Published: Tues July 2, 2013

Notes: I really have no idea where this came from. I truly can't remember. It was lying around and I polished the idea and here's the first chapter. I would appreciate any constructive criticism and if anyone would like to Beta it, I would be most grateful. Ironman knowledge comes from the movies only, since I haven't read the comics.

Chapter One

Missing Person

A woman with red hair sat drinking a coffee in a cafe, immeasurably worried. A moment later, a teenage girl with bushy brown hair joined her, plopping down in the chair at the other side of the table.

"Hey, Pepper!" the teenager chirped.

Pepper Potts gave a half hearted smile. "Hello, Hermione," she said.

Hermione grimaced at the dark mood. "Has there been any word?" she asked.

"Not a thing," Pepper said, looking into her cold coffee. "Not even a whisper of an idea."

Hermione shook her head, eyes pinched with worry. "How long has he been missing?" she asked.

"A month already," Pepper replied. "They say that they're still looking, but I can tell. They've already given up. I think the only person who still has any hope is Rodney."

There was a moment of silence. Hermione turned her face away from her friend and looked out the window. "Hey," Hermione said. "If I told you I knew of some way to find Mister Stark, would you listen?"

Pepper's head jerked up in surprise. "What?" she asked. Then, she stammered. "Well, of course I would!"

Hermione turned back to Pepper with a deadly serious face. "Meet me at 207 Manchester Street tomorrow morning at eleven. I have someone that you'll want to meet."

Pepper blinked. "Oh, okay," she said. "If it can help, in any way at all . . ."

Hermione stood up and began to walk away. She pause mid-stride and turned back to her friend. "It may seem crazy," she said, "but I've never seen him fail––even something as strange as finding a man in all of Afghanistan. If there's anyone that can help you, it's him."

Hermione spun on her heel and began to walk away. Maybe telling Pepper about him hadn't been such a good idea, but it was too late now. Besides, Hermione had believed every word she had said. Only he would be able to help Pepper if everyone else had failed.

~ oOo ~

"Is this the place?" Pepper asked, stepping out of the car.

"Yes, of course," Hermione said, absently adjusting the strap of her messenger bag as she stood from the park bench she had been waiting on.

"Wait here," Pepper told her driver, Happy Hogan, before closing the car door.

Pepper paused to study the three story office for a moment. It was in an old building in downtown, one of those places that had been in the area for at least a century and still had ancient strength in its bricks. The outside could use a few minor repairs, but it seemed respectable.

Hermione pushed open the glass lobby door and stepped inside, her friend following behind her. Pepper blinked in surprise at the lavish decoration of the interior. The tiles were marble and polished till it seemed like a mirror. There were potted plants and park benches in the lobby, with large paintings on the walls.

In a small office connected to the lobby sat a uniformed security guard at his desk. Hermione nodded to the security guard, saying, "I'm taking her up to the third floor, 'kay?"

"Sure, Hermione," the security guard said. "How did your test go yesterday?"

"Great!" Hermione beamed. "I got a ninety-eight percent!"

"Good for you," the security guard said amiably. "Hurry along now."

Hermione marched to the shiny elevator doors and pressed the up button, patiently waiting for the machine to drop to the first floor. As the doors opened and she stepped into the elevator, Pepper started to wonder at Hermione's familiarity with this place.

They arrived promptly at the third floor, exiting the elevator and Hermione taking a sharp left, walking quickly toward the door at the end of the hallway.

Hermione stopped at the door, making a motion for Pepper to knock.

Pepper paused for a moment, studying the door. The bubbled glass was painted with H. J. Potter, Private Investigator.

Hermione gave a small huff of annoyance at the redhead's hesitance and strode forward, knocking boldly at the door and causing it to shake.

"Hello?" a male voice called.

A moment later, the door opened wide and a young, black-haired man with circular silver glasses peered out at them. He blinked at Pepper for a moment before glancing toward Hermione with a small smile.

"A client?" he asked.

"Yes," Hermione said, striding past the young man into the office. She immediately sat herself into an armchair with familiarity.

The young man looked at the red-haired woman with an expectant look, opening the door wider. She peered all around as she slowly walked into the office, clutching to her leather purse.

It was a rather small office, but the impression it left was cozy and not crowded at all. A large window on the back wall shone light onto the floor, with pictures surrounding the window. In front of the window was an antique desk, facing toward the door. In front of the desk were two armchairs with a side table in between them. Tucked to the side was a couch and a pair of large, stuffed bookcases.

Though obviously occupied, the room was extremely clean to the point of obsession and the office was meticulously organized in some sort of chaotic order, easy to recognize but hard to explain or understand.

"Please, sit down," the man said.

Pepper walked toward the other armchair and sat down, crossing her legs and brushing wrinkled out of her skirt.

The man closed the door behind them and strode toward the desk, leaning against the edge. "My name is Potter, and I'm a private investigator," he said.

Potter nodded his head toward Hermione, who had made herself quite comfortable and looked about ready to take a nap. "Hermione has probably already told you that I'm good at what I do. I have references for you perusal if you wish, but you won't find much mention of me in the newspapers––I tend to keep an extremely low profile to the point of paranoia."

Pepper nodded. "Yes," she said, out of her depth but falling back on her experience as an employee of Stark Industries, "I would like to see your references."

"Sure," Potter said amicably. He walked over to his filing cabinet and unlocked a drawer with a key from his bulging keychain. He flipped through his folders before withdrawing one and placing it on the side table between the armchairs.

Pepper picked up the folder and began flipping through it, listening absently as Potter continued to talk.

"What is your name? And what is your problem?" Potter asked.

Pepper tore her eyes away from the documents––copies of police records and letters from former clients––to glance back up at the private investigator. "Potts," she said, "Pepper Potts. My––"

"Your employer, Tony Stark, has disappeared without a trace into the sands of Afghanistan," Potter finished for her with a small twitch of his lips. "I have left my house this past month, yes. So no one has any news?"

"Well, no," Pepper admitted.

Potter smiled. "I thought so," he said, leaning on his desk again. "Or else you wouldn't be taking to a humble private investigator."

"And I'm at my wit's end," Pepper admitted.

Potter rubbed his chin in thought. "I really do try to avoid big cases, Hermione," he remarked.

Hermione sniffed. "Well, I don't see why!" she said. "You've never failed an investigation and you've uncovered dozens of criminals––you're perfected qualified. Lots of your police friends keep trying to recruit you as an official detective."

Potter's hand twitched. "I hate publicity," he said flatly.

"Indiana Jones hates snakes. MacGyver hates heights," Hermione said, shaking her head as she withdrew a black leather-bound notebook out of her messenger bag, "but you have to be the strangest action hero of all. You hate publicity."

Pepper watched as Potter her friend Hermione seemed to have a silent battle of wills.

"Fine!" Potter said at last, throwing his hands in the air. He shook his finger at Hermione, "but only this once and only because she's your friend!"

Hermione smirked in victory, opening the leather-bound notebook and clicking a ballpoint pen open. Her expression was unquestionably one of silent superiority.

Potter turned back to his client. "Well, I'll accept your case," he said. "You want me to find a V.I.P. Missing Person in another country––that's five thousand dollars upon completion. I've giving you a special deal 'cuz Hermione seems worried for you. Take it or leave it, Miss Potts."

Pepper was taken aback. That had probably been the quickest business proposal of her entire life––though, admittedly, she did work for one of the richest businesses in America.

"Take your time," Potter said sympathetically. "Sleep on it if you need to. Once you hire me, you can't take it back. Hermione was serious when she said I've never failed. I'm going to leave for Afghanistan and I'm not returning until either I've found Mister Stark, someone else finds Mister Stark, or I recover his body."

Pepper took a deep breath, and then shook her head. "No, I'll make my decision now. Hermione seems to trust you, and I trust her. I'm out of all other options," she said with gleaming eyes. "And if you can help even a little, I'm more than willing to pay five thousand out of my own pocket."

"Okay, then," Potter said. "Let me tell you my policies and bring out the paperwork."

~ oOo ~

Harry Potter pushed his desk to the center of his new office and leaned back, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"Finished," he gasped.

Harry sighed and sat down behind his new desk, leaning back in his chair.

"Maybe it would have been faster if I had used a levitation charm," he mumbled to himself. "Well, no matter. Too late now."

With a wave of his hand, Harry summoned a book from one of his packing boxes to his hand. Before he could read more than a paragraph, there was a knock at the door.

"Yes?" Harry asked, peering over the top of his glasses. "Please, do come in."

"Mr. Potter?" someone female questioned as the door opened.

"Hm?" Harry asked, closing the book. He looked at the person shuffling her feet on the floor. "Oh, yes, Miss Sprifelds," he said with a smile. "Is there a problem I must be made aware of?"

Miss Sprifelds––the receptionist in his new building––nodded her head. "Um, there's someone that wants to meet you––his name's Matt Gripbook."

"Well, bring him in," Harry said.

A very short man with an almost bald head walked into the room and waited until the receptionist left before turning to his client. "You find our work satisfactory?" he asked.

Harry grinned. "Of course!" he said. "You turned this building from a dump into a palace! Just one thing––"

"What?" Griphook asked.

"Matt? Seriously?"

"Shut up, wizard."

Harry laughed as Griphook pulled off the illusion making him look human. Standing in Harry's office was now a goblin with an unpleasant sneer.

"All your funds have been moved to the American Gringotts," Griphook said, referring to a small notepad in his pocket. "Your ownership papers of his office building has been properly filed, your location has been hidden from the press, and I searched the market for a healthy House Elf and made a list."

"Thank you, Griphook," Harry said. He smiled, "I don't think we'll be seeing each other again, or at least not for a very long time."

Griphook sneered. "You know, you're not so bad––for a wizard."

Harry shook his head, but remained smiling. "Thank you for all your help," he said.

Griphook pulled his illusion back on and left the office, tucking the notepad back into his pocket.

Harry stood up and looked out the window, looking at the city street below. This was his new home, New York City. The huge city hid him like the stone walls of Hogwarts never could. There were thousands upon thousands of people living here, and a search for the Boy-Who-Lived wouldn't go very far. The war was finished, the dead had been buried, and the Order of the Phoenix had things well in hand.

Harry was free to finally live a quiet life.

Harry heard a knock at the door and jostled out of his thoughts. He sprinted toward the door and opened it. "Yes?" he asked.

A woman stood at the threshold of his office, wringing her purse. Her eyes were red with dry tears. "I really need someone's help," she said. "My husband's gone missing!"

Well, maybe not so quiet.

Please Review; Constructive Criticism Welcomed!