A few minutes later, they had the boxes open on the table under the gazebo and the drinks - cans of more flavors of soda than Harry had ever seen before - distributed. A still-unconscious Errol had been carefully moved to one side, and Harry had called Hedwig to come get a bit of whichever pizza she liked. She'd then flown back to wherever she'd been before, and the three humans settled in to eat.

Eating pizza directly from the box felt … a little bit naughty, if Harry were honest. Certainly Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would never have eaten pizza directly from the box, even if they'd ever eat pizza at all, which Harry wasn't certain of.

There were three types of pizza. One was something Rogers called New York style, with a thick crust, sauce, and heaps of melted cheese. The second was a thick-crusted rectangular pizza with everything, whatever that meant when it came to pizza, that Stark called Detroit style. Finally, there was thin-crusted pizza with pepperoni and cheese that Stark seemed to prefer.

Harry was determined to try all three, though the slices looked very big.

"We'll get a Chicago-style deep-dish pizza some other time," Stark said, licking a bit of sauce from his finger.

"How many types of pizza are there?" Harry asked.

"If you're talking toppings, it's not an infinite number of combinations, but it's a big number," Stark replied. "If you're talking styles - eh. Chicago, Detroit, New York, St. Louis, Neapolitan, and Pepper introduced me to an abomination called California pizza."

"Abomination?" Rogers asked, saving Harry the trouble.

"All fancy and frou-frou." Stark took another bite of his Detroit-style slice. "Pizza's not supposed to be fancy."

"How do you make a pizza fancy?" Harry asked once he'd finished swallowing his New York-style bite.

"By putting toppings on it God never intended," Stark declared. "Like scallops, caviar, zucchini - which last is a travesty."

"They all sound like travesties to me," Rogers said.

"I'd like to try one," Harry offered. "Just to see if I like it or not."

Rogers pointed at him with his slice. "Good attitude."

"So." Stark wiped his hands on a paper napkin. "Now that we've all had our first slices - what did the book do that required you to get half-naked and wrestle with it?"

Harry swallowed, hard, before looking down at the pizza in his hand. "It's - a secret…"

"You're a wizard."

Harry jerked upright, gaping at Steve Rogers. He barely caught Stark's splutter, choked off as it was by a bite of pizza coming back up instead of going down as he spat it out.

"Wizard?" Stark said. "Seriously, Spangles?"

"Seriously," Rogers replied.

"How - how did you know?" Harry asked quietly.

"I met a couple during the war," Rogers replied. "Hydra was looking to recruit some, and that wouldn't have ended well for anyone. The Howlies and I teamed up with a team from the IWC. No, ICW, right?"

Harry nodded, unable to form words at that revelation. "The war that killed my parents?"

"No," Rogers replied with a grin. "A bit further back - the Second World War."

"How is that -?" Harry broke off as realization hit. "Oh. Steve Rogers. Captain America."

Rogers blinked. "I'm surprised you know that."

Harry ducked his head. "When Dame Margaret Carter died, the Telegraph's obituary had photographs from the war."

Rogers looked sad for a moment, then appeared to put that aside. "Dame? Which order?"

"Dame Commander of the Order of the Bath - for things she did after the war," Stark replied immediately. "Also the Distinguished Service Order, for what she did during the war. She was my godmother," he added, and Harry nodded his understanding, surprising as the revelation was. "But back to wizards are real? Really?"

"Weren't you the one wondering about the physics of owls carrying packages?" Rogers asked, amused. "Magic explains it."

Stark still looked dubious, and Harry said, "I've got my Hogwarts letter - you can see that, if you like? Oh, and the things Ron and Hermione and Hagrid sent me. They're magical - though the book can be vicious."

"Let's see, then," Stark replied, and Harry finished the last of his slice before wiping his hands and picking up the presents he'd stacked in the chair next to him and passing them over to his father, who took them with an expression of open curiosity.

"Sneakoscope?" Rogers asked. "Does it help you sneak around?

"The reverse, actually," Harry replied. "Ron said it's supposed to light up and spin when there's someone untrustworthy around."

Stark looked across at Rogers. "Gotta see how it reacts to Fury."

The comment meant nothing to Harry, but Rogers grinned. Stark moved on to -

"Broomstick servicing kit? For real?" Stark looked up at him. "You fly a broomstick?"

"And play Quidditch - it's a sport, teams of seven, all on brooms," Harry said.

"Are you good?" Rogers asked, and there was honest curiosity in both his voice and his expression.

Harry hated bragging, so he tried to keep to the facts. "I'm the youngest Seeker in a century, won every game I've played."

"Seeker?" Rogers asked.

"Three Chasers, two Beaters, a Keeper, and a Seeker," Harry explained. "The game doesn't end until the snitch is caught, and it's the Seeker's job to find and catch it. My father - James, I mean - played Chaser."

"You're gonna have to tell me all about the game," Stark said. "But - why'd you belt up this book?"

"Because it was running away?" Harry said, and the book twitched in Stark's hands.

Stark yelped and tossed the book to Rogers, who caught it neatly and put it on the chair next to him before sharing a grin with Harry. He could get used to this - spending time with adults who didn't expect anything of him.

"It's for one of my classes," Harry said. "I've got my book list, if you want to see it?"

"Sure." Stark held out his hand and when Harry handed the letter from Hogwarts over, he rubbed the parchment between his fingers. "Parchment? Do they make you write with quill pens, too?"

"Unfortunately," Harry said. "I lost points on my first essays because my penmanship was horrible. It would've been better with a biro, but they're not allowed."

"Good Lord." Stark frowned at the parchment. "Listen to this - The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Three. Okay, nothing unusual there - or nothing unusual if you're talking about books for magical schools. But Unfogging the Future, by Cassandra Vablatsky?" He looked up, his forehead creased in concentration. "Didn't she found the Theosophical Society?"

"You're thinking of Helena Blavatsky," Rogers said.

"Right-" Stark looked back down at the parchment he held. "Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles - what the hell?"

"Muggles are people who don't have magic," Harry said.

"Do they intend to insult us?" Stark asked, but it seemed to be a rhetorical question as he skimmed the other two parchments. "Hogsmeade?"

And then Harry realized that Mr. Stark might be willing to sign his permission slip - Uncle Vernon certainly wouldn't have.

"It's a magical village near Hogwarts," Harry said. "I'd like to be able to go with my friends, if you wouldn't mind?"

Stark set the parchment aside and grabbed another slice of pizza. He took a bite and chewed, and Harry suspected it was to give him time to think before he answered.

"I don't have enough information to say yes or no," he said finally. "I've literally known about magic for - what, half an hour? I have so many questions-"

Harry knew he must be staring, because Stark broke off with a grin.

"No, Harry, I don't expect you to answer all of them," he said. "There's got to be someone I can talk to - we can talk to - about it all. Maybe this Deputy Headmistress person, Professor-" he glanced over at the parchment. "McGonagall? How do I get in touch with her?"

"Hedwig can take a letter to her," Harry said. "Probably not until tomorrow, though - she must be tired after flying all the way from France."

"France?" Rogers asked. "How do you know that's where she was?"

"Because she brought my present from Hermione," and just saying my present felt wonderful "and Hermione's in France."

"Gives us time to write our letters to her," Stark said. "How long before we could expect a reply, if Hedwig leaves tomorrow morning?"

Harry considered it for a moment. "Tomorrow evening at the earliest. Maybe a day or two after?"

"How about we invite her to brunch on Saturday?" Stark said. "Keep it informal?"

"I don't know that Professor McGonagall can be informal," Harry blurted, and both men laughed.

"So," Stark said, "show me what you can do."

Harry blinked owlishly - and gave his owl a silent mental apology. "I - what?"

"Magic," Stark said. "Show me some magic."

"I - we're not allowed to do magic outside of school," Harry said. "Not until we're adults."

"Well, that's stupid," Stark declared. "How are you supposed to get any good at it if you can't practice?"

"I do," Harry said. "Sort of."

"How do you sort of practice magic?" Stark asked.

"I use a pencil to practice the wand movements, and I'll remind myself of the incantation."

"Good start," Stark said. "J, start a list - things I want to talk to the professor about. Item one - allowing students to practice outside school. Item two - I want to tour the school and interview the teachers."

"I have begun the list, sir," JARVIS answered, and Harry could only stare at his father. His luck might - just might - have turned good. At least for a little while.

"That's great," Rogers said, pulling Harry's attention back to the present. "But how about we get back to the important stuff - celebrating Harry's birthday?"

Tony hated shopping. With a passion. With a fiery passion.

But the fact had been staring him in the face since they'd gotten to Privet Drive. At the hospital, he'd thought Harry's over-large clothes had been brought because they'd be easier to get on and off over the casts on Harry's wrist and ankle. Then he'd seen Harry's cousin, Dudley, who was possibly even larger than the clothes Harry had. Vernon Dursley's attitude had simply cemented the ugly truth in Tony's mind:

Harry had never had clothes that came close to fitting him from the Dursleys.

So, once they'd finished the pizza - and he'd managed to push thoughts of magic out of his mind - Tony focused on the practicalities.

"You need clothes," he said, and Harry winced.

"These will do," he said. "My school uniforms fit, still."

"No," Tony said flatly. "You deserve clothes that fit, at least."

Harry frowned. "What else besides fit?"

"That make you look your best." Tony waved a hand. "If you care about it, we'll get a consultant to help."

Harry looked a little overwhelmed. Steve shot Tony a glare before speaking to Harry. "Let's start with clothes that fit. I know how it is - you wear what you have, no matter that it's too tight or too baggy, because it's all you have. But, Harry - it's not all you have anymore."

"It's -" Harry swallowed. "It's a lot to take in."

"Tony was lucky," Steve said. "He grew up with things most people take for granted - enough food and clothing, and a safe place to shelter. There's nothing wrong with that, but it does mean that he doesn't always understand those of us who didn't."

"And I throw money at a lot of problems," Tony admitted. "Because I'd rather pay someone to handle the things I'm not interested in so I can focus on the things I am interested in."

"Like what?" Harry asked.

"Clean energy," Tony answered immediately. "And protective equipment for our soldiers. Dad built weapons - and I get it. When you're facing the threat of Nazis and then the Soviet Union, you need the biggest, baddest weapons you can find. But the Soviet Union's gone, war's different these days, and our soldiers need things to help them fight today's wars."

"Those things include weapons," Steve pointed out. "You still have to fight back when somebody attacks you."

"Fair enough," Tony admitted. "But those are things other companies can do as well as SI. Nobody else can do clean energy like we can because nobody else has arc reactor technology."

"That all sounds complicated," Harry said.

"It is," Tony said. "It's also not really relevant to this discussion, sorry for the distraction."

"No, it's interesting," Harry protested.

"And educational," Steve replied. "Tell you what, Harry - since I need to get caught up on the last seventy years, and you're interested, we can read about it together, okay?"

Harry smiled, tentatively at first, but then with more conviction. "I'd like that."

"Great," Tony said. "JARVIS - order two copies of the five best-selling and best reviewed books on terrorism and modern warfare."

Harry's jaw dropped even as JARVIS replied, "Yes, sir."

"Is this another time when you pay someone to do what you're not interested in?" he asked.

Tony grinned. "Yep. So - clothes. What size do you wear?"

"Um -" Harry blushed. "I - don't know. The school robes won't have the same size labels."

"Let's get some basic measurements, then," Tony said. "Stand up and take your clothes off."

Harry looked around, wide-eyed. "Here?"

"You're fifty stories up," Tony pointed out. "Nobody will see."

"You will." Harry's voice was barely a whisper.

Tony started to respond, but Steve's minute headshake made him stop to think about his words before he spoke. "JARVIS can scan you for your measurements, but you'll need to be in one of the public areas. The private rooms don't have cameras - just audio, keyed to his name."

"So you do believe in privacy," Steve offered, amused.

"Mostly," Tony said.

"Um -" Harry took a breath and let it out slowly, his brows creased in thought. After a moment, he appeared to come to some conclusion because he squared his shoulders and said, "Okay."

He slipped out of his chair, muttering something that sounded like, "Griffin door courage," as he let his trousers fall to his ankles and then pulled his T-shirt over his head.

Skinny, was Tony's first thought. Not just slender, but skinny.

His second thought was, Scars.

A wave of anger passed through him but was quickly gone. He'd be more angry if he didn't know that Vernon Dursley was going to get a visit from the British equivalent of Child Protective Services in the near future.

"I have the necessary measurements," JARVIS said after a moment. "What style of clothing do you prefer, young sir?"

"I'm just Harry," Harry protested. Tony bit back a grin and saw that Steve was doing the same.

"Very well, Master Harry," JARVIS said, and Tony would've sworn there was a hint of humor in the words. "What style of clothing do you prefer?"

Harry just looked aggrieved as he started putting his clothes back on. "Whatever fits is fine."

"A couple of button-up shirts," Steve said. "And trousers that aren't jeans."

"Hey!" Tony protested. "Jeans are comfortable and functional."

"And fine for everyday," Steve replied, "but not as versatile as the ones I'm wearing - whatever they're called."

"Chinos," Tony said. "What are your favorite colors, Harry?"

"My house colors are red and gold," Harry said immediately. "But red draws a lot of attention. Blue, maybe? And I like green, outside of school."

"Just the basics for now," Tony said. "Dark gray chinos, two pair of jeans, a blue button-up shirt and eight T-shirts in the colors he likes. Sneakers, too - black. Socks, underwear. And a couple of pairs of sweats, one size larger, to go over the casts." Then he focused on Harry. "You can look at clothes online, or-" he couldn't help the grimace "-we can take you shopping."

"I'll take him," Steve offered. "You probably have meetings and things to deal with."

"What else do you need?" Tony asked. "School supplies, right? Can we get those tomorrow?"

"I'd have to go to Diagon Alley," Harry said. Tony just raised an eyebrow, and Harry added, "It's the magical shopping district in London, off Charing Cross Road."

"You feeling up to that today?" Steve asked. "You're looking a little tired."

Harry wouldn't meet either of their eyes when he said, very quietly, "I would like a nap."

"That sounds like a cue to show you your bedroom." Tony got to his feet and only hesitated briefly before picking up the servicing kit and the Sneakoscope. Without a word, Steve picked up the belted-up book and the cards and letters Harry had received.

Three minutes later, the elevator opened onto what Tony called the quiet floor.

"That one's mine," Tony reminded them, pointing at a door in the far left corner of the elevator lobby area. "Time for your final choices."

"I'll take the far one on this side," Steve said. "Make it easier for Harry if he has a closer room."

"Take your pick of what's left," Tony said to Harry.

After a moment's hesitation, Harry started toward the closer room on the left. Tony felt a wave of … love? Pride? Something between the two, maybe … well up in his chest at the thought that his son wanted to be close to him.

Harry stopped in the doorway, and Tony almost ran into him. "What?" he asked.

"It's - quite large," Harry said. "It must be twice the size of my room at Aunt Petunia's. Maybe three times. And that view!"

He hobbled across the room toward the window wall. Tony and Steve followed, carefully putting Harry's gifts down on the dresser.

"JARVIS, now that Harry's picked a room, have someone bring his trunk up," Tony said.

"Done, sir."

"All righty, then," Tony said. "If you need anything, just let JARVIS know."

"Where will you be?" Harry asked without turning away from the window.

"Downstairs, probably," Tony said. "JARVIS will know and bring you there - or, conversely, let us know and we'll come to you." He blew out a breath. "I know it's your birthday, but given the circumstances - are you okay putting the celebration off for a week or so?"

Harry did turn from the window at that. "Celebration?"

"At least a birthday dinner, cake and ice cream," Steve said, and Tony frowned - but then admitted that too much of a celebration might overwhelm Harry.

"Maybe when your friend gets back from France," Tony said. "We can invite her and her family." He didn't miss how Harry's expression brightened at the idea. "And Capsicle and I haven't bought you presents yet."

"I - you don't have to."

"We want to," Steve assured him, and Harry smiled tentatively before turning toward his bed. "Do you need help?"

"I don't think so," Harry replied.

"Okay, then," Tony said. "Have a nap, then come find us. We'll watch a movie or something, order dinner in. Then tomorrow, we'll head out to Diagonally, or wherever you said."

"Diagon Alley," Harry corrected as he sat on the edge of the bed and toed off the too-large sneakers he wore.

"Yeah, that."

Impulse made Tony stride forward and help Harry take the rest of his clothes off before settling his son under the covers.

"Sleep well," Tony said. With any luck - and an expedite fee - proper-sized clothes would be here when Harry woke up.

He rose and left the room, pulling the door quietly shut behind him. He turned to go to his workshop floor but paused at Steve's assessing expression.

"What?"

"You're taking this really well."

"That I have a son?" Tony shrugged. "Like I said, I knew about him, even if I wasn't involved."

"Magic."

Tony snorted. "Aliens. Beings who claimed to be gods. It's not that much of a stretch. Besides, sufficiently advanced technology, and all that."

Steve blinked. "I - don't understand."

"Arthur C. Clarke," Tony said. "British science-fiction writer. He said that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. So it's not really magic, just technology we don't understand."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "But you want to understand it?"

"Oh, hell yes," Tony couldn't help exclaiming. "Which is one reason I want to go to that alley place, see what books they have on how it all works."

Steve chuckled. "Only you."

Tony shrugged. "Dad, too, if he were still alive."