Hello again, everyone! I hope you all have/had a healthy and safe Easter, Passover, month of Ramadan, and/or (if you celebrate none of those) day. I still appreciate your reviews and follows/alerts/favorites!
Now, onto the more interesting addition to my disclaimer that, along with everything written in the prologue, applies from here on out. I will be using real people as characters in this story. However, I have never met any of them; my representation of them in this story is exactly that - MY representation. I make no claim that these people would act or speak as I've described. I have tried to do at least a little research on them, but I freely admit that I use Wikipedia most often for facts/history and a Netflix show (I'm sure you'll be able to guess shortly) as the basis for personalities, which I then mold to fit my story, and thus may (all right, will) be incorrect.
I didn't realize how hard it was to avoid spoiling my own story in an A.N...
Originally posted: 17 Apr 2022
The men had 'talked shop' for more than two hours before they reached a point where they could leave off for the day. The older man had been worried about her covertly listening to them at first, but he quickly forgot about the girl silently reading on Tony's lap. Huh, all that practice 'pretending she didn't exist' at the Dursleys' had actually paid off.
Heather was, of course, doing exactly as Obie feared, and had heard several statements that, in light of Tony's request for a company-wide audit, made her suspicious. It may have been a habit born out of self-preservation – it was easier to avoid at least some of her relatives' wrath if she knew what had set them off this time – but she had recently decided that anything she could do in Tony's interest would serve her just as well.
When Obie finally left the office, she closed the book quickly and looked at her soulmate. "He said a few things that didn't sound right," she murmured.
"You thought so, too?" he asked rhetorically. "I'm now worried about what the audit is going to reveal. Before, it was just good business sense. Now…" He sighed. "First things first, though, I gotta call Aunt Peggy."
"Lady who supposedly sent me here? Why?"
"Yeah," he replied, reaching for his office phone. "Right now, I'm covering our asses. Obie knows her, too. We need to make sure she's in on our story before he can find out we lied. Plus, she's good at refining alibis."
"Where does she live? She sounds like a woman I'd like to meet."
"You will. She lives primarily in New York, visits me out here fairly often. She's the director of… well, I don't know, exactly – plausible deniability or something – but it's kinda like the C.I.A. or M.I.6. She had to do something work-related in Europe last month, and decided to take a spontaneous vacation in London, so she could see her brother."
Blinking once, she shared his smirk. "I'd say you're pretty good at cover stories, too."
Shaking the handset, he grinned. "I learned from the best. Hey, Aunt Peggy. … Well, I need your help. Maybe more than just yours, if you catch my drift. … Let me put you on speaker."
"–o'clock at night," an older woman's slightly tinny voice grumbled through the room, radiating annoyance.
Tony rolled his eyes fondly. "I'd've rung earlier, but I couldn't get Obie to leave. Aunt Peggy, say 'hi' to Heather Potter. She's fourteen, not my daughter, my soulmate, and, most relevant for this conversation, someone who survived a shit-ton of abuse growing up in Surrey. Gemstone, this is Margaret Carter. She's a badass in high heels, and deals with more weirdness in a single day than you did this past school year."
Heather coughed to hide her amusement. She had a feeling it didn't work. "That's an impressive introduction, ma'am."
"Yours as well, Miss Potter," the woman returned, her own amusement, as poorly hidden as Heather's, tinged with fond exasperation. "Peggy is fine, or Aunt Peggy – if you're that lout's soulmate, you're merely paperwork away from being family."
Heather was beginning to hate the social niceties that required her to respond in kind. "Heather, please."
"Of course. Tony, are you still there?"
"We're in my office, Aunt Peggy. Did you think I mysteriously learned to teleport over the last week?"
Well, no, Heather answered silently, but he did find out that teleportation was possible, so… she gave it a month, on the outside, before he tried to replicate the feat with technology. He smirked, as though he could hear her thoughts, and she mentally adjusted the time frame to a fortnight.
Peggy groaned. "While it's wonderful to hear your voice, and learn about Heather, I do find myself wondering what you need my help with – at nearly 10PM in London, when you're in Malibu?"
Heather would have to learn that tone of voice; she'd never seen him chagrined before. "Sorry. I didn't even think of the time difference."
"That much is, occasionally, obvious." And now she knew where Tony had learned sarcasm. Oh, stars, putting her in a room with Peggy might actually result in the world imploding from the sass alone. … She couldn't wait.
"Tony said you deal with weirdness," Heather chose to cut in, nervous about the woman's reaction – whether to her interruption or the remainder of her comment was immaterial. "Have you ever heard of Gellert Grindelwald? Or Albus Dumbledore?"
The two suffered through a silence that quickly grew oppressive. "I've heard of both," Peggy confirmed dubiously. "How do you know of them?"
Heather scoffed. "I'd better know my headmaster and who he's famous for defeating."
The teen knew it was possible to hear an implied 'why me?' in a groan, in a sigh, in a whimper. (In order, she'd heard them from: McGonagall, anytime she saw the Weasley twins sitting next to, and inevitably plotting with, their favorite Seeker; Snape, almost every time he had to interact with her; and Longbottom, anytime he looked at a Potions book.) This was the first time she'd heard it in silence.
"Yes, Tony, darling," Peggy groused, "you most certainly do need my help. Tell me everything. If I find out you intentionally omitted anything, you are the moving target for next week's training session. Understood?"
Heather raised an inquisitive eyebrow when he gulped, and he nodded with slightly wide eyes. So, not only had Peggy made this threat, or a similar one, before, she had also followed through. "Understood," they answered together. And so, for the next hour, the two detailed their previous week, beginning with the tale they'd woven for Obie.
Another silence fell, though this one was more contemplative than ominous. "What is on your schedule tomorrow?" the woman eventually asked.
Tony blinked and stood up. "Uh, let me check with Cindy. As you heard, this week kinda went pear-shaped very quickly."
"And you, Heather?"
The teen shrugged. "Well, at some point, I need to sit my OWLs and NEWTs, so Dumbledore can't force me back to Hogwarts. Aside from that, I suppose I'll be reading as many novels as I can get my hands on until we figure out my legal status and where my guardianship actually lies. After we do that, I assume I'll be getting caught up on normal schooling. Nothing really set in stone for dates, though."
"I have two meetings before lunch," Tony cut in. "They can't be pushed back any more – I missed them yesterday, and the projects go live on Monday. But after that, I'm free as a bird."
"And Friday?" the woman pressed.
"I cleared Friday a couple weeks ago. I was planning on surprising you in New York, if you touched down early enough. Haven't seen you in a while. You know how I love to hear how stupid the baby agents are."
"Don't be surprised," Peggy warned, "by a call before 5AM your time Friday morning."
"Noon, British time," he clarified for Heather when she stared at him. "We'll be there. Might take a bit to be conversant, but we'll answer when you ring." The adults said their goodbyes and hung up. "Well, I guess Aunt Peggy will take care of everything, even what we haven't thought of yet. I'm craving ice cream – you want some, too?"
Heather grinned. "So long as there are no jalapeños involved, sure!"
One hand on the doorknob, the other holding hers, Tony turned to her in horrified slow motion. "Jalapeño ice cream?"
"I've had earwax-flavored jelly beans," she drawled, deadpan. He looked revolted, and slightly interested despite himself. "At least jalapeños are supposed to be eaten?"
MWUMWUMWU
The shrill ringing of the phone cut through the tranquility in the workshop. Heather, startled, rolled off the couch and landed on the cement floor with a pained yelp; Tony, her equally asleep pillow, jumped up protectively. "JARVIS," he rasped out, his defensive stance relaxing with the second ring and the realization of what was going on, "connect the call."
"Good morning, Tony, darling," Peggy chirped.
"Not really," he grumbled. He and Heather shared a look. "Fucking morning people."
"Evil, sadistic psychopaths," she agreed through a yawn. Well, it was her long-held opinion of her aunt, at any rate. And at the moment, she felt the woman on the other end, at least, deserved the description, too.
"Well, aren't we little rays of sunshine today?" Peggy snarked right back, undeterred.
"Aunt Peggy, I know how you feel about me cussing you out, but right now, I need you to fuck off," he growled. In the surprised beat before she could retort, he elaborated, "Obie triggered flashbacks, which means lots of fucking nightmares and almost no goddamn sleep for the last two nights, plus assorted other nightmares over the last week. So forgive me for being less than Mary-fucking-Poppins cheerful. Gem?" They both yawned. "Caffeine? Please?" She nodded and stumbled up the stairs.
"It's not even half-three in California, ma'am," Peggy said for someone's benefit. Clearly not Tony's – he could see the damn clock perfectly well, and he was tempted to set it on fire. If only he could figure out how to transplant vaporizing lasers into his eyes…
"So why couldn't this little powwow have waited until 8AM here?" he whined through another yawn.
"Your Majesty, this is my godson and pseudo-nephew, Anthony Stark," Peggy introduced, clearly deciding against being offended by his speech and in favor of being amused.
"Ugh, you know I hate the full first name thing, Margaret," he groaned.
"Who prefers to be called Tony," Peggy obligingly added, fondly exasperated. "Tony, this is Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II." He grunted and waved. After a few seconds, she coughed. "I'm pretty sure he just saluted you or waved. I fear my words have yet to penetrate the design haze."
"We were dozing on the couch," he corrected as Heather, still bleary-eyed, shuffled back in and pulled his arm around her shoulders. "But you're right about where. We were working out the practicalities of turning their place topsy-turvy."
"Whose place?" asked another woman on Peggy's side of the call.
"Dursleys," Heather mumbled sleepily. "Me mum's sister and her family. They don't claim me, and I don't claim them. Have we met? I know your voice. I think. Maybe? Why are we doing this so early that I can't think properly?"
Peggy wasn't the only one to cough in amusement, and the teen scowled at the ceiling. "Your Majesty, this is the young woman we've been discussing, Heather Potter. Heather, poppet, this is Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II."
"Okay, hi. Why have you been gossiping about me with the Queen? Doesn't she have better things to do?"
Several seconds passed before an undignified snort sounded through the room. "Well, she at least verbally acknowledged you, unlike Tony."
"Wait…" The teen's eyes suddenly grew alert. "Did you say Queen Elizabeth II? As in, monarch of the United Kingdom and… lots of other places that I can't be arsed to remember right now?" Tony's head met the table as he cursed in recognition.
The queen, thankfully, laughed. "This may be the least formal, most authentic greeting I've gotten since a one-year-old accompanying her mother to a meeting said, 'Hi, pretty lady.'" The soulmates flushed. "I take no offense. Sometimes, it's nice to be treated as a person, not just as a figurehead or a title. You're also both still waking up, as I can hear, and Dame Carter said that she had not warned you of the possibility of me being on the line."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Heather muttered. "Kettle. Coffee?"
It was only the fact that they'd run through some variation of this ritual almost every morning since she'd arrived that he understood what she meant – the electric kettle he'd purchased (at her insistence otherwise) should be done heating the water for her tea, and the brewer (the good one he kept in the kitchen, not the one he tinkered with in the shop) should be finished making his coffee. He hummed his affirmation; yes, he damn well needed a cup right now. She smirked and cleared her throat as she carefully climbed the stairs.
As soon as she was out of earshot, he deadpanned, "Heather was the one who called you 'pretty lady,' wasn't she?"
"Indeed, she was," the queen confirmed affectionately. "On her next visit, I was, disappointingly, 'Miss Mass-tee.'"
"She doesn't know that," Tony said directly. "Tell her or don't, but don't tease her with knowledge about her infancy and her parents. She never knew them, and she's never even gotten so much as a scrap of information about Lily she can trust to be accurate except her hair and eye color. The sister is a bitch of the highest order, and that's me singing her praises, not just being polite. Speaking of 'polite,' why are you two talking about Heather, especially without her prior knowledge?"
"Settle," Peggy snapped. He drew in a deep breath. "She told you about her parents' deaths, correct?"
Told him about, showed him her memories of… "Yeah, sure. Let's go with that version of events."
Peggy either didn't catch his hesitation, or decided not to comment on it. He assumed it was the latter. "Well, I had a hunch that proved correct; her aunt and uncle never applied for legal guardianship over her. Lily was granted an earldom for proving more helpful than what has been called 'the other Ministry' with regards to their internal civil war – that was news to me, too. But Heather inherited the earldom upon her mother's death, which means that she is, and has been since that Halloween, a Ward of the Crown."
Tony blinked twice. "I guess that'll help a bit with the red tape. Maybe. But she's gonna need dual citizenship, and we need to merge everything. I'm sure Gringotts can do some of it on this side, too. I wonder if she – holy shit, I'm gonna be an earl?"
"Anthony Edward Stark," Peggy broke into his rambling, "stop. Breathe. We don't know what you're talking about."
He paused. "Didn't we tell you about the contract?" he asked in confusion, as Heather, who had stealthily returned during Peggy's comment, pressed his favorite black mug – and hadn't he forgotten to wash it last night? – filled with perfectly prepped coffee into his hands. Taking a sip, he hummed in appreciation – strong, black, and almost overly sweet, exactly what he needed at that moment. "I could have sworn we did."
"We told your aunt it exists," Heather confirmed quietly, "but we didn't – couldn't – go into any detail. What I told you, about how only we could read it – literally – until we'd gone through it all?" She sighed. "Either I wasn't paying close enough attention when Luna explained it to me, or I misunderstood her completely. Knowing both myself and Luna, it's probably both. I realized it yesterday, when I thought over why we couldn't explain more about it. But let's be honest here – did you really want to sit through my struggles to decipher every naffing word in that blasted contract? I was not having a good time of it, and I'm accustomed to quill-script. I didn't think I'd need to read out moot stipulations."
"Perhaps we should convene to read it?" Her Majesty suggested. "It's much easier to discuss topics as sensitive as this in person."
The duo in California drank their respective caffeinated beverages as they held a silent conversation. "Would we be able to bring another with us?" Heather requested. "I do believe that my… financial advisor would benefit from hearing it first-hand. And once you can see the contract, ma'am, I'm certain you'll understand why I'm so reluctant to read it aloud twice." Suddenly, she smirked devilishly. "What's more, I'm even more positive he'll be willing to assist in… more normal financial pursuits, like auditing my aunt and uncle."
Tony laughed darkly. "You're gonna sic him – or in all actuality, all of them – on the Dursleys? Ooh, kitten found her claws!"
"Why do you wish to have your relatives audited?" Elizabeth wondered.
"I've never been as stupid as they made out," the teen pointed out without acrimony. "I learned to hide a lot, including my suspicions about their spending habits. I was in the library one day – I was seven or so; Mrs Figg couldn't watch me; and they wanted me to paint the fence while they were at Chessington, so they had to lock me out, not in – and I decided to find out how much a manager at Grunnings makes, because there's no way it was, or is, enough to pay for the house, the utilities, the new car annually, all the vacations and trips they took or sent Dudley on, the overabundance of gifts they lavished on him, the brand-new electronics–"
"You've made your point," the queen grimaced. "Yes, I do believe an audit is in order. And yes, your financial advisor may accompany you. Shall we pencil you in for Saturday next?"
"All due respect, ma'am, are you free today and/or tomorrow?" Tony counter-offered. "The sooner we can sort out all the legalities and guardianship issues, the sooner she's protected from unscrupulous wizards who apparently like to play God. We'd just need to stop by Gringotts," he added to his soulmate, "to freeze all your accounts with regards to withdrawals, stop anyone from ripping you off."
"That would allow us to invite him in person," the teen mused. "Besides, I doubt they'd object to me returning the sword a little earlier than promised."
"Sword?" Peggy demanded as the queen choked. "What sword?"
"Good point," Tony ruminated. "When do they open?"
"Long story, Aunt Peggy," Heather shook her head. "Believe me, you don't want to know. Tony can attest to that." He shuddered in soundless agreement. "And they opened here in America in… 1607, I think? Yeah, Gringotts does not close. Ever. Those greedy little blighters will never deny themselves a profit."
Tony did some quick calculations. "Figure two hours there?"
"Reasonable, especially with the meeting."
"I know you hate them, but Portkeys are much faster than any other transportation I've ever come across." She curled in on herself but nodded her assent. "Another hour, to be on the safe side… we can probably be there by 2PM British time."
"That doesn't give us much time to look into the Dursleys," Elizabeth said, considering.
"I have preliminary documentation already," Peggy informed her. "My people work quickly when up against child abusers. And eager to assist, as well."
After a short pause, the queen murmured, "I'm aware that Lady Potter is magical. Are you, Dr Stark?"
He blinked at the unexpected use of his more formal title, hedging, "I've been advised to have Gringotts ascertain that."
"Very well. Proceed with your meeting with the Goblins. When you would travel, preferably before half-two here, contact Dame Carter, and I will, at that time, provide you a safe location in which to arrive."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Tony said for both of them. After the call disconnected, he shared another look with Heather. "So I guess we're meeting the Queen. What are we gonna wear?"
The teen brushed her hair from her eyes as she finished her tea. "Isn't that supposed to be my line?"