Author's Note: This was intended to be a Secret Santa gift for one of my really good friends, but then life happened and this thing also decided to turn into a monster (go figure) as pretty much everything I write tends to do. Oops.

Anyway, This is my first ever crossover story between Harry Potter and Iron Man, so I hope my take on it is satisfactory. The timeline on this is obviously modified to slot in everything nice and neatly between the two verses, and I'm comfortable to say that this takes place-let's say 6-8 ish weeks-after Iron Man.

Without further ado...

Competition/Challenge Block:
Written for/Stacked with: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Term 12); Monthly Challenges for All (Year 2)
House/Team: Ravenclaw (Hogwarts)
Role/Position: Prefect (Hogwarts)
Term (Assignment): Term 12 (Assignment 5)
Subject (Task): Media Studies (Task 8: Write about someone expressing raw, open emotions to another/others.)
Other Hogwarts Challenges: IPC: [961] (Adaptable); 365: [24] (Behavior);
Other MC4A Challenges: Spring Bingo [1E] (Childhood); Trope Bingo [2E] (Obfuscating Stupidity); Scavenger Hunt (Desi Character); Link Maker (n/a)
Representation: Autistic Harry Potter; Desi Harry Potter; Desi/Black Potter Family; Autistic Tony Stark; Caretaker Arabella Figg
Bonus Challenges: Pear-Shaped; Not a Lamp; White Dress
Tertiary Bonus Challenges: T3 (Tether)

Word Count: 5,893 words (per Google Docs)
Beta(s): Brokenbottleaurora [heart]

Warning Tag: Implied/Referenced Canon-Typical Child Abuse

.oOo. This story is dedicated to Magi Silverwolf .oOo.

Nothing to Lose

It was the first day of summer and a light drizzle decided to spit from the overcast sky above. Rain on a Saturday would put a damper on most people's weekend plans, yet it didn't stop the Dursleys from packing their luggage for their annual summer vacation. They were scheduled to catch a train that evening, so the house was more chaotic than normal for Harry. Everyone barked orders at him from all sides, demanding various tasks be done right away. He was being even more overworked than usual, and it took every ounce of strength in his almost nine-year-old body to keep from crumbling under the strain.

Unfortunately, his tender mind had learned early how to disassociate from these situations and simply go with the flow. He barely registered the light rain that slowly soaked his oversized clothing and thick hair as he slogged back and forth between the house and the car. He was carrying Dudley's third heavy suitcase to the car's boot when the post carrier arrived. Rather than have him walk to the door, Harry accepted the mail and tucked it under his shirt, closed the boot, and ran back in out of the rain.

The ruckus upstairs told him the Dursleys were doing their final room and luggage checks, which was their way of procrastinating and avoiding their last pre-vacation obligation: taking Harry to Mrs. Figg for the week they were away. He didn't mind walking there by himself, but Harry knew by now that being dropped off was intended to keep up the Dursleys' appearances to the community, so offering to walk would only anger them.

Heading for the kitchen, he pulled the mail from under his shirt and absently stared down at it. It took him several precious seconds to realize that his last name was printed on the top letter: Potter Family.

There must have been a mixup in the mail, no one in the house was a Potter except for him, and he was only one person, not a family. Staring at the single word for what seemed like ages, it dawned on him then.

This was for his parents.

Harry froze in front of his cupboard. He wasn't sure why something for them would come here. It had never happened before, or at least not since he'd been handling the mail. Whatever the reason behind it, he needed to find out as soon as possible. Risking a glance up the stairs to make sure the coast was clear, he quickly opened the cupboard door and tucked the letter under the clothes he'd stuffed into an old overnight bag and closed it before heading to the kitchen to finish cleaning up breakfast. He refused to allow the strange feeling in his gut to overwhelm him. He couldn't afford to raise suspicion. He couldn't.

If he ruined the Dursleys' vacation before it even started, they would make sure his summer would be the absolute worst one to date. Dropping the rest of the mail on the table, Harry rolled up the sleeves of the large t-shirt above his elbows to start washing, drying, and putting the dishes away before cleaning the counters and sink.

Unfortunately, it didn't keep him distracted, and it was times like this when he longed to have his parents back so he could feel valued, wanted, loved. Maybe that letter held a clue to who they were and what they were like. The Dursleys never liked him asking about them at all, so he'd learned to accept whatever they did decide to say about them, even if it was only nasty things.

Harry's mind reeled the entire short ride to Mrs. Figg's house. He was all too aware of the overnight bag scorching his lap as he yearned to open the letter hidden within it. Although his legs were numb from being wedged between the seat in front of him, the door, and even more of Dudley's things, he made sure to keep quiet until they stopped on the curb.

He barely got the car door closed before Vernon grabbed his shoulder and got in his face. It took everything Harry had to not flinch.

"Now listen here, boy," Vernon said sternly, "if I find out you even look at someone the wrong way while you are here, you can look forward to the lashing of your life. I will not tolerate having my family's fun be cut short because of your misbehaving."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry responded instinctively. He made sure to keep the monotony from his voice; Uncle Vernon always interpreted that as Harry 'copping an attitude.'

It must have been satisfactory as Vernon placed a meaty hand on his back and gave him a firm push toward the house. Harry clutched his bag to his chest as they headed for the door.

Mrs. Figg answered after the third knock, greeting them with a soft smile and the heavy aroma of what Harry knew was her favourite vegetable soup cooking in the background.

"Thank you for agreeing to watch him while we are away, Mrs. Figg. The boy hates to travel, as you know," Vernon said almost too nicely. "Here is everything you should need. The phone numbers are all there for emergencies only. He has his belongings on him."

Mrs. Figg stepped aside to allow Harry to enter while she spoke with Vernon. It would be his first time staying at her house for more than two days overnight, and he wasn't quite sure how he felt about it. Gripping his bag close to him as he looked around the cramped space, he noticed it was cleaner than usual. At least the smell of soup was relatively nice, and her assortment of felines must have been tucked away sleeping since he didn't see any roaming about. Not too unusual, but also a little strange.

After Mrs. Figg finished with Vernon, she showed him to the room he'd be staying in, which confused Harry.

"I thought that you would like a little more privacy than what the couch has to offer," she said.

He didn't even know the house had a second bedroom. "Thank you, Mrs. Figg."

"I'll leave you to organize your things. The nightstand drawers are cleared for you." With that, Mrs. Figg closed the door behind her.

Taking a seat on the single bed, he supposed being here for an entire week wouldn't be that bad after all.

Unpacking his things, Harry pulled out the letter and looked over it again carefully. The envelope was very high quality, and the SI stamp embossed on the top corner made it even fancier. He broke the seal and pulled out a letter, a pamphlet, and two tickets. Reading the letter, Harry still couldn't get over the fact it was technically addressed to his parents. It was an invitation to a small science fair-like event being held in London the following Saturday. The letter itself was short yet personal and almost sounded desperate. It was handwritten, the letters sharp and crisp, and even the scrawled signature was somehow lovely. The small heart inked at the end of it, however, had Harry tilting his head in confusion.

It slowly dawned on him that this Tony Stark person had known his parents at some point, and that meant he must have information about them. The revelation that someone outside of his aunt and uncle had known his parents was exhilarating and overwhelming all at the same time. Trying to distract his racing mind, Harry picked up the tickets. They were very fancy—shimmering when angled just so—and bore Lily and James' names in big, bold letters with VIP written underneath. Whoever Tony was, he must have been quite fond of them to offer such a pass.

This event was all about science in some form or another intended to promote SIs projects. Science was one of Harry's favourite subjects in school despite the fact he had to curb his marks to avoid the backlash from Petunia for 'cheating' and for 'making Dudley look stupid'. The latter wasn't all that hard to do, unfortunately. Harry read over the pamphlet probably a dozen times before Mrs. Figg came knocking, informing him that lunch was ready.

He reluctantly put the letter and tickets away and left his room, mind swimming with the knowledge that there was someone else out in the world who knew who his family was. Though he was unaware of it, something deep within Harry had made a decision. He had to get to that expo. He had to meet this Tony Stark. He had to learn more about his parents.

.oOo.

Monday came slowly, and Harry knew that was Mrs. Figgs' shopping day. She was usually pretty lenient in allowing Harry to go to the library alone whenever they went into town, but this time they were going to London, making her hesitant to agree for him to go to the library this time. After promising he would stay put until she came to fetch him like usual, she agreed to walk him there and inform the librarian of his presence. It gave him the opportunity to explore the depths of the library while she did some overdue shopping.

Harry's objective for today was to research the name from the mysterious letter, and he hoped that the larger metropolitan library would provide more information on him. Despite the impossibility of attending the small event at the end of the week, it couldn't hurt to research someone who loved science like he did and knew his parents somehow. Perhaps there was something about them listed alongside Tony? He could only hope.

"Excuse me," Harry said as he approached the librarian's desk. "Where could I read about Dr. Tony Stark?"

The librarian glanced at him briefly before tapping the keys of the computer. "Dr. Stark. It doesn't sound familiar. American?"

"I believe so," Harry replied, fidgeting with the hem of his oversized t-shirt. "He's a scientist, if that helps? Or at least I think he is," he stammered out. "He'll be here for a science expo on Saturday. It has me curious about him—for a, uh, school project."

He really was a terrible liar.

The librarian hummed as she added something to her search, seemingly oblivious to the nervousness in his voice or the fidgeting as he spoke. Harry absently chewed his inner cheek as he looked around the filing system that surrounded the librarian's space. He was lost in thought when she spoke again, startling him some.

"It looks like this Stark person has been big in the tabloid magazines and major newspapers. You can find those in the back of the library," she said, glancing at him for a moment. "There also seems to be an autobiography his father wrote. It can be found in the non-fiction section under Stark, Dr. Howard."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, nodding and heading for the back. He hadn't been in that area of a library before.

What he loved most about the library's periodicals section was how well it was organized. Every newspaper and magazine was sorted by month, week, and day and then archived accordingly. Harry was surprised how many magazines had articles about Tony Stark in them, but as he devoured the stack of glossy volumes now on the table beside him, he grew increasingly overwhelmed at what he read and saw.

Harry wasn't really sure what it was he felt as he flipped through the tabloids and smear articles about Tony's less than favourable accomplishments. Several were accusations about propagating war and profiting from it, dubbing him The Merchant of Death. The darker title made sense when he learned that Tony's company used to create military-grade weapons, but none of it deterred Harry. A more recent article talked about him becoming the superhero Iron Man and that his company now focused on its other successful, but lesser-known, projects and achievements. This was what the event at the end of the week was about. He flipped the page to find full-page photos of the scientist between two other people. Tony's arms were wrapped around both of them, and he was pressing a kiss to the woman's temple.

Harry's eyes fixed on the woman. The photo's description stated it was taken at the University of Cambridge, and she was dressed in Masters graduation robes. He would recognize those emerald green eyes anywhere because they were his, except hers were bright with emotion. Her smiling face was framed by beautiful curly hair that teased tints of red in the sunlight against her light brown and freckled skin. Tearing his gaze away, Harry focused on the man whose facial structure was similar to his own. He had hazel eyes that crinkled with his broad grin, and the warm glow of his brown skin and his dark, thick, unruly hair were intimately familiar. Even the glasses he wore were circular like Harry's. It was like looking into a mirror that showed his older self. These were his parents. With the infamous Tony Stark to boot.

The swirling storm of emotions racing through him threatened Harry to become faint.

He had to figure out a way to get to that expo—by any means necessary.

.oOo.

The week dragged by. During the day, when he wasn't helping in the garden or cleaning the house, Harry tried to not act too suspicious while he figured out ways to get back to London to attend the expo. At night, his mind buzzed with information from the library. Between that and his discomfort at not being in his normal environment, Harry hardly slept.

His visit to the library left him wondering about who his parents actually were and what they did for a living that lead them to be involved with someone like Tony. The tabloids didn't offer much aside from stating that Lily was described as a college sweetheart and James was one of his best friends. The pictures, however, told a much different story. The way the three hugged, held hands, and even kissed each others' temples and cheeks screamed that the trio were more than friends. This made it more confusing for Harry to sort out, but hoped he could find more answers soon. He just needed to figure out how to get to Tony.

Mrs. Figg wasn't the sort to shop in the city very often, so convincing her to go back was next to impossible. Harry knew she kept a jar of change on the mantle, so he could easily filch enough bus fare to get to and from London, though explaining why he was riding unescorted would be a problem. It would also mean disappearing out from under Mrs. Figg's watchful eye, and he knew there would be repercussions from the Dursleys if the police got involved with him stealing, running away, and breaking into a private event. Even if it wasn't the ideal solution, right now Harry thought it would be worth it.

His bigger problem was the tickets had his parents' names on them. Even if he got to The Royal Society Headquarters unbothered and alone, he definitely would get stuck at the gates with no escort or proper identity to match the name. Perhaps he would be able to pass himself off as James Potter and ask to wait inside for his mother, Lily. The only other option he could see was to simply find a way to sneak inside. Either way, he simply couldn't give up on getting in. Now that he knew Tony existed, he needed to know more about his parents than the meager details the Dursleys and the tabloids had provided.

Friday had finally crept up on Harry, and he had one last and more realistic plan to try and set in motion before resulting in theft and running away. Perhaps the same excuse about researching Tony he used on the London librarian would work with Mrs. Figg. She was always supportive of his studies and trips to the library, so he hoped this would be no different.

She was in the middle of cooking liver and onions when he hesitantly approached. "Mrs. Figg?"

"Yes, dear?" she asked, shooing a cat off the counter.

"I—um, was wondering if we could go back to London tomorrow?" Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

"Oh, I don't know about that. We could pop into the local library if that's what you're after. Trekking to the city to go somewhere that we have down the street is a bit silly, don't you think? " she lectured, not taking her eyes off her food.

"No, not the library," he said, pulling at the hem of his shirt. "It—It's actually for a school project. See, there's a science expo being held there tomorrow, and I got the tickets already, but I need an escort."

He hoped it was enough to convince her.

"Hm," Mrs. Figg said, setting her spatula down and lowering the temperature of the cooktop. "For school? Why didn't the Dursleys say anything about this?"

'Crap,' Harry thought.

"It must have slipped their minds during all of their planning and packing. Understandable, really. I nearly forgot about it myself until I was studying my science homework and came across the tickets and pamphlet…"

Mrs. Figg thought for a moment, pulling some dinner plates from the cupboards and placing them on the counter. "I have to harvest the catnip and other herbs tomorrow morning. When does this science fair start?"

"It's not until early afternoon," he assured her. Truthfully, he wasn't quite sure when it opened. He only knew the time on the ticket for the VIP meet-and-greet and that was what he was determined to get to. "I can help get the garden harvest done, and I'll do all of the cleanup for dinner, and make breakfast and clean that up too and make packed lunches to take. It is kind of an important trip, and I have to write a report on it so…"

Harry hoped his rambling didn't raise too much suspicion. Petunia hated it when he offered to do extra chores and rattled them off like he just did, but doing this was the only way he ever got to do something that would otherwise inconvenience the Dursleys. It was a hard habit to break, and Harry hoped it hadn't just cost him everything.

"I see," Mrs. Figg hummed. "Quite odd that your uncle never mentioned it, though. And to have Dudley not attend seems unusual as well. Maybe I should call them to verify…"

"No—" Harry yelped, startling Mrs. Figg. "I mean… Please don't bother them. I really don't want to intrude on their vacation for something like this. It's extra credit for students who are struggling with their grades," he lied, scratching the back of his head. "I'm not doing so well at it, and Dudley is… They were really unhappy when I mentioned it the first time, and I would really hate to bring it up with them again… Please, would you think about it, Mrs. Figg?"

The old woman studied him for a moment then let out a deep sigh. "Very well. But I'll need to see this pamphlet and assignment before I make a final decision, Harry. You can get it after supper. For now, would you be a dear and toss the salad?"

"Yes ma'am. Thank you, Mrs. Figg," he said a little too eagerly.

Dinner was relatively quiet, and though he wasn't a fan of liver and onions, Harry made sure he ate his fill without complaint and cleared the table when they were finished. While Mrs. Figg went to watch her evening program on the telly, he cleaned up the kitchen. He used the time to mentally plan his next steps should she agree to head back to London.

Once her program finished, he dug out the pamphlet that came with the tickets. It had all the information on the event: what it was about, where it was being held, and who was going to be there. Harry also dug out his green spiral notebook, the one he used for science work, and showed her the mock assignment he claimed to have copied off the blackboard. Much to his delight, she bought his story with little more fuss.

Sleeping was not an option for Harry that night. He didn't know what to expect tomorrow but knew that he couldn't blow it. Learning something, anything about who his parents were would be worth every punishment he would receive should his deceptions be discovered. All he could hope for now was enough sheer dumb luck to actually get in with the tickets he had. It wasn't too farfetched to hope it would all work out. He'd experienced strange occurrences before, and he prayed for another well-timed miracle to happen again.

Morning finally came, and Harry decided tossing and turning on the too-comfortable mattress wasn't going to do him any good, so instead he got up and dressed in the nicest pair of jeans and t-shirt he'd packed. Trying to control his bed head was a lost cause, but he attempted to finger-comb through the thick, dark locks anyway. Giving himself a moment, he gazed into the mirror and tried to recall the photo of his mother and father from the magazine.

There was indisputable evidence that he was their son. He had her eyes down to the very shape and where they centered on his face. He had his well-defined nose and facial structure. She had the same curve to her lips, and he shared their skin tones. It was surreal to finally have faces to their names, to know what they looked liked, to see who he came from.

Collecting himself, Harry took a deep breath and wiped the water from his eyes. Even if today was an utter failure, at least he knew where to look when he wanted to see his parents again. But for now he had to focus on making sure Mrs. Figg didn't change her mind. Remembering he had yard work to do, Harry hastily changed out of his nice clothes and made his way down the hall, careful to not trip over a cat or step on a tail. He found his way to the kitchen and promptly prepared some breakfast.

Mrs. Figg was easy to please and always ate a simple breakfast consisting of an English muffin with jam, tea, and a single hard-boiled egg. Harry was afraid he wouldn't be able to keep anything down, but he didn't want to display anymore odd behavior than he already had. He decided to copy her meal and hope for the best. Just as he finished cooking, Mrs. Figg tottered in wearing her old, fluffy polka-dotted housecoat and matching slippers. His first thought was that she looked like one of her cats in that outfit. He winced, knowing that idea would be forever burned into his brain.

"Good morning, Mrs. Figg. I made breakfast. I hope you like it."

He sat the hot teapot down before taking his seat. Harry promptly added strawberry jam to his muffin and cut up his hard-boiled egg. It looked perfect, which boosted his confidence a bit. He tried to not eat too quickly, worried it wouldn't settle if he did, before he cleared the table and cleaned up the kitchen. Mrs. Figg was taking her time getting dressed, so he took the liberty of starting on the garden alone. Clipping catnip was probably one of the easiest garden tasks he had ever been assigned, so he and Mrs. Figg had it done in record time. The more time-consuming part was hanging it all up to dry in her tiny shed.

Mrs. Figg checked the bus schedule when they got in. "It looks like the next one will be here at ten past eleven. About an hour yet."

"That's fine," Harry said, though it sent his nerves back into overdrive. "I can get lunch packed for the trip and shower, if that's alright?"

"Oh, of course, dear. I'll have a cuppa and go after you. I don't take long to wash up," she said, taking a seat in the well-worn pink floral printed armchair.

.oOo.

It was a little easier for Harry to tame his thick hair while it was still damp from the shower, but he could only hope that it stayed relatively normal once it dried. After putting on his shoes and adjusting his glasses, he grabbed the worn-out book bag where he'd stowed what he needed for the trip—his science notebook, and his identification—then went to the kitchen to grab the sack lunches and feed Mrs. Figg's cats.

"Ready, Harry?" she asked, opening the front door. Even freshly washed and in nicer clothes, there was still something distinctly Kneazle-like about her. "Do you have everything?"

"Yes, Mrs. Figg."

The bus trip was long and boring, which left Harry's unoccupied mind plenty of time to think of all the ways this trip could go horribly wrong. He'd managed to dodge any questions from Mrs. Figg about the tickets for the time being, sure that she would put them on the next bus back to Little Whinging the second she saw his name wasn't on them, but he could only avoid it for so long. The ticket checker at the gate would need to match them to their identification… all Harry could hope for was a miracle.

"Harry, dear," Mrs. Figg said when the bus driver announced they were ten minutes away, "I'll need to have my ticket to get in. If I may?"

'Crap,' he thought, a shaky hand going into his book bag. "Alright. Okay."

'Please, please, please don't let her notice the name…' he silently prayed as he pulled it out. Taking a reluctant glance at the fancy cardstock, Harry handed it to Mrs. Figg and swallowed, trying to keep what was left of his breakfast down.

"Interesting," she said curiously, turning it in her hand. "It simply says 'VIP Guest Pass'."

Perplexed, Harry glanced at his own pass, feeling a strange relief seeing it on his too. "Yeah. They do."

"Hm. I suppose I wasn't expecting anything different."

Something in her voice told Harry otherwise. If he was being honest with himself, he was just as surprised as Mrs. Figg. Strange things always happened to him when he was afraid or in trouble, like the shadows seeming to shift in the corner of his eye or he suddenly ending up somewhere near-impossible to get to from where he was. He was curious about this new development, but he'd have to think about it later. Right now, he had more important things to worry about.

After deboarding and taking the short walk to The Royal Society building, the line to get in wasn't as long as he anticipated. Of course everyone else would have arrived when it first opened; all he cared about was meeting Tony.

The ticket checker didn't cause them any trouble, only made a comment about how peculiar it was that their guest passes had VIP on them, but otherwise sent them on their way. At a kiosk, they traded their paper cards for plastic passes on lanyards. As soon as they were all checked in, Harry used the map to scope out where the meet-and-greet would be held while Mrs. Figg tugged him over to the cafeteria-like area to have lunch.

"Harry, let's eat first. This place is quite big and you'll need your energy," she prompted, unwrapping the cold cut sandwich Harry had expertly put together.

"I need to use the restroom first, if that's alright. Just there," he said, pointing at the far side of the open room.

She looked apprehensive, but nodded her approval. "Hurry back, and be safe!"

Now was his chance. Harry mingled with the crowd as he headed for the bathrooms. When he couldn't see Mrs. Figg anymore, he took a sharp right down the long hallway that would lead to the main stage. After showing his VIP pass to get through security, it didn't take long to find the line. He hoped it would move quickly as most people here looked like fans that would be content with an autograph and a photo with Tony.

He fidgeted with the lanyard and the plastic VIP badge around his neck, focusing on his breathing and mentally coaching himself to not pass out. Mrs. Figg would start to worry soon, but right now he didn't care about that. There were only five people in front of him… three… one… He blinked, and a man in a black suit held the door open for him.

"You're next."

This was it. This was his one and only chance.

Tony was dressed like he always was in the photographs; sporting a clean, pin-striped black suit. He was turned away from the door as Harry entered, signing something on the table next to him, and it took all Harry's strength to unclench his hands and approach him.

"He-hello, Dr. St-Stark."

He wanted the floor to swallow him whole. Why did he have to stutter?

"Hey, squirt," Tony said, glancing his way for a split second as he finished signing the postcard-sized picture.

He quickly did a double-take. Harry was a little perplexed by the sudden gesture as Tony put the pen down and gave him his undivided attention. It felt exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time.

After what felt like ages, Tony snapped out of his staring and blinked a few times, looking everywhere but at him now. "You're alone? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead, sir," Harry responded automatically. "But I-I believe you knew them? Lily and James Potter? I have a letter."

Harry tore his gaze away to open his book bag and dig out the letter, not wanting to process the look on Tony's face at the moment.

"This came to my aunt and uncle's house last week," he quickly explained. The security detail was beginning to shift toward him, paying very close attention to his actions. "With the passes… I had to see you. I wanted to know if…"

Tony accepted the letter Harry held out to him and skimmed over it. Harry trailed off, unable to look at Tony or finish what he was going to say. The security guards were making him very uncomfortable and hyper-aware of how bad this was going to turn. He looked to the floor when the quiet got too thick as he waited for them to take him away. Without warning, Harry felt a hand rest gently on his shoulder, prompting him to tense and look up. Tony was now at eye level with him, and Harry saw his expression change from concern, to surprise, to what looked like recognition. But that was impossible; this was their first encounter. Harry swallowed, mustering the courage to finish what he wanted to say.

"I hoped you could t-tell me more about them? About Lily and James? They died when I was very young and… my… my aunt and uncle, they… didn't get along so..."

Tony was shocked by the response. Noticing the VIP badge, Tony grabbed it and held it in his palm, reading the details on it. Seeing there was no name—Harry still had no idea how that had happened—he let go of it, his expression puzzled and confused.

"What's your name?"

"Harry Potter, sir," he said, shifting his gaze to watch one of the black suits move toward Tony. "I had to see you because you knew them. Right? You knew my parents?"

It felt like his persistence on the topic was going nowhere, and it had Harry wonder why Tony wasn't responding.

Harry swallowed, seeing the black suits shuffling about in his peripherals. It reminded him of how the shadows sometimes moved, making him nervous. This was it, he was going to get tossed out now. He just knew it. The hand that now gripped his shoulder grounded him enough to refocus back on Tony's face. What he saw there was a sad, almost sympathetic look.

"You're really Lily and James' kid..." Tony half-whispered, eyes seeming to glass over. "Yes, I knew them."

Harry didn't know what to make of Tony's expression in that moment, but before he could begin to absorb it, a lot of things began happening at once.

"Sir?" a tall, intense man in black said, moving to Tony's side. "We have a minor situation."

"Not now, Happy," Tony said.

"An old lady reported she lost her charge. Male, nine years old, black hair, brown skin, round glasses…" the man in black nodded at Harry then. "Everything fits this kid."

"Not now, Happy!" Tony snapped, causing Harry to flinch and pull away from his grasp.

"Sir, this kid obviously ditched his guardian and nicked the badge to sneak in here. She is frantic, saying he was supposed to be in the restroom."

Harry stood very still as he listened to the suits draw the conclusion he knew they would when he got caught. Tony was quiet, not seeming to want to accept the accusation, but after a heavy breath, Harry saw that he reluctantly complied. It felt like Harry's world was collapsing all around him at that moment.

"Sorry, squirt." Tony returned to his full height, snapping out of his trance-like reverie, and turned to address the man in black. "Notify the goons with event security and have them tell this kid's guardian we found him and will escort him back immediately."

Harry looked around him before focusing back on the only suit that stood out to him.

"Wait, no. Dr. Stark, sir. I want to know more about my parents. Please. What were they like? How did they meet you? Please, sir?" Herry pleaded as the one Tony called Happy moved over beside him and put a light hand against his back. "Please. I need to talk to you! Please!"

Tony acted like he hadn't heard him. Instead, he handed the man next to Harry a postcard from the table and made sure to not look Harry's way again. Tony was soon surrounded by others wearing black suits, completely blocking him from view. Harry's spirits plummeted, the weight of disappointment and defeat causing him to slump his shoulders as he watched the black mass disappear behind a set of doors. Happy stood in front of him now, guiding him to the door he had entered from. The man looked far from happy to Harry, but rather very intimidating, having a fleeting thought about how he got such a nickname.

"Let's go, kid," the man said with a stern tone. "Let's get you back to your guardian."

Harry didn't even try to protest or resist, not wanting to cause any further trouble than he already had. He knew Mrs. Figg was never going to let him out of her sight ever again now because of this stunt. It was going to take a lot of convincing to keep her from telling his aunt and uncle about it, too. He wondered if the local library would have anything with photos of his parents and Tony. At least he could still see them that way.

At least he knew he tried.