Fred and George Weasley had a problem. Usually, their problems came in the form of Death Eaters trashing their shop, or people disappearing suddenly, or the fact that they just couldn’t keep their pygmy puffs on the shelves (“Well, it’s just that with all the troubles lately, and with so-and-so going missing, little such-and-such could really use a nice, safe, low maintenance friend”). No, this time it was the very sort of trouble they’d never prepared for.
There was a muggle in their shop.
He was a very well groomed muggle, that was certain. The twins had grown up with a fair understanding of muggle culture courtesy of their dad, so they could distinguish between a typical London ragamuffin and someone who came from very nice circumstances. He had a sharp suit with a handsome, burgundy tie, a well trimmed goatee, and shoes that positively shone even in the dim light of Weasley Wizarding Wheezes. He looked like a guy used to getting what he wanted, and he could probably talk his way into any place. Including, apparently, Diagon Alley.
“Do you think it’s because of everything going on?” George whispered, grateful for once that the store was actually empty. The last thing they needed was other wizards and witches making serious trouble for a muggle. Fred shrugged.
“Couldn’t say, George. I don’t think a muggle’s ever gotten past the Leaky Cauldron before. They shouldn’t be able to see it.”
“So yes. It’s because of everything going on.”
“There is a distinct possibility.”
The muggle was pressed up against the case of instant darkness powder, grinning like a maniac. Or, perhaps, like a muggle who had just discovered magic was real.
“Should we shoo him out?” George whispered. “You know. Give him one of the singing pet rocks, let him think it’s really something, get him out of our hair.”
“No good,” Fred mumbled. “He’d probably just carry it out onto the streets then we’d have a magical artifact snafu on our hands. Thicknesse’d probably just kill any muggle they caught with something.”
“A memory charm them? Just a light one. Keep him from getting too befuddled. Send him back out onto the streets.”
“You really think you can cast a memory charm with that kind of finesse?”
“Well, I don’t see you coming up with any better ideas.”
Fred sighed and leaned against the banister for the rickety set of stairs that ran from the ground to the second floor. The muggle, meanwhile, had started eyeing their daydream charms.
“Those would be great for meetings,” he mumbled to himself.
Suddenly, there was a loud crash as the door fell in, knocking over a display of ton tongue toffee and skiving snackboxes (mentally, Fred calculated their potential losses if the candies were destroyed). Instantly, the twins whipped out their wands as the muggle whirled around, eyes wide as he took in the… well. It was like no death eater either twin had ever seen. For one thing, he wasn’t wearing a cloak. He was wearing a hooded, emerald green cape, fastened about his neck with a regal-looking pin bearing the initials VD. Stranger still, the death eater’s face was covered with a harsh metal mask completely unlike the white skulls of the death eaters. On its hands it wore thick gauntlets, too unwieldy to handle a wand. In fact, he wasn’t holding a wand at all.
Apparently, the world’s worst death eater didn’t need one.
With a flick of his heavy gauntlet, he shot lighting, actual lightning, right from his fingertips. The muggle staggered back, but not before he was engulfed in a cloud of black as the huge tub of instant darkness powder ignited. George felt instantly queasy. He didn’t even want to calculate the losses there, just from the cost of materials alone.
George vaulted down to the ground level and whipped a stunning spell at the guy who was possibly not a death eater. The spell bounced off his armor, startling him for a moment but failing to pierce it. That creepy metallic face turned to stare at him.
“You dare to attack Victor Von Doom?” it roared. Von Doom? That didn’t sound like any pureblood family George had ever heard of. Thankfully, Fred was quick on the uptake.
“Well, why not,” he cried, and George knew to duck as a Thestral Thrasher firework whizzed overhead, hitting Doom square in the face. This did the trick. Doom staggered back, his eyes wide, waving desperately at the fizzing firework. George glanced up at Fred.
“A little more warning next time, mate!”
“Not sure you’d have heard me, one ear.”
“One ear?” George sputtered. “All the grief you gave me about Holey George and you want to go with one ear? You are losing your touch, brother.”
Fred waved his hand, unamused.
“Just keep him busy while I find the muggle and please try to keep him from destroying any more merchandise!”
“How am I supposed to do that?” George cried, but Fred had already disappeared. With a sigh, George rushed to the nearest shelf. All right. Spells, hexes, and curses were probably just going to bounce off of this guy’s armor. He might have to get a little more primitive.
Doom was just chasing away the last of the firework, positively seething with rage. George grinned widely and grabbed a punching telescope to him, mumbling a spell under his breath.
“Hey Doom!” he shouted, chunking the telescoped through the air. “Catch!”
Instinctively, Doom caught the telescope, which proceeded to punch him right in the jaw over and over again, with far more force than it was initially designed.
In the back of the shop, there was a loud bang, followed by a startled shout.
“Fred?” George cried, his stomach dropping. No. What if more like Doom had managed to slip in? What if Fred was in real danger?
George was prepared to drop everything, just let Doom trash the shop to his heart’s content, when something flew overhead.
Now, George Weasley considered himself a pretty even headed guy. He had to be. He grew up in a house where the ghoul in the attic kept him awake at all hours, where his dad brought home muggle toys constantly. He himself was one half of the greatest joke shop the wizarding world had ever seen, no matter what Zonko said. He knew strange. He knew unusual. He thought he had seen it all.
A flying suit of armor in Gryffindor colors zipping through his shop was enough to give even George Weasley pause. His jaw dropped, his eyes widened, and it was all he could do to step out of the flying armor’s way as it came to a stop, hovering just a couple of feet above the floor littered with skiving snackboxes and lingering instant darkness.
“Okay Tin Man, enough is enough,” came voice that sounded as though it was coming out of a speaker system, with an unmistakable American accent.
Doom let out a furious snarl and turned to shoot his lightning directly at the suit of armor.
“Protego!” George gasped, throwing up a quick shield, but the armored man dodged, just as a bold of white hot lightning hid him square in the chest. The fool! Didn’t he know George was just trying to help? Now he’d gone and…
The armored man did not fall. He didn’t even budge. Lightning crackled over the gleaming surface of his red and gold armor. He flexed his mechanical fingers.
“Yeah, nice try,” he quipped. “But when you’re buddies with Thor, you learn to take a few precautions?”
“Did he just say he was friends with Thor?” Fred said, staggering to the front of the store. An extendable ear hung from one of his nostrils, his clothes were ripped, and it looked like one of his eyebrows had been burned, but he was alive. Relief flooded through George and he clapped his twin’s shoulder.
“What happened to you?” he gasped.
“Our so-called ‘muggle’ friend over there.”
George heard a high pitched whine and turned just in time to see the flying suit of armor shoot a couple of bright, white-blue beams out of his hands, pummeling into Doom’s chest. Doom let out a strangled cry and collapsed to the ground, a smoking hole in his chest.
“Holy hell,” George wheezed, staring down at the smoking corpse of the not-a-death-eater. “You killed him!”
“Yeah, not quite.” The armored man sank down to the ground, his gold mask rising to reveal the well groomed muggle. To nobody’s real surprise. With a soft whirr of mechanical joints, he strode forward and nudged Doom with one foot. “Doombot. There really is a guy like this out there, just as tacky and twice as melodramatic. He likes to churn out robo-clones to hunt people down. This one’s been trailing me since I got off the plane last night. Not sure if this is a supervillain thing or a corporate takeover thing.” He sighed, glancing around. “Sorry about your shop, by the way. I really didn’t think he’d be able to follow me here. Apparently basic shielding spells don’t work on megalomaniacal robo-clones.”
Fred and George stared at him, uncertain as to what exactly one said in a situation like this. Then it started to dawn on them. The red and gold armor, the flashy suit. He was some sort of freelance, muggle auror. Bloody popular one, too. Their dad had brought home an action figure of him last Christmas, laughing about how brilliant he thought it was.
“You’re… Metal man!” George squawked. The armored man gave him a blank look.
“I prefer Iron Man. Well. Tony, actually. Just call me Tony.” He shook his head. “That’s disappointing. I thought I’d made a big enough splash for both worlds to at least know who I was.”
“Hang on,” Fred said. “How do you know about…” He made a vague gesture, intended to encapsulate all of the wizarding world. “This?”
Tony shrugged.
“Family of squibs. Well. I guess we’re not even technically squibs anymore. My grandfather on my dad’s side was the last wizard in the family. My dad married another squib, produced a nice little squib baby.” He sniffed. “Stung a bit that I couldn’t get into the Salem Witch’s Institute. They went coed a few decades ago, but they were pretty insistent. The basic ability to see through illusion spells didn’t mean I had enough magic to warrant admittance. But it’s fine. Went to MIT, which was okay. And I still knew how to show witches a good time.”
George arched one brow. Fred crossed his arms.
“Hang on. Does that mean all you superheroes are witches and wizards?”
Tony let out a loud laugh.
“Oh hell no! I think Agent Romanov would just about piss her pants if anyone actually made her admit magic was real. Naw, they’re all just very special muggles. It kills me sometimes not to tell them. Especially Bruce.” He looked pensive for a moment. “Steve would probably be heartbroken to see that your world is just as messed up as ours. All the magical advantages and all.”
“Well, you seem to do all right for yourself,” George pointed out. Tony grinned.
“Well, I’m a genius, what can I say.” He gestured to some of the instant darkness. “Hey, can I get a few ounces of that? I wanted to pick up some Christmas gifts while I was here, and it’s hard to shop for a guy who is literally a Norse god. But I think I could pretend this is non magical and still wow the pants off of them. Do euros work for you?”
“Maybe.” Fred leaned against the banister of the stairs, sizing Tony up. George could tell what he was thinking; this guy was pretty tough, and because he didn’t rely on magic, the death eaters would never see him coming. “Tell you what. You can have the whole tub if you agree to help us out with a certain dark wizard problem we’ve been having lately.”
Tony arched one brow.
“Depends. Can I bring my team?”