," Patrick seethes, bruised eye twitching and voice nasal, "stop talking?"
"I can be silent with Harry." Tony tells him, matter of fact. "With people I like, in general." (Not really, it's never silent for him, his brain is chaotic and loud, so very fucking loud. "Not with psychopaths who kidnap for the shits and giggles. Plus, you don't have the bone structure to rock a beard. And you're not cool enough to pull off the name Patrick."
Patrick sneers, venom practically pouring out of the wrinkles of his features. "You're in over your head, muggle. Do you truly believe I am the only one who wants to take the Chosen One for their own purposes? Do you expect Harriet Potter to save you and herself in all those situations that, and believe me when I say, will, happen? You are nothing but a foolish, unimportant boy who has become so foolishly blinded by love that you won't realise your utter stupidity until it is too late."
Tony leans into Patrick's space, unflinching in his gaze. "Let me ask you this, then." He hisses so quietly he sees Patrick slightly move his head further in the little bubble they've formed.
"Go on, muggle."
Tony takes a deep breath, his whisper dangerous and biting. "Who lives in a pineapple. Under the sea?"
Patrick's eyebrows furrow, eyes lost in thought. "What?"
"You found him!" Tony whirls his head to see Harry, relief drawn out on the line of her shoulders. "I checked the loo- mind you, we should've swapped roles for that part." Tony nods solemnly at that, sad for a Harry that could have potentially seen some sights. "He wasn't there, so I went outside- wasn't there."
"You probably went out the back door nearest to the bathroom, our Patrick's a little genius and decided to use one further away." Tony pats Patrick's head, maybe a little too hard but really, who can tell?
"It wasn't difficult." Patrick mumbles irritably. "You two were so busy being an old married couple."
"Come now, Patty, if there was a wedding, we would've invited you."
Patrick looks like he wants to burn Tony alive. Several times.
Harry glances questionably at Tony. "What happened to his nose? And jaw?"
"Oh, he fell."
"On your fist?"
Tony shrugs, "we also decided to play some rugby. I went in for the tackle, and Patrick...didn't stop it?'
Now, he's not a mind reader, per se, but if he had to assume what the people next to him were thinking, he'd say Harry is the 'I See I'm babysitting Two Idiots Today, Whoop Dee Fucking Doo' type, and Patrick is along the 'Perhaps I Should Have Killed the Muggle Prick When I Initially Had Them Kidnapped' lines.
Harry sighs, raising an eyebrow at Patrick, who actually seems chagrined. What the fuck.
"Are you going to apologise for giving us unneeded stress, Patrick?"
What? Yes.
He clenches his jaw, Tony meanwhile is having a field day.
"Patrick."
The Creep mumbles something incoherent. At Harrys unimpressed stare (how cool is Harry, like, come on), Patrick speaks again. "I apologise. Muggle."
Tony claps his hands slowly. "Beautiful. Were you inspired by Pablo Neruda?"
Harry's eyes roll heavenward.
And Tony thinks about Patrick’s warning.
--------------------------
He thinks about their chat.
He tries to ignore Patrick’s words; he may have acted like the shits he gave were non existent but he can replay the dialogue as if it’s a catchy song on the radio. But his mind is more drawn to anything and everything he knows and thinks he knows about Harriet Potter. And what he’s finding out- it’s too much. He's never wanted Harry to go through anything rough, ever since he first saw her all he's ever wanted for her was pure and true happiness. It's corny as hell but that doesn't render his declaration false.
A figurehead. For a war.
A Dark Lord?
Losing a friend.
Losing a headmaster.
Dealing with too much attention.
Having dealt with worse pain.
Hating blood.
So many little hints about Harrys' life in the past month are all begging to be woven together, and Tony doesn't want to face it. Because his heart is aching, because out of all the people in this world, Harry doesn't even deserve something as trivial as a fucking paper cut.
And the whole time he couldn’t do anything, did nothing, during their time under Patrick’s shitty management. He’s never felt more useless.
He needs to talk to someone who'll make him feel better.
A healthy mind can promote ideas. Because he’ll never be that useless again.
---------------------
They arrive at some crappy motel (the drive was in silence since Tony doesn't want his shin to like, fall off or something, thank you very much). They get two rooms, which Patrick rolls his eyes at but fuck him, and Harry tells Tony in the most simple wording she can apparently use, that she'll use her rested magic to shield Patrick's room so there is no way for him to get out.
As you do.
Maybe he’ll start a field for the studying of genetic mutation.
Back to the matter at hand, it’s not that Tony feels suffocated, it's just that it's been a long draining day, and Tony wants to talk about anything else with someone that doesn't know any better than to think a kidnapping's even been considered. So, Tony goes outside to make a phone call.
Because Rhodey is a gift that keeps on giving, he picks up on the third ring. When Tony hears his voice, an intake of emotions run through him at a quick pace, sending so much sheer happiness over him. God, he didn't even realise he'd missed his brother to that extent; happiness is now at war with guilt.
"Hello?"
"Rhodey?"
There's a pause, Tony drumming his foot over and over.
"Tony?"
Tony beams, wanting to laugh but also conscious that he's not starring in It's a Wonderful Life.
"How are you my special slice of chocolate fudge?"
There's another beat, in which Tony has time to consider that maybe in hindsight he should've kept slightly more in touch.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!"
Ah. Hindsight.
"Not the reaction I was expecting if I'm honest, honey suckle."
"Stay on the phone, I'm tracking you. I don't care anymore Tony, I've been worried sick!"
Tonys' guilt intensifies. "I sent messages"-
"You sent me a card with a note saying you'd become a mid wife, Tony! One fucking message with no information whatsoever!"
"Being a mid wife was partly true. And I sent you a couple of voicemails"-
"It's been over a month, and that's all I got! I've been losing hair stressing about your dumb ass and now you're calling as if everything's okay?! Fuck the tracker, tell me where you are and get the next flight back here. Now.
Tonys' face drops into something he knows resembles a cringe.
"I'm sorry, Rhodey."
"Sorry doesn't cut it. Buy a plane ticket. Now."
Tony huffs, resting his chin into the phone. "Can't we just talk, Rhodes? I'll tell you everything, but- Come on sugar muffin. Catch up with me first?"
There must be something in his tone, something that's maybe reigned, maybe heavy, maybe desperate. Most likely all three, because Rhodeys' voice becomes gentler.
"Tell me what's going on, Tones."
Tony stutters out a breath of relief, hoping that Rhodey takes the crackling through the phone as Tony going through a tunnel or something. "I-this month has been something else."
"Good or bad?" That's his Rhodeykins, always straight to the point.
"Good. No, not good, there's not a word- God, Rhodey, I don't know how to- where do I even start?"
"The beginning." Rhodey says wryly. "You still hanging with- what was her name?"
"Harry", is Tonys immediate reply. "Not Harriet, is makes her sound old."
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Time has always flown when he's with Rhodey, and phone calls are no exception. They have a catch up (Rhodey refuses to talk about his life until he accepts that Tony has eaten right, slept well, and has an improvement in mental health. A yes to all three, and Tony finds that he's actually being serious on his part. Nothing too dramatic has happened in the Rhodey Diaries, which is a relief, knowing things haven't changed too much in his absence. Obie's apparently fine, continuing Stark Industries as Howard left it (Tony can't wait until he's twenty one, Stark Industries will thrive and surge), and the news dedicated an article to a certain Tony Stark having fled to Europe to reconnect with his partying ways (a flare of anger spikes through him at that, but, like he said, twenty one. They'll all see.) When he sees the darkening sky though, he knows he should hang up and probably go to bed.
"I should go to bed soon, Sunset Boulevard. You know me, needing my beauty sleep."
"And the fact that Harry's sharing a hotel room with you has nothing to do with you ending this call." Comes Rhodey's amused narration.
Tony is indignant, sniffing with his nose up in the air. "I resent that, I'm nothing but a gentleman, Cinnamon Swirl."
"I'm just saying, two hour phone call and all I'm hearing is how cool your girl is."
"She's not my girl, she's my"-
"Your Harry."
-"My friend. Damn, I leave you alone for one month and you develop sass, it's too much, I can't cope."
"Do you love her?" Rhodey asks, a small smile evident in his speech. Tony's about to squawk, and then a grin plays across his lips, something soft having settled at his core.
"She's alright. I gotta go, Rhodey. I promise I'll call you soon."
He can hear the eye roll from across the multiple states between them.
---------------------
When Tony enters the hotel room, he thinks he might have gotten the wrong place.
There are candles everywhere. All unlit, all cheap as hell (his mo- yeah, his mother had candles all over their house twenty four seven, he knows what an expensive set smells like even when not in use) and there's only certain space where the candles aren't around. Harry sits on the edge of the bed, watching him with a tiny grin.
"Hey," she greets him, getting up and walking towards him with apparent hesitation. For once Tony gets why; Harry's got some kind of raging guilt complex. Which is- he guesses everyone's got a thing, got an insecurity, but Harry doesn't need any, none at all.
"No, nope." Tony starts, bringing a hand up when Harry begins to open her mouth with apologetic features. It's time for asshole Tony, it's time for not taking anyone's unnecessary words. "I don't want any form of apology from you. Unless you know, you do something straight up evil; like...you purposefully hit my puppy. I mean, I don't have a puppy, but if I did and you just hit them that would just not be okay. Unless you had your reasons? It would have to be so compelling though, like if it was a possessed puppy, or batshit crazy. You ever seen Cujo?"
"How did this conversation become about hitting puppies? And isn't being an accessory in a kidnapping worse than kicking a puppy?"
Tony shrugs. "Depends on who you ask. And don't even try to twist this to make yourself some kind of villain, we've been there done that. Twice now, I think."
A silence stretches out in their room, Tony fiddling with his hands that remain behind his back. He surveys the room around him.
"Was it like this when we got here?"
Harry shakes her head. "It was an idea I had. I'll explain."
"Everything?"
Harry brings about an air of sincerity. It's insane, having that much presence in such a small room. "Everything." She exhales roughly, rubbing a hand across her face. I know you want answers"-
"Understatement of the year"-
"And I'm here to provide them." Her eyes go from creased, scowling, to sobering up; her lips form into a coy, pretty much secretive smile. It's full of mirth and promise, which gets his heart to start pumping at a slightly more erratic pitch. He's basically entered the anticipation stage of the ordeal, knowing something like excitement is creeping up on him.
"May I show you now?"
It might be the sparkle in her eyes, or the flash of hope that dances across her guise, but Tony doesn't think he's wanted anything more.
Well, he briefly glances at Harry's lips. There might be one thing.
Harry takes her hands out and opens her palms, which he with no hesitation puts his own over, fingers instantly meeting and lacing together on impact. He has big hands (now is not the time for an innuendo, pervert), big, gruff hard hands. He blames himself for that mishap, all the work he does in his lab at home and at college has changed his skin in adaptation of his work. But Harry's are soft and small, a gentle touch which, he's known, he's felt for a while. Something clocks in his brain, seeing as he believes everything about Harry falls into place with him. It's funny, he used to see Harry as a puzzle, and yet Tony thinks that maybe, just maybe, he might be some of the pieces-
Okay, he's legitimately digressing with this Nicholas Sparks bull crap. Harry's also giving him a look, so he needs to act normal and calm the absolute fuck down.
He squeezes her hands lightly. Her pupils lock with his, and when they shut Tony feels an irrational sense of longing.
Shut up.
Harry seems to be concentrating on something, eyes fluttering under her lids. It should be awkward, just standing there holding her hands patiently and watching her while she flees the mental scene. But his heart is drumming faster with every second, differently from the kidnapping, since this is an actual welcome sensation.
Then Harry mutters a word.
"Incentio."
All the candles in the room light up at once like clockwork, the room brightening up all around him as if fireworks. A soft gasp leaves him and he whips his head all over the place. His eyes have lit up too, he knows, and he takes his hands from Harry's gentle grip (the loss of contact makes him cold for a second before he remembers that all the candles will heat him up, Jesus Christ) before he begins to inspect a candle from his right.
There’s a period of time where Tony has no clue what to say. No word vomit, no weird sounds coming from his lips. Tony doesn’t know how to express himself, express what’s going on around him.
"I- so I might need to admit I might have been wrong. You could still be a mutant, but- not delusional in the slightest."
Harry's grin is bright and indulgent, gazing at him fondly and kind of smug. She's a little shit who managed to-
“Still swaying towards science, then?”
"Science might just be failing me about now."
Harry practically glides towards him, the lights around her brightening up the lines of her form, making it look like a halo over her body. Maybe Tony was right when they first met. She could very well be an angel, a Siren. It's a genuine thought right now, he's not even kidding.
Tony puts the candle back in its place and moves so they're standing in front of each other. In that moment she appears shy, and he will never understand her reasoning for that emotion. Out of all the people in the world, she should have the most limited amount of bashfulness.
"I meant what I said. On the roof." She tells him, her tone soft, soothing. Tony feels something lightly wrap around his heart, it's consuming.
"So did I." Is all he can say, and he brings his forehead down to meet hers, mirroring the last time they did this but twisting it from some kind of tragedy into- we’ll, he doesn’t know what. They don't have borrowed time anymore, and Tony won't abuse it. Not now.
He doesn't know what he's doing. He doesn't know what's going to happen, They're apparently going to the Wizarding World tomorrow, which is scary and exciting and terrifying and fantastic. And Tony's going to learn all he can about this girl, this magical girl who literally appeared out of no where one day and brought a hand out for him to take. He can hear Patrick's words in the background, a warning and a threat rolled into a monologue, but he'd rather live on the edge with Harry at his side than not live at all. Wouldn't anyone?
"Wanna tell me the low down then, Potter? Come on Chosen One, do your worst."
And so she begins.