II: Expectations & Offers
Note: minor Avengers: Endgame spoiler in this chapter, regarding a name. It doesn't mean much in the overall scheme of spoilers, but just in case... I warned you.
George looked at Hermione askance as they sat in very plush chairs at the private, first-class lounge at Heathrow. Ever since the phone call from Stark, which had gone to the newly established Muggle liaison office (conveniently located outside of Diagon Alley with active Floos to send memos or owl post to the appropriate person about a phone call), Hermione had been in a strange sort of mood. That mood had only become worse when George asked if she wanted to come with him to California to Stark Industries.
"Are you sure you want to do this, Granger?" he asked, for the nth time. "I know you two didn't get along - despite what happened - so there's no obligation-"
Hermione's brisk tone interrupted the redhead. "I need to do this."
That was all she ever said: she needed to do this. Whatever "this" was, George didn't know, but he was a bit apprehensive about it. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes didn't need to meet with Stark Industries - in fact, George wasn't sure what SI could offer him. To George (and, by extension, Minister Shacklebolt), the purpose of the Bern Tech Summit was to see what the Muggles were up to, whether anything they were producing could threaten to expose the Magical world and break the Statute of Secrecy, and if there was anything interesting, could George replicate it on a government contract? (And, George had to admit, he wasn't producing as many joke products lately without his other half - since Fred's death, it had been hard to find ways to laugh.)
And while that sonic cannon had been pretty nice, thought George with a dopey grin, eyes glazed over as he stared out toward the tarmac, A bombarda did just the same, if not more, damage. There's no need to have a portable version of the spell.
But in the meantime, they were posing as Muggles again, eschewing Floo and Portkey travel so that the representative that Tony assigned to them would meet them at LAX in a posh car and then to their hotel, allowing them time to freshen up before meeting Tony at the SI headquarters. In addition, all on the other man's galleons, so George was quite happy to take another vacation. Besides, London was dreary in March.
Soon, Hermione and George were flying over the Atlantic, and hours later, the plan was coasting on the tarmac in a completely different time zone and weather climate. George stretched as they exited the stuffy, recycled air of the plane and docking arm, his white t-shirt riding up a bit as he did so. Beside him, Hermione looked incredibly serious, her eyebrows and mouth a matching slash across her face.
"Lighten up, would you, Granger? We're in California," enthused George, eyes darting around the bright airport, taking in the perfume and tech ads as they hauled their carry-on luggage. "Merlin, Fred would never believe this…"
"Sorry," muttered Hermione, clenching her hand tight around her next-gen beaded bag, which was now a leather side satchel. "Just something on my mind."
George shot Hermione a glance but kept his mouth shut for the remainder of their walk through to customs. When they left customs, they both cast their eyes around the waiting area for someone who would take them to their hotel.
"Oh," exclaimed Hermione softly, causing George to look at her, and then follow her line of sight. An unhappy man, with slicked-back hair, held up a card that read 'George & Pipsqueak.'
George stifled a laugh.
The two walked toward the man, who finally stopped looking around the outgoing people with a miserable expression on his face when he caught sight of them. His face morphed into relief, and then he schooled it to something resembling passive, but there was a hint of irritation in his eyes and the tense lines around his mouth and eyes.
"Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger," he greeted them when they were a few paces away.
"Hey, mate," greeted George winningly, his blue eyes sparkling and mouth wide as he grinned and held out a hand. "We never met, despite you hanging around Tony all New Years' Eve. What's your name?"
The man blinked, as if not expecting the introductions, and slowly took George's hand. "Happy. Happy Hogan."
George kept his face straight as he nodded. "Happy. Nice to meet you."
Hermione mimicked her fellow wizard, smiling up at the man.
Happy just glanced between the two for a long, befuddled moment, and then shrugged. "This way."
He led them through the crowds and off to a less busy area, and then to a side entrance where security stood. The security guard and Happy exchanged serious nods of acknowledgment, and the man ushered George and Hermione through the door, which led to a set of stairs they went down, and then to a side tarmac of the airport. A long black car - a limo - was waiting for them.
Without realizing it, Hermione's eyebrows rocketed up just as George sharply inhaled. It was one thing to know Tony Stark was insanely rich, but it was another to experience a private entrance, and a ride in a sleek car.
"Mr. Stark wanted to make sure you were comfortable," explained Happy as he ushered them into the back.
George and Hermione slid across the leather seats, eyes wide as they took in the numerous alcoholic bottles that lined one side of the car, the champagne flutes, and the little bowls of snacks.
"Uhh…"
George and Hermione shared a look, but Happy had already closed the door and was making his way around to the driver side, the privacy window between the front and back still down as he tossed over his shoulder, "We've got you booked into Waldorf Astoria in Beverly Hills for the week - Mr. Stark insisted."
"A week? But-" Hermione glanced at George. "We didn't think the meetings would take that long-"
"Plans tend to be derailed when Mr. Stark involved," answered back Happy, although the inflection in his voice made Hermione question whether he thought that was amusing or aggravating.
It took some time - LA traffic was particularly terrible, making London's winding streets and motorways seem clear and easy to navigate - but soon the limo pulled up in front of a large, white hotel with creeping vines and palm trees.
"I'll let you get checked in and freshened up," instructed Happy as he helped Hermione out of the limo, and then grabbed George's carry-on for him. George gave the man an indulgent look as he did so, given that George's carrier bag was no larger than a hiking backpack. "And I'll be waiting here, so that in an hour or so if that's enough time, we can go to SI."
"There's no set meeting time?" questioned Hermione, glancing at the taller man.
Happy shook his head. "Mr. Stark cleared his schedule for you today."
Shocked, Hermione and George shared a matching look of surprise. "That… That was nice of him," the wizard said, blinking just a bit.
Checking in was quick and painless, given that SI had booked them into the hotel, and Tony's name meant people just moved quicker to do anything. After changing their clothes into something more business-like with a blazer (for George), and business-casual of jeans and a blouse (for Hermione), they returned to the car and soon, Happy was taking them to SI.
The building Happy pulled up to was beyond large; it was also incredibly modern and very California: it looked like a giant semicolon, a large circular main headquarters with an oblong, tapered wing extension from the back that they drove along until they were at the front of Stark Industries.
There was glass everywhere, a blue-tinted frost to them to reflect the sun's UVs and keep the inside cool despite the excessive amount of windows. The lobby was a mix of marble and steel, and the secretary at the long front desk didn't look up as Happy ushered them in and to an elevator, pressing the highest number on the panel.
The room the doors opened up to was less of an office and more a formal living room, with plush leather couches, modern art, a large chrome, and glass desk, and minimal knick-knacks to denote a personal touch.
One man was standing by the large floor to ceiling windows overlooking a green parkette on the SI land, a tumbler in his hands, while the other sat behind the desk, reading a file.
The man with the tumbler looked up as they walked in, a wide smile breaking across his face as he strode toward them, hand outstretched. "George Weasley! Good to see you again!" Tony enthused.
George shook his head in return, looking amused as he did so. "No party hat this time, Mr. Stark?"
"Tony; and I save my hats for special occasions," he replied, not missing a beat. He then turned to the other man, who stood and was now walking out from behind the desk, buttoning up his suit jacket as he did so.
He was tall, a bit bulky or hefty around his middle, and bald. Unlike Tony's dark facial hair, this man had a similar design but in grey, as if attempting to hide the width of his jaw and neck. His eyes were a cool blue when he surveyed George and Hermione.
Not cool, thought Hermione with a tiny shiver. But cruel and calculating.
"George, this is Obadiah Stane, my Vice-CEO," introduced Tony with a grin and a clap on Stane's shoulder as he came to stand shoulder-to-shoulder.
"It really should be CEO with everything I do around here," joked Stane, a smile on his face as he shook George's hand.
Tony laughed, but George only summoned a weak smile and Hermione was unmoved.
"And this, Obie," continued Tony, turning to Hermione, eyes sparkling, "Is Ms. Hermione Granger."
"Enchanté, Ms. Granger," said Stane, reaching forward and shaking her hand as well. He looked her over and then dismissed her just as quickly.
On one hand, Hermione bristled at the slight; on the other, she was incredibly pleased that she wouldn't have to deal with the man. George was better at handling slimy men - all she did was confound them when they tried out for Quidditch.
"Let's talk, shall we?" asked Stane, leading both George and Hermione to one of the two couches that faced each other.
George and Hermione went to sit on one, as a united front, while Stane relaxed on the other, taking up as much space as possible with his arms outstretched along the back, and one leg crossed with the ankle on his knee. Tony was left standing but he was moving around, full of energy anyway, and did not seem to notice the slight.
George and Hermione did, though.
Stane launched straight into an interrogation. "What would you say is 3W's most popular product? What was your revenue like last quarter? What is your yearly revenue? Are your stocks private or public? How many employees do you have? Are you the primary CEO or are there others, or a board?"
Hermione's eyebrows rose higher and higher at each question.
"Oh, c'mon, Obie!" groaned Tony. "We don't need to start on this right away, do we? Or even ask these questions?" he turned to Hermione. "Back me up, here, sweetheart-"
"Um…"
A glance at George had Hermione relaxing in her seat. The redhead seemed comfortable with the questions, even amused, if the twitch of his mouth was any indication.
"Let me interrupt you for a moment, Mr. Stane-"
"Obadiah, please," the other man broke in with a grin, "Or, Obie, to my friends."
George barely hesitated. "Obadiah, then. Tony is right; I'm curious about what this meeting is actually about? We were invited here to discuss 3W products, not my company's financial history."
"Financial history is important to SI, especially if we're going to merge," began Stane.
George's mouth turned down quickly and his tone was frosty. "Merge?"
Stane quickly backpedaled. "Partner, excuse me. There are products and ideas SI is interested in potentially leasing from 3W-"
"These are my intellectual property and I don't plan on leasing them out," retorted George coolly, leaning back into his seat.
Stane and George eyed each other warily.
"Perhaps Mr. Stane could begin instead on which products SI might be interested in?" asked Hermione carefully. "And then we can discuss things further? Or - maybe even we could see SI products to know what you're interested in instead?"
"A better idea," agreed George grudgingly. "I don't know much about SI."
"Well, a tour of the place is much easier," agreed Stane, his voice kind, and his body language open despite the hardness in his eyes. He stood. "Shall we?"
George nodded and stood as well, Hermione joining them, but as she walked past the couch, Tony caught her arm and began directing her away from the other two. She sighed. This was becoming a reoccurring thing with him.
"Excuse us, gentlemen, but Granger and I have a previous engagement," grinned Tony.
Stane's eyebrows rose as he glanced at Hermione again, but shrugged. George glanced at her and Hermione nodded in reply; she'd be fine. This was what she needed to do anyway.
"Later, Granger," he said, as Stane directed him to the elevator and they left.
"So!" Tony clapped his hands together. "What do you say, Pipsqueak? We don't need to see the SI labs - I bet you're the kind of girl who is dazzled by good music. Huh? Whadya say - join me for a matinee performance of Madame Butterfly?"
Hermione levelled a hard look at Tony.
"No? Hmm, tricky," the man continued, as they entered the elevator and went to ground level. "Maybe - a drive in a fancy car to Napa Valley for a wine tasting tour? Just name a place and I'll call ahead and we'll close it down so we have it all to ourselves."
Hermione shook her head. "No, thank you, Tony, besides; I'm not interested-"
"-In wine? Okay," he continued, undaunted as they reached the lobby. "Private yacht, you and me, a five-course dinner washed in the sunset on the Pacific ocean?"
"You have a private yacht?" asked Hermione incredulously, and then she shook her head. "Never mind, of course you do."
"So is that a yes?"
"That's a no," replied Hermione with a sigh.
Tony frowned. "Well, what about seeing the genius behind the man?"
Hermione tilted her head to the side. "What?"
"Come to my place, in Malibu," he said, glancing down at her. "I have exquisite taste in art - you can see my art collection. Or my vintage cars."
"Is it private?" she asked, one hand fluttering to her stomach area before dropping.
Tony grinned. "Very."
"That sounds like a good plan, then," she said with a decisive nod.
"I like the way you think, Pipsqueak." Tony steered her out of the lobby and through the doors, where a hot red, convertible was waiting. The driver - or valet, which was crazy to think that SI had one - left the keys in the ignition and Tony gallantly held open the door on Hermione's passenger side (which she was not used to, thinking it was the driver's), helping her slide in.
Tony then jogged around to the driver's side, slid in, and gunned the engine before pulling out with a loud peal of the tires. He whooped and laughed loudly as Hermione shrieked and reached for the door handle, clutching it tightly.
"How far is it to your place?" she called over the noise of the engine, tense.
"Usually an hour in traffic," he replied with a grin and a flash of eye from behind his glasses. "But with me driving like this? Let's say twenty-five minutes."
Hermione paled. Oh, Merlin. I'm going to die.
Tony's Malibu mansion was exactly what Hermione thought it would be: white, modern, and very Californian. There were straight lines, and large windows, and a long drive and gate with a simple landscaped yard and greenery that didn't require any or little maintenance.
"What do you think?"
Hermione glanced from the passenger seat, finally relaxed enough from Tony's reckless driving, and caught Tony's eyes just as they darted forward again, behind his tinted glasses.
Amused, Hermione felt her mouth lift. Are you trying to gauge whether or not I like your home, Mr. Stark?
"It's very nice," she said instead, thinking back to her tiny flat overlooking another building block back in London. "A much nicer view than my place currently is."
"Oh, well, you know London," began Tony airily, just shy of being patronizing, "Rain, and more rain. Lots of people in too tiny a place." He shuddered.
The car pulled itself up alongside the front and around the side, where the drive sloped into an underground parking garage. Hermione's eyes grew wide at the sight of numerous vehicles, ranging in colour and design, all nicely parked with their fronts facing the garage door.
"Impressive, isn't it?" preened the billionaire, exiting the car and coming around to open Hermione's door.
Hermione took the time to look around. "Um, it's certainly a lot."
With a hand at her back, Tony led Hermione around the garage, and then through a door that blended in with the contemporary design of the bright lights and pale grey walls. It was an elevator, and as they entered, a male British voice said, "Welcome back, sir."
Hermione stiffened, casting her eyes around. Hearing voices isn't a good sign for witches and wizards...
"Thanks, J.A.R.V.I.S.," replied Tony, nonchalantly despite eyeing the petite witch at his side.
"Who was that?" demanded Hermione as the doors slid open and revealed a short side hallway filled with natural light. Tony steered her down the hallway that opened up to a large, partially sunken living space with views of the sparkling Pacific Ocean. Hermione felt her breath catch and she dropped her bag on the floor carelessly.
"That," began an amused Tony as Hermione practically floated to the large floor-to-ceiling window, her eyes on the calm sea, "was J.A.R.V.I.S.. My AI. He stands for Just Another Rather Very Intelligent System. J - Say hello."
Hermione spun. Her uneasiness of a disembodied voice warred with her appreciation for Tony's creative genius. "You have a working AI?"
At the same time, the voice said, "Welcome, Ms. Granger."
Her mouth dropped open and Hermione looked around the room with wonder. "Tony - that's - that's amazing - J.A.R.V.I.S. - I - oh!"
Tony smirked, striding forward and flinging himself down on his comfortable white leather couch. "Yeah, he gets that a lot."
Hermione migrated from the windows to the couch, sitting near, but not close enough to touch. She laced her fingers together and turned partially to face Tony. "How long have you had J.A.R.V.I.S. integrated?"
Tony tilted his head back. "How many years is it, J?"
"Two years, three months, and nineteen days, sir," replied the AI. "And counting."
"And still learning," added Tony. "He's incredibly intelligent and self-sustaining to the point of continuous advancement. He learns the longer he's aware, and he's connected to everything I can connect him to."
"Which is?"
"Right now?" Tony made a tiny face. "Not much. The house, mostly. I'm hoping to integrate him with more as it becomes easier. The internet? It's going but dependent on domains and hosts and users - and how much information is put on it."
Hermione leaned forward, impressed. "But eventually?"
"Oh, eventually? J.A.R.V.I.S. will be in everything," replied Tony, grinning. "My personal, artificial intelligence butler." He paused. "Not available for commercial or private use."
Hermione laughed.
"So, Pipsqueak; what do you do when you're not working with Weasley?" asked Tony.
"Work with George? Are you kidding?" Hermione shook her head. "That's his company. I don't work for him at all."
Tony frowned. "Then what were you doing at the Summit?"
"I was asked to go by a friend and high-ranking government member," explained Hermione, avoiding calling Kingsley 'Minister.' "George was kind enough to allow me to tag along."
"Huh." There was a furrow between Tony's brows. "So what is it that you actually do? Are you in school?"
"I've applied - Oxford, for quantum mechanics and matter physics for September," said Hermione. "With additional degrees in higher maths and archeology."
Tony looked dumbstruck for a moment and then whistled, his expression morphing to keen and impressed. "That would be four."
Hermione laughed, with a tiny feline grin on her face. "Well, like I said, I plan to beat your three doctorates by gaining four."
Tony snickered. "Although I was at MIT when I was sixteen, Granger - you'll be hard pressed to keep up with me."
"We'll see," she replied, eyes sparkling. "Anyway, I couldn't decide what I wanted to do when I graduated, so I kind of… do a little of everything. Consider me a freelance contractor. I dabble in things I like, here and there, sometimes government contract, sometimes private commissions. It depends on what captures my interest."
"Captures your interest, huh?" Tony's eyes darkened and he went from being laidback to smoldering in a moment. He shifted across the couch, a hand reaching out and capturing a strand of her hair.
Hermione fought back a shiver. "Um, Tony-"
"Mmm?" but the man had leaned forward, his nose running along her neck as his body turned to hers. He was warm, his aftershave was spicy, and Hermione felt her eyes flutter shut.
"Really, Tony, I-"
Whatever she wanted to say was cut off as the billionaire's mouth trailed along her cheek to her lips. Hermione found herself responding to his kiss, pressing back and letting him crowd her into the back of the couch. For a few, long, breathless moments, all Hermione could think about was the feel of Tony's mouth on hers, the bristle from his scruff, the heat from his body.
Then she remembered. I'm not here as some booty call… "Tony. Tony - mm - stop."
"Hmm?" he asked, drawing back. His pupils were blown wide, his mouth redder than normal and there was a flush to his cheeks.
"I do actually want to say something to you-"
"Bedroom? Great idea," interrupted Tony with a grin, standing up and pulling Hermione to him, where she overbalanced and caught herself by clutching at his arms.
"What? No-"
But Tony was dragging her down the hallway, reminiscent of their first meeting in Bern. Hermione tried to dig her heels in, tugging a bit ineffectually on Tony's arm. Frustrated, she yanked and went, "Tony, please listen to me! It's important!"
"What? What is it?" he asked, spinning around. The flush of pleasure was slowly draining from his cheeks, and his need to get Hermione to his bedroom was fading, quickly.
Hermione's mouth went dry and suddenly, she couldn't speak. She began to wring her hands in front of her, and she swallowed thickly but her throat was dry.
Impatiently, Tony frowned and demanded, "What is it?" His eyes narrowed on her.
Buck it up with that Gryffindor courage, thought Hermione, who let her hands fall to her side. She clenched them and Tony's eyes dropped to look at them before up at her face. Something wary shifted in them.
"I - I - bother! How do I start this?" she muttered, glancing away.
"At the beginning is good," retorted Tony, much of his jovial tone shifting to something more neutral. "Or just spit it out."
Hermione tilted her chin up, jutting it out, and blurted, "I'm pregnant."
Tony stared at her for a minute, and then went, "Excuse me?"
"Three months," continued Hermione, her voice going shrill as she spoke quicker. "Look - I'm not expecting anything from you - really, I'm not - that is to say, I didn't expect this - at all - but… well, I'd like to keep it. Really, I would. I - I had this health scare - a traumatic experience when I was sixteen - and I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to have children since - not like I'm using you, like a - a sperm donor or anything, Tony, really - but I do want this child. And whether you want to be part of their life or not is up to you?"
She winced at the question. "I know they're half yours, and that's fine, but honestly - I'd like you to be involved." She paused, took in his wide-eyed look, and rushed to add, "But you don't have to if you don't want!" She laughed nervously, eyes darting away. "At all. No pressure. None."
A high-pitched noise came from Tony's throat. He then cleared his throat and opened his mouth to try to speak, again, but then closed it and shook his head the tiniest bit.
Finally, he said, his voice strained and tight, "Granger? Lab. Now. J - Prep."
"On it, sir," replied J.A.R.V.I.S..
"Lab?" Hermione's voice rose sharply and warbled in nervousness.
Despite her concerns, Hermione followed behind him as Tony practically stalked through his shiny concrete walls, a deep frown set on his face. They were silent until they reached the glass doors that separated his lab from the rest of the house, on the same level as his underground parking garage.
There were large, thin Stark-standard display screens on several walls, almost as large as chalkboards, and a parallel console with embedded screens that Tony stopped at. He rolled up his sleeves and reached out to touch one screen that mirrored the larger walled ones, where files, folders, and flashes of information passed by too quickly for Hermione to read.
Off to the side, where a lab was set up, a few clunky looking robots wheeled forward with rubber gloves, swabs, and test tubes. Tony glanced at the robot, muttered something about "dummy," and then tersely pointed at a rolling stool for Hermione to sit on with a sharp jerk.
Doing so, Hermione watched as Tony prepped by putting on the gloves, thoroughly washing his hands first and then readying the vials. He sat on his own stool and wheeled over to her, instructing her with a sharp, "Your arm."
Perplexed, Hermione extended it and watched in fascination and utter worry as Tony tapped her arm, found a vein, and efficiently inserted a clean needle to withdraw blood into a vial.
"What's that going to do?" asked Hermione quietly, respecting Tony's tense frame and the fact that he worked in silence other than to issue orders.
"Just… going to check your hormone levels," he said, haltingly. He turned away from her on the stool and did some fiddling with the lab material on his side, his body blocking her vision.
Hermione frowned, and ire rose. "To make sure I'm telling the truth?"
Tony refused to meet her eyes.
"I'm not some kind of - of scarlet woman, Tony Stark!"
This time, Tony did turn around, mirth on his face. "Scarlet woman?"
Hermione blushed a furious red.
"Yes, well," she said, pulling on her shirt and tugging it down in embarrassment. "It wouldn't be the first time someone's called me that."
"Sleep with a lot of men, Granger?" there was something cruel in Tony's voice.
Hermione's eyes shot up from where she was looking at the floor, hurt creeping into her voice as she responded, "No. Mer-God, no. I… I was fifteen, and there was a school dance… and my best friend is famous…"
Tony cleared his throat. "Right. Um - right."
Hermione stared. "You don't say 'sorry' often, do you?"
In reply, Tony reached up and scratched at his cheek, looking everywhere in his lab but at the witch sitting on the stool in front of him.
Hermione sighed. "Look… Tony… this baby isn't going to appear overnight like some horror-movie parasite-"
The man in question to her conversation looked horrified at the comparison; eyes wide as they darted down to stare at her relatively flat stomach. "That was not a visual that I needed in my life, Granger."
"I-" Hermione cut herself off, staring at the American for a moment, before attempting to stifle a chuckle. "Sorry. That wasn't my best comparison. What I'm trying to say here, is that it's going to be at least six more months to go. You don't have to decide right now if you want to be involved - I'm not forcing you to make any decisions. I want you to think about it."
"Six months?" Tony frowned and he finally met her eyes. "That's September. What about school?"
"My friends and extended family is enough to help me with baby care and babysitting-"
Tony's heart clenched something hard and anger quickly rose in him, bubbling out with a snappish, "I don't want any child of mine abandoned into someone else's care while you go off and do your own thing-!"
"I did not say that," snapped back Hermione, rising from the stool to stand, although in doing so with her short stature, she merely gained an inch from her seated form. This put her level at Tony's chest, so she tilted her chin back and poked at him. "I said that they would help. I plan on being this baby's primary caregiver, Mr. Stark, so don't you dare assume differently!"
Tony quickly swallowed back anything else he was going to say. Watch it, buddy, he thought, glancing away. She's not Dad. Her own interests do not lie in presumed dead soldiers lying at the bottom of the Arctic.
"Right. Got it."
Hermione sighed and stepped back, sending the stool rolling away. She ran a hand through her hair. "I'll be back in the UK, once George is done with his meetings here. You can… you can let me know what your answer is at any time."
Tony nodded, keeping silent. The two stared at each other for a few long moments, before Hermione asked, "J.A.R.V.I.S.? Can you direct me back upstairs? It's probably best if I return to the hotel."
"Of course, Ms. Granger," the AI replied, and then used a series of blinking hall lights in addition to a verbal set of instructions to return to the living space upstairs. Tony followed Hermione silently, a ghost to her back as she left the lab.
Topside, Hermione went straight to her leather bag, reaching in and doing her best not to sink her arm all the way down with the undetectable extension charm in play. Instead, she wandlessly summoned the business card she had Kingsley approve before their trip out, and handed it to Tony as she clutched at the strap of her bag.
"What's this?" asked Tony, looking down at it and not taking the card.
"It's… it's my business card," replied Hermione, looking down at it as well and then at Tony. She shook it a bit in her hand. "It has my contact information on it."
Tony looked at a bit more and then told her, plainly, "I don't like being handed things."
Hermione's eyes narrowed and she took two loud steps toward him. Tony, refusing to be intimidated by a tiny slip of a woman, stood his ground.
"Tough," retorted Hermione, grabbing his hand, palm open and facing up, as she slapped the business card onto it. As she was still holding onto his hand, her fingers wrapped tight around his wrist, she felt his full-bodied shiver.
Tony's fingers curled up instinctively and covered the card, crumpling the edges a bit as Hermione stepped back and let go. There was a strange expression on her face that Tony couldn't quite read, with her head tilted to the side.
"I'll - I'll go wait outside if you could be kind enough to fetch me a taxi," she said, her voice quiet and soft.
Tony cleared his throat. "J? Contact Happy and have him pick up Pips- uh, Granger. He can drop her off at her hotel."
Hermione nodded and walked past Tony as he remained rooted in spot, his back to her as she headed to the main door. Just before she opened it though, she called, "Tony?"
He turned.
The large door framed the witch, with warm California air wafting into the climate-controlled space. Tony, already stressed, felt the warm air brush over his sweaty skin. There was something earnest in her expression, something open and hopeful when she spoke. "I really do mean it, you know. I'd love to have you involved in our lives, but I also won't ever pressure you. I'll me know what you decide when you do. Think it over."
Tony nodded, his mouth dry. "I will, Granger."
She gave him a tiny smile and then shut the door.
In response, Tony's shaky legs took him to his white couch where he collapsed. His eyes looked unseeingly out toward the sparkling ocean for several long moments until he exhaled loudly.
"J.A.R.V.I.S.?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Call Rhodey."
"Yes, sir."
He had a lot to tell his best friend and steadfast companion.
The time after Hermione and George's visit to the States went quick; Hermione announced to the extended Weasley clan about her pregnancy, which overall went well except for some choice words from Mrs. Weasley about having a child out of wedlock. Fleur, on the other hand, was ecstatic for another pregnant witch in the family and soon was sending weekly owls to Hermione with tips and helpful advice that Hermione would never admit to desperately and anxiously needing.
Ginny helped baby proof her flat with Harry one weekend, casting spell after spell after spell - almost an excessive amount that Hermione had found in numerous texts she bought (even to the point of contradiction), but Hermione was nothing if not thorough.
Then, in May, about two weeks before Fleur's due date, Maya Hansen knocked on Hermione's door.
The woman looked down at Hermione's stomach and the first words out of her mouth were, "Oh wow," and then, "Holy shit, am I glad it's you and not me."
"Thanks," replied Hermione dryly, opening the door wider for the woman to enter. Maya, on the other hand, was blushing a furious red, slinking in with embarrassment as she did so.
"I didn't quite mean it the way it sounded," she replied, meekly.
"No, but you're definitely happy you're not having Tony Stark's lovechild," replied Hermione, her voice caustic but the grin on her face took out the sting. The two walked from the front to the living space, Hermione gratefully sinking into her cushions.
"So it is Stark's," sighed Maya, sitting down too. "I often wondered where you two disappeared on New Years' Eve, but George never said anything and I didn't want to ask-"
"It's fine," sighed Hermione. "It certainly wasn't planned."
Maya stared at Hermione. "Well, of course not. I'd imagine Stark Industries has a whole disaster contingency plan for when women come forward claiming they're carrying Stark's baby."
"I wouldn't know." Hermione turned partially from Maya, "Do you want tea?"
Maya blinked. "What? Um. Yes, please." She then shook her head. "What do you mean, you wouldn't know? Doesn't Stark know?"
"Oh, Tony knows," replied Hermione, standing again and moving to her kitchen, in plain sight of the living space. She began fiddling with her teapot and gathering cups as the water boiled. "But since I told him directly, I don't think he told anyone else at SI."
"Oh. Um. Wow?"
Hermione grinned at Maya. "Yeah, well, it's been two months and I haven't heard from him so… I wouldn't hold my breath now."
"I'm sorry," grimaced Maya. "But, if you ever want help or a babysitter, I'll be here."
Hermione turned fully to the other woman. "What do you mean, you'll be here?"
Maya grinned. "I just had lunch with George and your friend, Harry Potter. I'm not sure if you know, but since Bern, George and I kept in contact. I've been working a bit more on my research but haven't had luck with funding. George really wants me to continue with it, and well, it seems that Potter has some extra cash lying around…"
Hermione squealed. "Maya, that's wonderful! Harry has always been generous to friends and family with their dreams - did George tell you he gave him and his brother the funds to start their business? And now he'll do so for you?"
"Oh, more than that," replied Maya, leaning back, looking like a satisfied cat. "They're going to start a new branch to 3W, one based solely for scientific research, with my research at the heart of the company. They even want me to meet with another friend you know - a professor? Longbottom?"
Hermione felt her mouth drop open just as a teapot shrilled.
"So I'll be permanently moving here to the UK," finished the scientist, her smile wide and her eyes sparkling with pride and pleasure. "And with George and Potter as my bosses, I don't think they'll care about results the same way another organization might. They seem pretty relaxed."
"They are," enthused Hermione, turning with a tray in her hands filled with their teacups, a teapot, cream and sugar, and some nibbles. "That is amazing, I'm so happy for you! Your work is brilliant, and you'll do brilliant things with 3W."
Maya jumped up and took the tray from her, carefully setting it down on the coffee table in front of the couch as Hermione shifted from baby books to the side, stacking them.
"Thanks," the other woman said, blushing a bit. "George is taking a chance, and I'm really grateful for him and Potter-"
"I think George needed this too," interrupted Hermione. "He needs to get into projects he's excited about. He's been stagnant with the joke shop since…"
"Since his brother passed away," finished Maya knowingly.
Hermione glanced at her curiously. "George told you about Fred?"
"A bit," admitted Maya, "But not much. That they were twins; that he died not even two years ago, violently. That they were business partners."
Hermione was slowly nodding along. "I'm surprised. George doesn't mention a lot about Fred anymore."
"We didn't really have anything to do New Years' Eve but talk," laughed Maya. "Once we realized that we lost you and Stark, we ended up in my room and I spent a few hours going over my project with George. And then we blew up a small part of the room when he snapped a twig off-"
"Of course he did," Hermione sighed just as Maya giggled.
"-and then we went back to your suite where he showed me some of the 3W designs he brought along. Remember how I said I was at the back of the room?" Maya asked, causing Hermione to nod in remembrance. "I never got a chance to come up and ask about some of the products since Dr. Parker was monopolizing your time. So George walked me through a lot after."
Hermione took a moment to look at her shrewdly, but Maya interpreted it correctly and shook her head.
"No offense to George, but he's not my type," she replied, a wicked grin on her face. "Now, you, had you not disappeared with Stark…"
Hermione blushed a furious red. "And then George offered you a job?"
Maya allowed for Hermione's diversion. "No, we just became pen pals. I was expecting an email, but I have to admit I'm kind of charmed by writing old fashioned letters…"
The two lapsed into silence as they drank their tea.
"Do you think Stark will call?" asked Maya, eventually.
Hermione sighed. "I hope so. I don't need his help - I'm fine on my own and as you well know, now, I have a large group of friends to support me as well. But…" she bit her lip and looked down into the brownish liquid in her cup, swirling it around a bit. "I think there's something… strong and good in him under all that bluster he puts on."
Maya made a disbelieving noise but didn't say anything.
Hermione sighed again. "Yeah. I guess we'll see and find out if I'm wrong."
"Are you usually wrong?"
Hermione looked up from her tea, a smirk on her face. "Rarely."
"Here's hoping that streak continues," finished Maya as the two women clinked their teacups together gently in a toast to Hermione.
Victoire Weasley was born at home, at Shell Cottage, on May 20 in the wee hours of the morning with all ten fingers and ten toes and a very loud, healthy set of lungs, Bill proudly announced to the family. Molly, who rushed over to the cottage with cooked meals, several knitted items, and numerous cards and well wishes, immediately spoilt the first Weasley grandchild.
"Just think, soon that will be you," grinned Harry, seated next to Hermione when he and Ron stopped by to visit her a week later.
"Soon," snorted Hermione. "Try another four months. That's ages away."
"Dunno," replied Ron, leaning forward to reach for the cookies Molly gave him to bring to Hermione's, "Four months tend to go by fast. We'll be done our Auror training in three, and Gin's off to training with the Holyhead Harpies in two."
The three caught up for a bit longer, passing gossip of what everyone they knew was doing ("Hannah's taken over the Leaky, now that Tom's retired," "Nev's just finished his apprenticeship with Sprout, I heard McGonagall is going to offer him a full-time position next year," and "Mum's pissed Charlie won't be coming home this summer."). Then, it got late and Harry apologized, saying he needs to pick up Teddy; and Ron was off for a date with Susan Bones (who ever saw that coming? wondered Hermione), leaving her alone in her flat.
She went around, flicking on lights with her wand instead of the switches, and then curled up on her sofa, pulling out a book that she was reading on magical archeology. As she settled, a knock on her door had her groan.
Who could it be at this time of the night? She wondered, slowly rising and moving to open it.
Tony stood on the other side, in a light jacket, his hair wind-tousled and his cheeks pink from the spring evening chill. He hastily shoved a bouquet of flowers at her. "These are for you. Imagine I said something flowery if anyone asks."
"Um, thanks?" replied Hermione, staring down at them as she took them. Her nose wrinkled at the roses.
"Not a fan?" guessed Tony, catching her expression as he stepped into the flat.
"Not… really," Hermione paused and looked up. "Not that I'm upset - really, just confused, but um - what are you doing here?"
Tony tilted his chin up a bit defensively. "You said we could talk when I made my decision." He stopped, eyeing her.
"Your decision?" repeated Hermione, and then it dawned on her. "Oh! Oh, your decision."
She quickly placed the flowers in the sink and turned back to him, wiping her wet hands on her jeans.
Tony nodded, looking around and then scratching at his chin. "Can I uh… sit?"
Hermione nodded and Tony walked to her couch, sinking on it. He looked lost in her living room, all designer wear, and male in ways that her space, books, throws, and plush fabrics, weren't.
"Do you… um… have anything to drink?"
Hermione stared at him. "I'm pregnant, Tony, I can't drink."
"Doesn't mean you don't have anything else here for others," the man retorted, and Hermione sighed, admitting to herself that yes, she had Firewhiskey for George and Ron, and butterbeer for Harry, as well as a regular Muggle brand for Maya when she came by.
She turned and got a can out for the billionaire, passing it to him and sitting at the other end of the couch primly, watching him carefully as he snapped the tab and took a few swigs. His hand was shaking as he brought the can down from his mouth, and despite having said he made a decision, he looked terrified at admitting it aloud.
"You don't have to do this if you're not ready," said Hermione quietly.
Tony shook his head, putting the beer down on the coffee table, on top of a potions journal. Hermione cringed and hoped he also didn't glance down at the title. That'll be hard to explain.
"So," he cleared his throat and tried again. "So. I - uh - my dad and I - well, we didn't get along. At all." He grimaced. "He wasn't around; shipped me off to boarding school. Out of sight and out of mind and all that."
Bitterness seeped into his voice. "Howard was a real jerk. Angry all the time, didn't have a moment for me. Did you know I built my first robot when I was in elementary school? Won a prize and everything. And he never even offered a 'great job, son,' once."
Tony's eyes glazed over a bit as he became lost in his memories, lines around his mouth deepening and making him appear older than he was as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Finally, he looked up at Hermione.
"I don't know how to be a dad, Hermione," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I still don't know if I really want to be one, either."
Hermione felt her breath catch, so sure and ready to hear the words: thanks and so long, all the best - wish you well - her eyes drifted down to her hands in her lap.
"But…"
Brown eyes darted up and caught another set of brown eyes, these deeper and darker in colour than hers.
"But… well, I'll support you if you want," he finished, shifting uncomfortably. "I'll… I'll be there when you want me to be." His mouth twisted. "Like, for checkups and whatever… It'll be a bit hard to explain why I'm in England so much to Obie and SI, but I'll do it-"
"Tony, you don't have to," interrupted Hermione, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. She was sure he could hear it. "Just be here for the birth - I know you're busy with SI."
He looked at her skeptically. "You sure? I thought women wanted their baby daddies around for everything-"
Hermione laughed. "I think we both know where you'll stand on that."
"I'll set up a trust," continued Tony, hesitantly.
"I don't need the money, but I appreciate it. I'm sure the baby will too, once they grow up and want to attend university," replied Hermione. "Maybe Oxford."
Tony scoffed. "MIT, sweetheart. Maybe Stanford or Berkeley, or nothing at all."
Hermione resisted rolling her eyes. "And if they want to go to a Liberal Arts college?"
The stare Tony levelled at her spoke volumes of his thoughts on that idea. Hermione sighed but let the matter drop. They had eighteen years before it came to that.
Instead, Hermione took a moment to ask hesitantly, "What about the name situation?"
"Name?" Tony frowned. "You can pick - I don't really care for picking their name out."
"I meant the last name. Will they be Stark or Granger?"
"What about Granger-Stark?" asked a cheeky Tony, beginning to relax.
"Mouthful, that," replied Hermione. "But I'm more concerned with them potentially being a Stark and being accosted by paparazzi-"
"Won't happen." Tony's mouth turned down into a flat line. "I grew up in the spotlight and I don't want that for our kid. Call them Granger, then - that's fine by me."
Hermione stared at Tony as he spoke with vehemence on the topic. Maybe I'll ask him about this again another time, she thought, or at least, pick for myself at a later date.
"Okay…" she said instead.
Tony raised his eyebrows. "Anything else?"
Hermione slowly shook her head. I'll need to ask Kingsley's permission to have Tony brought into the magical world, though. I'll ease him into it - no Seamus Finnegan, "it was a nasty surprise to me dad!" situation for me.
"Okay," sighed Tony, closing his eyes in relief. "Uh, if there's more… we'll uh… we'll talk?"
Hermione nodded. "Of course." She reached over to her coffee table, ripped off some spare parchment she was using for notes, and scribbled her rarely used landline phone number on it. She knew he had it from her business card, but it was likely he tossed that.
"This is a good way to get a hold of me," she said, using a pen instead of a quill. The shape felt odd in her hands after a decade or so in the magical world. "I won't always answer, especially if I'm caught up in my work - but you can leave a message."
She didn't hand the paper to Tony, knowing he didn't like it. Instead, she slid it across the table to him and he picked it up after her. He placed it in his jacket interior pocket, patting it when he was done.
"I'll make sure that when you call, JARVIS will send your call directly to me," he replied.
Hermione grinned. "I'd need your number for that."
Tony closed his eyes in mortification - I can't believe I forgot that he thought - and used the same parchment she did to write his number on. When he finished, he frowned, rubbing his fingers between the thick, rough paper.
"This is-" he looked up at her.
"Parchment," replied Hermione, trying to sound nonchalant. "I'm exploring different paper-making techniques for a pre-university course in archeology."
"Huh," the American replied, still rubbing it for a moment longer. "Sounds neat. Wish my undergrad had interactive courses like that." He glanced at her. "Are you still committed to doing school even with the -" he choked a bit "-baby?"
Hermione nodded. "September 29th is my due date, apparently. We'll see if they're early or not." She paused. "Will you - you'll be there?"
Tony looked at Hermione carefully. She was so terribly young, and it took him a few seconds to remember that she was only twenty, and he felt like a lecher, an old man taking advantage of her despite turning thirty in a few days. She was tiny, pale with the toll of the pregnancy on her, and despite having friends to support her, Tony found himself desperately wanting, at that moment, to reach out, hold her hand, and tell her he'd do anything she'd ask to make her happy.
Instead, he bit the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from speaking. He nodded weakly, and said, hoarsely as reality slammed into him, "Sure, Hermione. I'll be there."
When James Rhodes got the phone call, a part of him could honestly say that he wasn't expecting it. He really wasn't - Tony was Tony, and there would be a part of him that messed up, at the worst possible time. Only, he had hoped it wouldn't have been in September, and certainly not that week, and not the days around Hermione's due date.
So, with a resigned sigh, Rhodey found himself walking into the Las Vegas casino, casting his eyes around the dim interior and wincing at the jarring, garish lights and the smell of cigar smoke as he looked for his distinctive friend.
It took a few minutes, but eventually, he found Tony, hanging off of two leggy models, one a redhead and the other blonde, both of whom were teetering on their heels as well. Tony's shirt was wrinkled and stained, his hair was a mess, and there was a lipstick kiss smudged onto one cheek.
As soon as Tony saw him, he cheered, loudly, "RHODEY!"
Unfortunately for Tony, Rhodey kept his face solemn. "Tony."
Tony began gesturing to the two women at his side, wavering in his spot, clutching tightly at the women's shoulders from his place between them. "Ladies, have you - have you met Rhodey? He's my Rhodey. My Rhodey."
As he spoke, he leaned forward and his breath wafted near Rhodey, who grimaced. "Jesus, Tones, you're wasted. What have you been drinking?"
"This and that," grinned the billionaire, burping. His eyes went comically wide and he brought a hand up to cover his mouth. The two models at his side laughed, but it was grating and Rhodey felt his teeth clench, grinding down on his molars.
"Tony," his friend began, trying to be patient, "Don't you remember the date?"
Tony blinked. "No… why should I? I have people for that."
"Yeah, man, you do. But you also promised to stick around-"
"Pssh, stick around for what?"
Rhodey stared. Without warning, he reached forward and yanked Tony away from between the two models, and began frog marching him through the aisle.
"Ow, ow, hey, Rhodes-!"
"Jesus Christ, Tony," muttered Rhodey, his face dark as he tightened his grip. "Of all the days you had to go on a fucking bender, you had to pick this week, didn't you?"
"What's so important-"
"What's so important?" echoed Rhodey, incredulously. He abruptly came to a stop in the middle of the casino floor, staring down at his best friend in muted horror. "How about the phone call I got when you didn't answer your phone two days ago? From George Weasley? That Hermione went into labour?"
Apparently, the remembrance of impending fatherhood was enough to sober Tony, enough so that he blanched milk white. His swaying grew more violent until he darted out of Rhodey's grip and leaned over into a cigarette trash stand, vomiting into the sandy top.
Rhodey, used to Tony's behaviour, was unmoved but did shift a bit in embarrassment as a few people glanced over. Clearing his throat, he called, "Nothing to see here, folks. Nothing to see. Just a guy who drank too much."
"Rhodey," moaned Tony, looking up and over his shoulder. "How long? How many days have I-"
"I'm sorry, Tones. Two, at least, but with the time difference? Three now," replied his best friend, wincing in empathy. "What do you want to do?"
"I need to - I need to get to London," muttered Tony, staring at the wall in front of him as he continued to lean over the trash. "Now. Can you - can you call Happy? And get the jet started?"
"If you take the jet, Stane is going to find out," cautioned Rhodey. "I thought you wanted this kept quiet from everyone? That's why you had the ticket-"
Tony's hand reached out and smacked the wall, hard. "Fuck!"
Morosely, he straightened and turned to face his friend. New lines were etched on the thirty-year-old's face. "Rhodey, what do I do?"
Rhodes leaned forward, wrapping an arm around Tony's shoulders. He began leading him from the casino, this time, gently. "C'mon, Tones. I'll see if there's a military transport heading that way - we might be able to catch a flight and then we'll come up with something to get you home after, okay?"
Tony nodded, but Rhodey could tell that he was lost in his thoughts, the stricken look on his face slowly sinking into permanence. "Rhodey, I already fucked up. What if she doesn't want me to see the kid? Not even a few days old and I'm already doing worse than my dad-"
"Don't say that!" snapped Rhodey, glaring at his friend. "Don't. You're nothing like your dad, you know that. And it's been a few days, so what? What about all those babies born to soldiers deployed overseas? Some of them don't see their kids until they months old and no one gets upset."
"That's different."
Rhodey grimaced. "Okay, a bit, yeah, but still. Tones. It'll be okay."
There was an unconvinced look on Tony's face, though. "You don't know Hermione," he muttered in reply.
Rhodey - who had never yet met the mother of Tony's child - couldn't disagree, but wanted to argue. The expression of utter defeat, was like the world was about to end and nothing Tony could do could stop it from happening. It was only when seeing that expression that Rhodey privately admitted to himself that yeah, Tony may have really screwed the pooch on this one.
Hermione settled into motherhood the same way she took to anything else, with books and excessive planning. As such, her flat in London was completely baby proofed with Muggle and Magical means; her fridge was filled with leftovers courtesy of Mrs. Weasley, colour-coded and dated with enough for the next month or so; and Harry had been by with Bill and Fleur earlier to clean the place from top to bottom. There was nothing left for Hermione to do as a new mum-to-be but sit on her couch, catalogue every finger, toe, and eyelash in her daughter's face, and relax.
Until Harry walked in, pinched lips and wide eyes, carrying a Muggle newspaper in one hand and a large box of sugar quills.
Hermione's eyes darted from the sugary bribe to the newspaper, and resignedly, she asked, "Do I want to know?"
"It'll explain why he didn't show up," replied Harry.
Hermione's shoulders dropped, but she reached out and took the newspaper regardless. It was a gossip rag - the Daily Mail - and splashed across the front was the image of a very drunk Tony against a roulette table with two very attractive women on his arms. The caption noted that it was from yesterday and that a hotel staff member confirmed the Stark heir had been checked in for five days at the time of the photograph.
"I had hoped…" her voice was small, almost whispery.
Harry quickly sat on the couch, careful to avoid upsetting the newest baby to the extended Granger-Potter-Weasley family in her carrier on the couch cushion nearest Hermione. Hermione's oldest friend wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in for a hug, kissing the top of her thick, wild hair. "I'm sorry, Hermione."
Hermione quickly blinked away the wetness in her eyes. "Me too."
"D'you want me to kick his arse?"
With a wet laugh, Hermione pulled back and wiped under her eyes with a finger and then the heels of her hands, shaking her head. "It's fine. We knew that this might happen - it's why I gave him time to think about if he wanted to be in our lives-"
Harry glared. "He said he would! He's going back on his word-!"
"I kind of expected it, Harry," admitted Hermione quietly, turning to look at her daughter. She took in the already dark brown hair - her father's - and the natural curl from the tiny mop on her head - all Hermione's - and prayed that perhaps her hair colouring and round eyes were all that she inherited from Tony Stark.
"... Would you tell him about the magical world?" asked Harry, quietly.
Hermione shook her head. "I got permission from Kingsley, you know? Back when I learned I was pregnant. I thought if he was going to be in her life - in our lives - then he should know…"
"But?"
"But when Tony missed the birth… I realized it might be for the best that he isn't read into the magical world," finished Hermione, wringing her hands a bit. "Could you imagine? A genius like him? With his weapons manufacturing?" She shook her head. "It would be like putting Mr. Weasley in an electronics store. Too much temptation for evil."
Harry laughed. "Fair enough." He then paused. "But you would have him still in your lives?"
Hermione nodded. "Of course. Just… maybe not as involved as I originally planned."
Hours later, after Harry had left via Floo, Hermione was sitting in her PJs and reading out loud to her daughter from Hogwarts: A History. She had just finished reading the first chapter on the Founders when her landline phone began to ring.
Curious, she looked up from the thick text, staring at the rotary style phone she used only for keeping in contact with the Muggle world - on Kingsley's suggestion, given her freelance nature. It never rang, except on rare occasions of some Muggle Minister or reporter trying to get a hold of her.
Putting the book down, she peered at her sleeping daughter and then made her way to the phone, picking the receiver up from the cradle and asking into it, "Hello?"
"... Hey, Pipsqueak."
"Tony," breathed Hermione in shock, pulling the receiver away to look at it for a moment before returning it to her ear. She hardened her heart and continued, coolly, "It's nice to finally hear from you."
Although she couldn't see it, she could almost hear Tony's wince. She definitely heard the regret in his voice. "I - I didn't mean to -"
She sighed. "Still can't say 'sorry.'"
There was nothing but silence and breathing for a few moments.
"Are you well? Is… is the baby…?"
"We're fine. The labour went well," replied Hermione quietly. She began twisting the phone cord around her finger. "Less than eight hours, so I've been told that's quite good."
"Good, good." He paused, and then asked, "Can I… can I see you and…?"
Hermione winced herself as she realized that he didn't even know if he had a son or daughter, or what their name was. But Hermione never wanted to keep him from her, so… "Of course, Tony. You can come by at any time."
"Good," he said with a relieved sigh. "Because I'm kind of outside your door now…?"
Hermione's eyes darted up and toward her front door in shock. She put down the receiver, walked across the length of her living room and into the short hallway. Unlocking the door with wandless magic, she opened it with a sharp yank.
On the other side, in a t-shirt and jeans, wearing his tinted glasses and a sheepish expression on his face, stood Tony. He had a clunky cell phone pressed against the side of his face, which he lowered. "Um, hi?"
Well, this is familiar, she thought, rolling her eyes and backing up, allowing him entry. She turned and returned to the phone, replacing the receiver and taking the time to collect herself. Her hands were shaking and she realized, that she was not prepared.
Tony was standing awkwardly in the middle of her living room, looking around with his hands stuffed into his jean pockets as he took in the framed photos on her walls - all frozen once they realized a Muggle was amongst them - her overflowing shelves with books, disguised so he couldn't read their titles, and the plethora of baby items scattered around: toys, blankets, stuffed animals, bottles, shopping bags with diapers and formula.
And then his eyes rested on the baby carrier on the couch, tucked into the corner by the cushions and the precious cargo wrapped in Gryffindor colours.
"Is that…?" his breath caught and he took an aborted step forward, only to seemingly hold himself back.
Hermione nodded, stepping forward and scooping her daughter up from the carrier and into her arms.
Tony stared. "It's so tiny."
"Babies usually are, Tony," replied Hermione, stifling a laugh. "But she's perfectly sized for her age and weight."
Emboldened, Tony stepped forward until he nearly brushed up against Hermione's arms, staring down at the button nose and long, thick eyelashes, and head full of curly dark brown hair.
"Tony Stark," began Hermione quietly, as they both spent some time listening to the baby breathing, "Meet your daughter, Morgan Charlotte Granger-Stark."
Gingerly, and carefully, Hermione stretched out her arms and passed the baby to Tony, guiding him to hold her properly and then gently pushing him to sit on the couch. The man was terrified, his entire frame stiff and locked as he stared down at his daughter with wide eyes.
Gradually he relaxed, as the baby did nothing but sleep peacefully in his arms.
Hermione sat next to him on the couch, both parents staring down at the surprised bundle that brought them together.
"Why-" Tony cleared his throat. "Why did you name her Morgan?"
Hermione glanced up. "Was it not your grandmother's maiden name? I thought to honour your family in some way -"
Tony blinked quickly, and asked through a tight throat, "How did you know?"
"I did some research," said Hermione, stifling a smile to a private joke. "I figured if I was going to have your child, then I should know about your family."
"Why not name her after your mom or grandmother?" asked Tony curiously.
Hermione glanced away. "My mum… well, I think at the end, my parents were probably unhappy with the decisions I took in my life and it wouldn't have been fair for me to honour them that way. And I never knew my grandparents, on either side, so…" She shrugged. "Can't blame me if your family history is more readily available."
Tony snorted, and then stiffened, looking down in terror at the baby. Morgan snuffled in her sleep and shifted a bit, curling a bit more into Tony's chest.
Something warm blossomed deep in him the longer he stared at the baby. Something protective and loving, and when he glanced at Hermione, regret spilled, including words he never thought he'd say. "I'm sorry."
Hermione froze. "I beg your pardon?"
"I'm sorry," he said, a second time, the words still struggling to push past his lips, but he managed. He didn't want to say them again, though. "I should've been there. And I wasn't. I said I'd be part of your lives-"
Hermione sighed.
"Hermione, sweetheart, please, listen," implored Tony, shifting to face Hermione so that their knees touched. He clutched Morgan to him a bit, and she made a huff. "I want to be here. I want to be part of her life, and yours, too. I wasn't sure before, but now I do."
"How can I trust that, Tony?" asked Hermione, patiently and cautiously. Her eyes caught his. "You said something like that before and then missed Morgan's birth-"
"I know," he grit out.
Hermione stared. "If you know, then you know why it's hard for me to trust that you will be there for her going forward."
"What do you want me to say? Huh? Or do? I can make it up to you both!" Tony passed Morgan back to Hermione, who took her and watched as Tony ran his hands through his hair, making it messy. "I can - I can buy a place for you. Here, in London, if you want to stay in the city. I can move SI here so I can do my work instead of at Malibu-"
Hermione broke into loud laughter. "Tony, you were made for the sun and America. You'd hate it here."
He scowled. "You don't know that-"
"I have a pretty good idea," replied Hermione, looking at him knowingly. "And I think you do, too."
The two fell silent, Tony looking down at Morgan in Hermione's arms and Hermione watching Tony carefully.
Eventually, Hermione sighed. "I want you to be better, Tony. I want you to be the man I know is in there. I'm not saying you can't be here, can't be in Morgan's life. But I think you need to figure yourself out first."
With a sigh, Tony agreed. "Okay." He hesitated and then asked, "But I can be part of her life?"
Hermione reached forward, curling an arm around his, and slid up next to Tony, cuddling against him. "I'd be disappointed if you weren't. And I don't mean just a card at Christmas or her birthday, Tony."
"Visits, too?" he asked, his mind whirling forward, thinking of escape plans and excuses to make to Obadiah and the SI board. "I know you named her as a Stark, but I don't want her exposed-"
"Agreed!" Hermione emphatically nodded against his shoulder. "She'll be given privacy here, as long as we don't make it obvious."
"My - I have this friend-"
"I thought you don't do friends?" there was a light mock to Hermione's voice.
Tony scowled and tapped her on the nose. "Excuse me, rude! As I was saying, my best friend, James Rhodes, he knows about - well, he knows. As does Happy."
"No one else?"
Tony shook his head. "I don't want anyone else to know. I- I grew up in the spotlight. I don't want that for Morgan."
"So no one else from your side?"
"No one else," confirmed Tony.
Hermione snuggled a bit further into his side, and Tony tentatively pulled free the arm she was cuddling to wrap it around her shoulder, pulling her in closer when she sighed contentedly.
And for a long time, the two adults sat in silence, staring down at the little girl in Hermione's arms. It was the first time in a long while that Tony felt utterly relaxed.
Almost eleven months later…
This shouldn't be this hard, thought Tony with a deep scowl, clicking through item after item on Amazon. There weren't many baby items to pick from, and Tony was loathed to physically visit a Babies 'R Us store for Morgan's first birthday present.
"Is there something you need help with, Mister Stark?"
Jumping, Tony swiped at the screens he was looking at, and muttered, "Thanks for the warning, J."
"Apologies, sir," the AI replied dryly, as Tony spun to look at his new personal assistant. "But you did say that Ms. Potts had full access to SI and your personal home."
The lithe, strawberry-blond in a pencil skirt and cream silk blouse kept a placid look on her face, one hand clutching at her folio with Tony's ever-growing day planner and a Blackberry in the other.
The woman repeated, "Do you need help with something, Mister Stark?"
Tony shook his head. "Nope. Nada, nein - whatever. I'm good. Totally good." He paused. "You good, Pep?"
The woman scowled. "I prefer Ms. Potts, Mister Stark. Or, if you must use my first name, Pepper."
"'Cause you're so hot, gotcha," replied Tony with an exaggerated wink and leer.
Pepper's expression did not change, and Tony admired that. She spent a few moments staring at him, and Tony could easily tell she did not believe a thing he was saying. He strode forward, a hand at her back and began leading her from his workshop.
"Say, Pep, are you a fan of steak? 'Cuz there's this great place down in Beverly Hills that I think you'd really like… No? What about Thai?"
Tony kept talking, about anything and everything that came to mind, letting the thoughts skip from one to another - anything he could do to keep Pepper from looking back into his lab or to question why he was looking at stuffed platypus toys and baby build sets.
It wasn't just his promise to Hermione about keeping Morgan safe - it was his own promise to his daughter.
And while Howard might not have kept his promises to his son, and while Tony knew he was going to fuck up eventually, there was one thing he could do for his daughter, and that kept her safe by any means necessary.
Any means.
TBC...