Welcome to chapter 2! I appreciate all the reviews I've gotten so far. You all rock!
I keep changing my mind on how things are going to be listed! The newest thing is: if it's being posted on here, that's a chapter. No more '2a' crap. This is just Chapter 2. The former '2b' is not to be any longer. (Sorry, I couldn't resist. I hit myself already for you all.) Instead, it will be, in a few minutes, Chapter 3. Chapter TITLES, on the other hand, will not be changing, so you still should be able to figure out where you left off.
Originally posted: 5 Jul 2021? (I don't remember)
Previous updates: 14 Oct 2021, 5 Dec 2021, 2 Feb 2022, 17 Mar 2022
Most recent update: 17 Apr 2022
Four hours later, as the clock struck 6PM in California, Auror John Philips brought Heather Potter to Tony Stark's cliffside Malibu home. The C.E.O. in question opened the door when he knocked. "Good, you're here before the pizza. That might've gotten awkward, if I'd volunteered to feed you and then ate my way through all the pies. They should be here in a couple minutes. That enough time to explain? Because I really wanna relax, and heavy conversations are not conducive to that."
Philips and Heather laughed cynically. "That won't even be enough time to figure out where to start," the girl snarked.
"Well, the sooner we start, the sooner he understands," Philips shrugged, motioning for her to enter the house before him. As they followed their host to the living room, he added, "But first, for official purposes, I need to see your marks."
"Marks?" Tony asked blankly.
Heather paused while rolling up her left sleeve. "Have you ever known a pair of soulmates?"
His eyes narrowed. "I've known other people with words on their arms that they didn't pay to have put there, yeah. So?"
"But never two people who have said each other's words?"
"It's not like I make a habit of looking at the inside of people's arms. What–"
"Every magical person has a soulmate," Philips cut in before the conversation could become heated. "Non-magicals only have one, officially, if their partner is magical. And since witches and wizards, on the whole, don't like to leave the Wizarding World for even a minute, they don't always meet, or acknowledge, their soulmate."
"So what you aren't aware of," Heather explained, "is that when the pair admit to one another that their words have been spoken, the words on their arms change, to their partner's full legal name. And it is self-updating, too. Marriage, for instance." She held out her left arm for the auror's inspection. "If you'd be so kind as to enlighten us, good sir?"
"Anthony Edward Stark," he answered, extending his own left arm to the wizard. "And if you'd return the favor, milady?" He smiled enchantingly.
She blushed. "Heather Jolette Potter."
"A perfect match," Philips proclaimed. "And now, both our asses are covered. Miss Potter, if you'd care to start?"
"Any chance of some tea, first?" She yawned, nearly collapsing onto the overstuffed sofa. "Only, I'm running on fumes, and that's me rounding up and multiplying by 20."
"No tea, sorry," Tony said, already on his way to the kitchen. "Coffee is my lifeblood. Can you suffer, or would you rather have another soda?"
"Empty the sugar bowl into it," she called. "About a month into first year, I sat next to the seventh-years for brekky. One of them poured me a cup of coffee as a prank. I made the mistake of drinking it without paying attention. After they all laughed at my reaction, Melania scooped about a half-pound of sugar and a gallon of milk into my mug, and that concoction, I could drink without someone wearing it. Again. Poor Craig." Both men chuckled. "It's not my usual drink of choice, but–" Tony handed her the red mug and she grinned her appreciation. "–when one needs caffeine, one drinks whatever caffeine is available." She took a sip and moaned blissfully. "This is perfect. Thank you."
"Girl after my own heart, you are, Gemstone," he smirked. "Philips, whatcha having? Something more adult?"
"I'm on the clock," he declined. "Something cold and non-alcoholic. Pop, if you've got it."
Seconds later, Tony returned, passing Philips a can of soda. Taking a sip of his own whiskey, he sat on the couch next to Heather and spread his arms along the backrest. "So where does this exceedingly magical chat start?"
"Definitions," the teen decided, ignoring the pun. "Hmmm… let's start with 'Muggle.' It's one of the only words I know you've heard. A Muggle is a non-magical person born to non-magical people, and so on through the ages. Never a drop of magic in them more than what's needed to kickstart life."
"So, basically, me," Tony declared.
Heather and Philips shared an uncertain look. "Probably not," the man replied. "You should have Gringotts run an inheritance test."
"The opposite," Heather went on, indicating herself and Philips respectively, "well, we call ourselves witches and wizards. The ones who've had magic in their families for generations are supposedly Purebloods. They think they're the Habsburgs, always marrying cousins. Only, instead of the distended jaw, Pureblood birth defects are low fertility and birth rates, low intelligence and talent, and Squibs, which are, basically, Muggles born to Purebloods. There are also Muggleborns, the first people in their families to have enough magic in them to use a wand. Me, I'm a Half-blood: Mum was a Muggleborn, Dad was a Pureblood. Not that 'blood status' actually matters to anyone but the Pureblood elitists. Uh, let's see… we brew potions and fly on brooms."
"Magic carpets?" Tony asked excitedly.
"Illegal," the magicals chorused together.
"Aww," he whined, shoulders dropping. "I was hoping we'd be able to do a live-action version of 'A Whole New World.'"
Even without knowing the reference, Heather rolled her eyes. "Anyway, our main sport – everywhere except the States, really – is Quidditch, a broomstick-riding combination of basketball and footy. Aurors–" Philips waved. "–are magical coppers. Our couriers, as you saw, are owls. My school is called Hogwarts, but I… Well, I really don't want to go back."
"Isn't Hogwarts supposed to be the best?" Philips challenged.
"Live my life and then say that," she snarled back, then sighed. "Sorry. Okay, so now we move on, to magic itself. Auror Philips–"
"Philips, or John," the lawman overrode her. "Otherwise, it's like calling you 'Girl-Who-Lived Potter' all the time, or him 'C.E.O. Stark.'"
"Tony," said the C.E.O. in question, standing when a knock sounded. Returning to the lounge with five boxes of pizza, he informed them, "There's a cheese, a veggie, a pepperoni, and a Hawaiian – the meat-lover's is mine. Didn't know what either of you like, so I just got a bunch of normal-ish pies. 'Stark' is for when there's work being done, and my fancy titles are for when people piss me off. Help yourselves."
"Heather, then, I guess," she reciprocated reluctantly. "I've never had pizza before…" About 15 minutes later, after she finished her third slice, she daintily wiped her lips. "Now I see why Dudley enjoys it so much," she grinned. Tony and Philips smirked back; she chose to ignore the anger in the auror's eyes and the zealous calculation in the engineer's. "Where were we? Oh yeah, magic. Mr Philips, how do we do magic?"
He swallowed the bite he'd just taken. "With… our wands?"
"That's not…" she groaned, glaring at him half-heartedly. "Our wands channel our magic, yeah?"
"Oh," he snapped his greasy fingers. "You're talking about magical cores."
Heather hummed her agreement. "A magical core is… it dictates how powerful you are, and what branch of magic you're most comfortable using. It kinda works like a muscle – the more you use it, the easier it is to use."
"And the harder you have to work to increase what you can do," Tony nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Yeah, that doesn't tend to be my problem," she quipped back drily. "Our cores also act kinda like… like a cordless phone's battery. You can use it right up until you're out of power, or charge. In magicals, it's called magical exhaustion. Gotten there, or nearly so, a few times, like today – yesterday? – but it's only landed me in the Hospital Wing once. Once you wake up, you're back at full power, no matter what Madame Pomfrey says."
"Okay, I follow you so far," Tony said. "You could even go faster and use bigger words, if you want. I can keep up."
Her glare was glacial. Apparently, the sarcasm wasn't appreciated just then. "I can't go faster. I'm trying to get my thoughts in order, and they can't decide on alphabetical, chronological, or by color. And that's before the Nargles and, worse, the Wrackspurts try to help." The men glanced at each other in confusion. "Don't ask. I love Luna – a sweeter human, you'll never find – but she'll never be accused of being the normal person in the room, even if she's the only one there."
He coughed. "All-righty, then. Back on topic, and I can't believe I'm the one getting us off the tangent, I still don't get how this relates to a scroll of parchment from the 1700s."
Heather conceded the point with a sigh. "We have another…" She paused. "As much as we say we have a magical core, we don't. There's no bone or organ or gland, or what-have-you, from which we draw our power. Every cell in our body has magic in it. Especially our blood."
"Blood magic is illegal, Miss Potter," Philips warned.
"It's not like I'm about to do any," she growled. "I'm gonna mention three specific examples that are legal, and at least one of them is relevant!" She clenched her fists around the greasy paper napkin, trying not to lose her temper. Tony's left hand found its way into her hair and started massaging her scalp, and she involuntarily let out a tension-releasing keen. "When it comes to the magic in our blood," she started again, pretending to be calm once more, "it works like D.N.A. Every witch or wizard has a magical signature that is as unique to them as their fingerprints. Not only that, but it can also be used to identify family members." She hesitated again. "Remember how I said Purebloods are the magical Habsburgs?"
"Except no one has trouble eating," Tony snarked, surprising a laugh out of her. "What of it?"
She took a moment in another futile attempt to corral her thoughts. "All the families may be related, but certain magical traits or abilities tend to stay within this line or that. The Potter line has a disproportionate number of ward-makers and curse-breakers in our history – we may be adrenaline junkies; Weasleys have fertility magic; Prewitts are potioneers. There are exceptions, of course – my dad lived and breathed Transfiguration, a Black family specialty; and Percy Weasley would probably prefer to get it on with a book of laws, paper cuts and all." Both men snorted. "But even then, a little bit of their magic will always tie into… let's call it the family well. This is always in the blood. Even though I've never met any of them, I can identify any born Potter just by coming into contact with their blood; same if someone in another family has strong Potter traits, usually because their mum or gran was born a Potter. I can even pick out most born Blacks, because that's the family my gran Dorea was born into. Which, now I think about it, explains Dad's Transfiguration talent."
"So, at least within the confines of your own bloodlines, you're the ultimate D.N.A. test," her soulmate said to demonstrate his understanding, then he winked. "Any chance you can extend that particular talent to me, so I don't have to deal with all the damn paternity tests anymore?"
Heather's eye twitched painfully, though she managed not to growl. Untangling his hand from her hair, she turned to face him. He'd never seen a more serious expression on someone under the age of 25. "Bonds of blood are unbreakable," she stressed, nervously gripping his fingers tighter. "Our magic is in our blood. Anything written or attested in our blood is our bond. And bonds of blood are unbreakable," she repeated, willing him to hear her, and not just the words.
He mirrored her pose, squeezing her hand back. "Okay, I get it. Why is this so important right now?"
"The only three legal uses of blood magic, anywhere in the magical world," she gulped, "are family protection rituals, inheritance rites, and… signing magical contracts."
"What's the difference between a magical contract and a regular one?" he had to ask.
"A magical contract," she yawned, "is enforced by magic. That's the main thing."
Tony grabbed her mug from the coffee table. "How do you take your coffee?" he asked Philips.
"Splash of milk, no sugar."
"Heathen," the engineer joked as he went to the kitchen, earning a tired smile from the teen. Two minutes later, he pressed the red mug back into her hands, held the blue one out for the magical cop, and kept the black one for himself. "All right, honeybee, brass tacks. What's going on?"
Heather leaned back against the sofa, a sound between a sob and a whimper escaping her lips. "Mr Stark, you have to believe me," she implored desperately. "I didn't know about this until the owl brought it. I swear."
Concerned confusion filled his eyes as he nodded in acceptance of her words. "I believe you, little gem. I just… still don't know what 'this' is."
Pulling the scroll from the inside pocket of her filthy scarlet robes, she offered it to him, gulping. "Go to the end and look at the signatures," she whispered, closing her eyes.
With a raised eyebrow, he did as she said, tensing as he looked at one of the illegible names.
"Let me guess," Philips cut in. "You just had the sensation of something yanking on your rib cage." Tony nodded mutely. "That means that your little bit of the family magic just resonated with the little bit of family magic in your ancestor's blood."
The teen trembled violently, and she quickly drank her coffee before she or Tony ended up sitting in it. "I haven't read all of it yet, so I don't know all the details. But it came from Gringotts, so it's real and legit and probably unbreakable – those blasted Goblins always close every loophole that a human can use – and it's signed in blood by both our ancestors, so we're both stuck, even more than just what our soul marks mean, and–"
"Heather!" Tony broke into her mindless ramble. Her jaw clicked shut with enough speed and strength that he was surprised her teeth didn't crack. Crouching in front of her, he allowed himself a deep breath to keep himself from yelling. "What, exactly, am I looking at?"
After several false starts, she forced herself to meet his eyes, even as her shoulders slumped in despondency. "Marriage contract. Our marriage contract." The engineer froze, speechless as the words penetrated his mind. The longer he stared at her in silent, growing horror, the more unsettled the teen became. "Tony?" she whispered, fear creeping into her voice. "Please say something."
"Something," slipped out of his mouth automatically before he could even consider saying anything else. He blinked his whiskey eyes and looked at her critically. "I get the feeling," he ground out, "that you were having a long day before you got to me. You look like you're about to pass out. You do that," he murmured as her eyes fluttered closed on their own. "Me and Philips, we're gonna go outside so I can rant and rave, without keeping you up, about what kind of fucked-up society puts a fucking kid in a goddamn marriage contract with a partner ten years her senior." He brushed her bangs off her forehead and pressed a gentle kiss right on the distinctive lightning bolt. He slipped her large, ratty sneakers from her feet and laid her out on the sofa; then he sent a death glare at the other man and led him outside.
Heather dozed, too afraid of the new nightmares she knew she'd be suffering to sleep as deeply as she needed; her internal clock was showing about 3:30AM, and Tony had, if anything, understated her day. She could hear vague shouts and unintelligible murmurs from outside, but the sounds slowly, gently lulled her further into Morpheus's embrace.
Twenty minutes after stepping into the evening air, the men returned to the lounge; Tony had brought his boiling rage down to a simmer. Philips noticed Heather shaking first and started to conjure a blanket. Tony stopped him; his anger lent him focus, and a snippet of a memory, when the scroll had just arrived at the office, hit him. "She said something earlier, at S.I. She thought her tremors were due to low blood sugar, but she added that 'the nerve damage might be showing up.'"
"Nerve – how would she have nerve damage?" the auror demanded.
"I very specifically didn't ask," the younger man bit out. "Can you check her over, maybe? Make sure she's actually all right, and not using an acronym to muddy the waters? 'Cause honestly, if she's not freaking out, insecure, neurotic, and emotional right now, I'm eating the goddamn house." He shrugged in response to Philips's incredulous look. "With everything that's happened today, I'm fucking FINE, and I don't admit that easily."
Philips snorted. "That's fair. Sure, I'll check her over." He waved his wand over her, then frowned and repeated the gestures. After the third repetition, he growled ferally. Tony actually glanced around to make sure no wild animal had somehow entered with them. "Shit. I'll be back in, like, 15 minutes."
Before Tony could do more than open his mouth, whether to protest or to question, the wizard had disappeared with a loud crack. The engineer would never admit it, but he gaped gormlessly at the casual disregard for the laws of physics. Heather stirred but didn't wake. Tony's whole demeanor mellowed as he brushed the wisps of black hair away from her mouth. "I guess we wait," he mused softly as he sat in the armchair to watch over her. She hummed and settled, though her body still quavered.