Originally posted: 28 Jun 2021
Previous updates: 5 Dec 2021, 2 Feb 2022, 17 Mar 2022
Most recent update: 17 Apr 2022

"No, Obie!" Tony Stark snarled into his cell phone. "That design is a mess! It'll blow up long before it has a chance to get airborne. … I don't care how much money the delay will cost us; I care about the cost not being in American lives!" He snapped the phone shut almost hard enough to break it. "Cindy," he sighed to the older woman at the desk, "hold all calls and clear the rest of my day. I need to redesign the Tempest. Some damn fool decided to take out every last fucking safety feature and almost got it to the production line."

"Understood, Mr Stark," Cindy replied, already typing to reorganize his schedule like the amazing P.A. she was.

He walked into his office and shut the door, leaning against it as he internally lamented the stupidity rampant elsewhere in Stark Industries. Rubbing at the itching words on his arm, he lamented his non-alcoholic sobriety – he wondered if the drugs he'd taken countless times before, the ones his 'soulmate' (yeah, right) seemed to disparage as much as his platypus, would help him deal with the idiots who surrounded him without killing them. He pushed off and took one half-step toward his desk when two bodies dropped, from thin air, onto the cluttered workspace. "What the hell?" he yelped, looking between the new arrivals and the undamaged ceiling above them in shock and confusion.

The dark-haired girl – hair confined in multiple elastics as it reached down to the kid's butt made him confident in that assumption – slid slightly off her companion. The blonde boy – no mistaking the peach fuzz – looked to be about 18 and was more still than seemed healthy. The girl – a very petite 12, if his first guess was right, and he very much doubted it was – clung tightly to the boy as if her life, or his, depended on it. As her feet touched the floor, her ankle crumpled under her. Tony watched, unable to move, as she fell silently to the ground, pulling the boy – and at least half the paperwork he'd been avoiding since becoming C.E.O. less than a month ago – with her. Her groan cut through the office, and Tony blinked, coming back to himself.

"So, are you two hallucinations?" he quipped.

"Taken any drugs recently?" she retorted, her voice rough.

"Well, they do help when the Spanish Inquisition unexpectedly shows up," he joked.

"I'll have you know, these robes are still the height of fashion in some societies," she deadpanned, gasping for air. "But apparently, they also make dead bodies heavier, and I can't ask you to help me move him."

"Kid, if he's crushing you, I'm more than happy to – wait, he's dead?" Tony took a second to study the boy, who looked scared but unharmed, despite the unnatural lack of movement.

She awkwardly rolled the boy off her; they both cringed at the loud thump he made. She took a few deep, steadying breaths. He wondered, off-handedly, how his P.A. hadn't heard any of the commotion. Maybe she figured he was destroying the office out of frustration; it wouldn't be the first time he'd done so. "Has been for about an hour, maybe more," the girl whispered, distraught, without opening her eyes. Clearing her throat, she slowly pushed herself to a sitting position and rubbed her head. "Remind me to get a refund. That ride was 'orrible."

Ah, a British girl after his own heart. "I'm Tony," he said, offering the girl his hand.

Seeing the outstretched shadow through her eyelids, she blindly accepted his help and, once upright, she pivoted to lean against the desk. "Heather. This is Cedric." The 'th' in her name sounded more like a 'v;' suddenly, Tony worried that she was slurring because of a severe head injury.

"Is he your boyfriend?" he found himself asking, as much to keep the possibly-concussed girl talking as because he was curious. "Is that why you don't want me to touch him? I admit, he's not too bad to look at, but I'm not the other woman." He blinked, then mentally shrugged. He'd never described himself as female before, but stranger things had come out of his mouth.

A smirk twitched at her lips as she gingerly prodded the back of her skull. "Yes, he is – was," she corrected herself, grimacing as she pressed against a tender spot. "But to the other, no. It's a cultural thing. The only people allowed to intentionally touch… the dead person before, you know, the funeral preparations start are family and the most trusted. I'm honored th–" Her voice broke. "–that he trusts me that much. Though it may have been from lack of choice…"

As she trailed off, Tony decided to ask the big question he'd been avoiding. "How the hell'd you get in here, anyway?"

For the first time, she looked around the room, and he could see confusion, suspicion, and agony vying for dominance in her clear emerald eyes. "What do you mean, how did we get in here?" she asked slowly. "Where are we?"

"My office," he said simply. "Stark Industries. Malibu." When none of the three cleared up her bewilderment, he finally drawled, "California? West coast of the United States?"

"Oh," she squeaked, disbelief and fear now added to the maelstrom of emotions. "I'm a bit far from home. Er, I don't know how I got here – I was aiming for my school. In Scotland. And the 'in your office' bit, well, that I know, but I'm not sure I can–"

Something tapped against the window, almost like a knock, and both turned to look. Instinctively, Tony put his arm out to brace or catch her, even as he stared incredulously at the sight on the other side of the glass. "Is that an owl? Wearing a medallion? With a scroll in its talon?"

Two beats later, Heather blinked away her surprise. "Yes. Yes, it is. Would you let the poor thing in? And do you mind if I sit while I read whatever Gringotts sent? They must have sent it as immediate-urgent," she mused to herself.

"No problem," Tony nodded, his eyes still wide. Without asking, he lifted the slender, shaking child, who flinched at the unexpected contact, and set her in his chair. "Yeah," he muttered under his breath, "why use more common birds like pigeons to carry messages midday when you can use a bird of prey that prefers darkness?" Even so, he opened the window, watching as it first circled him, then perched on his desk and offered the girl its leg.

The bird puffed out its feathers, offended. "Owls are smarter and cleaner than pigeons. I'm sorry," she apologized to the tawny owl, who calmed down when she rubbed behind its ear. "I don't have any treats – I'm nowhere near home, you see. Uh, Tony?" she said as she relieved the owl of its burden. "Do you happen to have any ham or bacon?"

His eyebrows met his hairline. "Yeah. Only ate half my BLT before that disaster of a meeting earlier." He handed her the part he hadn't touched, and she carefully held out just the two remaining strips of meat. The bird took them, far more gently than he expected, and it flew off with her thanks.

Heather eyed him critically. "Are you – all right?"

"I'm just a little…" Tony floundered for a moment. "You act like that's the most normal thing in the world!"

She smirked, a bit of melancholy in her eyes. "You said it, not me." With that, she snapped the wax seal and unfurled the paper. No, the document was on something far thicker than paper.

"I need a drink," he grumbled, making his way to the sidebar and pouring himself a healthy glass of scotch. "Can I get you anything? Juice, water, tea…"

"Something with sugar, please," she requested, squinting as she did her best to read the archaic script. "I haven't eaten since last night – nerves, you know – and I think my adrenaline high is wearing off, so I can really feel how low my blood sugar has gotten. Well, either that, or the nerve damage is making itself known, but there's no quick fix for that."

"Nerve damage? No, never mind, I don't think I wanna know right now," Tony shook his head, popping open a can of soda and handing it to her. He leaned over her shoulder as she took a long drink. "That looks like it was written with a quill, on parchment."

"It was," she murmured. Her eyes narrowed on one particular word or phrase, and then gasped. "No. No, no, no, no!" She unrolled the document all the way and stared in horror at the signatures. "Crap," she whined, dropping her head to the desk.

"When's it from?" he asked. "And how can you read it so easily? How do you know it was written with a quill? Could have been a reed pen–"

"It's from 1712," the girl sighed. "I may have some practice reading quill-script, but this is… Well, I'm not reading it easily. And this opens up a whole slew of new problems." A half-sob escaped her as she let her head bang against the surface again.

Suddenly realizing she sounded as old as Aunt Peggy, the actual adult in the room blinked. "How old are you, little gem?"

"Fourteen. My birthday is the 31st of July," she groaned, her voice muffled by the desk. "Nothing else for it," she said to herself. Leaning back in Tony's chair, she fully met his eyes for the first time. "Did I say your words?" she inquired, patting her left forearm pointedly. "Because you said mine."

He thought back to the first part of their conversation and reeled in shock. "Yes, you did! I wasn't paying attention earlier – I was a little more worried about the two people landing on my desk with no obvious means of entry."

"At least no one can break out Lockhart's favorite," she muttered to herself, frowning. "Well, there's only one way I know to get the help I need, and I can easily kill two birds with one stone. Question is, subtle or flash?" She absently scratched at the arm with the words she'd always previously kept secret, even from her 'best friends'.

"Go big or go home," Tony advised, scratching his own arm with as much care as she did.

"Hang for a sheep as for a lamb," she corrected wryly, "but fair point. You'll need to keep quiet.'' She held his gaze for another moment, then picked up a polished stick that he hadn't noticed lying on the desk. "Expecto patronum," she incanted with a smile, pointing the piece of wood toward the door. Her smile turned wistful as the apparition pranced around the room. "Hello, Prongs."

"What the actual fuck?" he demanded, somehow managing not to yell as his eyes once again went wide in disbelieving shock. At this point, he was certain that his optic nerves were the only things keeping his eyeballs in place. "What the hell is that?"

She hesitated. "Your first language, like mine, seems to be sass-and-sarcasm," she hedged, "so let me say now, I need a sincere answer: what do you see?"

"What do I see?" he repeated incredulously. "Are you serious?"

"No, that's my godfather," she retorted. His look didn't change. "Sorry, automatic reaction."

He gestured wildly at the wandering Patronus, which he had only taken his eyes off of to glare at her. "It's a ghost deer! With antlers!"

Heather burst out laughing, and the phantom became more solid and luminescent. "First of all, most people would call it a stag, or a buck. Second, I've never thought of it that way, but that is the most accurate visual description of a Patronus I've ever heard!" The stag faded away, as did her mirth. "To explain a bit more, a Patronus is a… spirit guardian, I suppose. Can't make it without a happy thought."

"Need some pixie dust, too, Tinker Bell?" he snarked, trying to regain his equilibrium.

She rolled her eyes and snorted. "More generally, that was magic."

Unexpectedly, before Tony's inner scientist could open his mouth to protest, the door to his office slowly and soundlessly opened of its own accord. Cindy was still at her desk and didn't seem to notice anything unusual. The teen stood in front of him, showing no sign of an injured ankle or uncertainty due to the document that had arrived by owl (and his mind was still wrapping itself around that). She held her wand (what else could it be?) defensively, unwaveringly, with no tremors to suggest either low blood sugar or nerve damage. When the door shut near immediately, again with no obvious assistance, she ground out, "Show yourself. I have two reasons why you legally can't wipe his memory." She ignored Tony, who sputtered and stiffened behind her.

They waited 20 seconds in silence, watching as a shimmer in the air drew closer. Heather kept it in her sights, the branch of holly never faltering in its targeting, as it moved. Finally, the distortion turned into a person. Tony didn't react beyond a surprised blink – after the ghost deer patron thing, that was downright underwhelming. "I am Auror Philips," the man drawled. "Pray tell, what reasons?"

"Actually, maybe three," she reconsidered. She stared straight at Philips and sighed. It seemed to be her favorite sound. "Have we met before?" she asked in extreme resignation, brushing her hair back off her face.

"Heather Potter," he said in awe. Tony filed away her last name, since she hadn't offered it earlier, all the while wondering how such a simple action provided, or proved, her identity. "As I live and breathe. It's an honor to meet you, Miss Potter. But I thought you'd be at school, you know, what with the Tournament and all."

"That's news over here, too?" she groused. "Never mind. Are you capable of producing a Patronus?"

After a silent glaring contest, Philips backed down. "Yes, I am."

"Cast it, please," she politely ordered, "and Tony will tell you what it looks like."

"Muggles can't see–"

"Humor me?" she begged, lowering her wand. "I'll even cover my eyes, so you know I can't help him."

Philips sighed, nodded, and waited for her to do as she'd said. "Expecto patronum."

"Holy shit!" Tony exclaimed. "Why is it different than yours? His is a ghost penguin, by the way – an emperor, I think. Hers is a ghost deer with antlers. Stag or buck, she said, but I don't know if there's a difference–"

"Yeah, no Memory Charms, today, thank Merlin," the auror agreed. "I hate having to cast it. What other reasons did you have up your sleeves?"

"That's a very appropriate comment," she grinned wryly, "since we both already confirmed that we said each other's words. And… the last one's gonna take a lot more explanation for Mr – we never got around to last names, did we?" she realized, turning to him.

Tony snorted. "No, we didn't, Miss Potter. Tony Stark, at your service." His sweeping bow earned him a chuckle from Philips.

Heather, on the other hand, froze. "Oh, stars, don't tell me–"

"C.E.O. of Stark Industries," he confirmed with amusement. With the way his day was going, he had no compunctions about getting his kicks where he could.

If the groan Heather emitted was any indication, she was not of the same opinion. "Why me? Why am I the one with bipolar luck?" She let out a sound that was half-sob, half-laugh. "I'd rather have that conversation in a more relaxed setting, if at all possible. But first, I need to get Cedric–" Her voice choked off, and she made a vague gesture to the floor. When Philips glanced over, he blinked in understanding. "His parents… his last wish," she managed to force out around the lump in her throat.

"If you're okay with it," Philips said in a noticeably gentler tone, "we can bring him to MACUSA and contact the British Ministry from there. And of course, you can't return home yet. My investigation into how you entered the country is ongoing, and, if you want it to, may very well last for months." He winked. The teen sniffed with a sliver of humor. "Then, if he'll have us, we'll meet back up with Mr Stark at his home, and you can explain what you need to. I'll be there to help, if you get stuck. Does that sound workable?"

Well, a quick update, mere minutes later, because that first chapter was shorter than the author's note. (It's where the natural break was, sorry.) Hope you enjoyed both chapters!