A/N: Insert the usual apologetic banalities about the encroachments of real life and the flightiness of time…

On a truly sincere note, however, a million thank-yous to those who have followed, favorited, and reviewed; every notice that pops up in my email grants another little spark of motivation.


In Our Bones: Chapter 3

December 18th, 1981. New York, USA.

During his Hogwarts years, and later as an adult, Harry would think about the weeks that directly succeeded his arrival at the Stark home with wistful nostalgia. Those days, little more than a month and a half, encompassed almost the entirety of his "sweet spot" – the brief period of time when he truly was "too young to understand". He was greatly upset by the unexplained absence of his Mummy and Daddy, of course, but he had a whole new house to explore, much bigger than the confined world of the cottage he was used to, and Mister Jarvis and Mama were there to see to his every need.

Except when Mama was yelling at Father, that is. She did that quit a lot, he remembered, especially in those first couple of weeks. They tried to keep the arguments out of his earshot behind closed doors, but he caught snatches of several of them regardless, and although other memories dimmed with time, these pieces of conversations stuck with Harry for the rest of his life; measured it by changes in the feelings they evoked.

"If you don't call the authorities, and it comes out later? Kidnapping? AND inciting an international incident – again?! You'd be put away for YEARS! What of the company, Howard? What of me and Tony?!"

At first, it was only confusion, almost indifference. Although the tones of the voices were alarming, the words themselves held little meaning.

"Maria, you don't understand! No one's looking for him; I've checked. And what I saw him do… This boy puts me on the verge of the most earth-shaking breakthrough the world has ever seen! I refuse to let an opportunity like him vanish into the system."

Months and years later, the words became piercing weapons, hissed by his brother as painful reminders of what – and who – their father did and didn't care for.

"And I refuse to let you get THEM involved! He's a PERSON, damn you! A helpless baby! Not a science project!"

At the same time, they were also a reminder – sweet, and then bittersweet – of how much Mama did care.

"God, Maria, I didn't mean… I do want to help the boy, of course. But I want to be able to watch him, too; with abilities like that, he'll need guidance and protection; someone to work with him and teach him control."

Later still, it was just a statement of fact: Harry was different, and everyone wanted to know why, and however well-meaning they were or pretended to be, it always resulted in some form of pain for him.

"Then do it properly. Make him ours. I swear, one way or another, we WILL do right by that boy. Somebody has to!"

Except Mama. In Harry's eyes, Mama was invincible and infallible, and her honor was sacrosanct – an outlook that precipitated the majority of his childhood tussles, barring those with his brother, who was of much the same opinion – one of the very few things the boys would agree on.


As expected, their arrival had been… Well, at least they had had a few weeks before Tony got home from school. Howard wasn't sure he could have dealt with his wife and son at the same time.

Sons, now. Plural. The idea hadn't even occurred to him, but in hindsight it made perfect sense on multiple levels. His own childhood had jaded Howard to the harsh realities of the world, but Maria was right; no child deserved to grow up unwanted. And if Harry was theirs, few could dispute Howard's right to raise and train the boy as he saw fit, and he would have full control over any studies done on the boy's abilities.

And, fascinating project or not, a second son… a second son meant a second chance. Tony was all but a young man now, by their standards, and Howard… there were things he would like to have done differently.

It was surprisingly easy to arrange, too. Mostly Edwin Jarvis' work, and made simpler by the fact that Maria generally kept out of the public eye and was still young enough to have plausibly born another child. Tony also, barring the prideful announcement shortly after his birth, had stayed mainly on the manor grounds until he started school, so it wouldn't be strange for a second child to do the same…

Especially if – and this was the real kicker, the compelling addendum that would lend credibility to Harry's 'origin story' as well as his projected frequent disappearances into Howard's lab – the child was a sickly one, premature or the product of a difficult birth, who required intensive and constant care in his early days; who even, perhaps, hadn't been expected to live, but had now recovered sufficiently to be introduced to the world, thanks to the tireless efforts of their family doctor – a man who Howard both considered a friend, persuadable to the charitable fabrication of a family for an abandoned orphan, and… just in case… who he had blackmail on, as well.

All in all, absorbing little Harry into Howard's family was both a logical course of action, and a piece of cake.

That is… not counting Tony.


Tony had already been waiting at the pick-up point outside his school, luggage in hand, for the better part of an hour when Mister Jarvis arrived. Which is not to say that Mister Jarvis was late, of course – Mister Jarvis was never late – in fact, he was approximately half an hour early in this instance. It was just that Tony was so ready to leave that he had for once been completely organized and packed practically since he woke up that morning.

School was abysmal.

By the time the familiar black car drew to a stop curbside, Tony was practically quivering with excitement, and when Mister Jarvis stepped out to open the door for him, Tony threw himself on the man in a tight, sloppy embrace, and then threw himself into his seat with equal enthusiasm, fumbling with the buckle as Mister Jarvis stashed his suitcase in the trunk.

School was deplorable.

Mister Jarvis folded himself into the driver's seat and smiled over his shoulder at Tony, asking, "Are you ready to go home, young sir?"

"Oh yes," Tony replied immediately, "quick as you can, Mister Jarvis."

School was repugnant. Tony proceeded to tell Mister Jarvis so at great length and with verbose reasoning, using the word 'repugnant' several times as a matter of principle because it was his new favorite. Mister Jarvis, as usual, 'hmm'ed and 'ahh'ed agreeably and nodded in all the right places, letting out the occasional "You don't say?" and "Well I never!" when appropriate.

Tony loved this about Mister Jarvis, and loved even more that Mister Jarvis didn't seem to mind how Tony stored up months of disgruntled rants just so he could unload them on his favorite victim.

It took quite a while to do, this unloading, so the trip was halfway over before Tony noticed that the butler was rather tense, and his responses somewhat stiffer than usual.

"Hmm," Mister Jarvis said, for approximately the two hundred and third time, when Tony pried. "There are… certain changes awaiting you at home, young sir," he revealed evasively, "but it is not my place to explain, I should think."

"What… Is Mama okay?" Tony demanded, "And Father?"

Mister Jarvis blinked in apparent surprise, then smiled. "Oh yes, they are both quite well. Nothing like that, Tony, don't you worry."

Dissatisfied, but assured of the butler's sincerity more by the use of his name than by the platitudes, Tony relaxed back into his seat, frowning. After several minutes of anxious silence, however, they passed a scene that made Tony think of something that had happened at school, and he was off again, the anticipation of an uncertain future relegated to the same mental corner where all boys of about eleven banish such thoughts, to be nestled alongside other troublesome ideas like 'consequences'.

Some such boys – even those as clever as Tony – never stop.