Okay, spectacularly long chapter this time, but I really couldn't think of any place to break it. Sorry? (grin)

AUGUST 3

"I'm sorry, Tony."

Tony looked up from the sofa where he sat reading Advanced Applications in Arithmancy and frowned at Steve. "For what?"

"Watching Star Wars on the television instead of in a theater."

Now that he said it, Tony remembered flatly refusing to show Steve Star Wars on a small screen - and that he'd sent out a survey of his employees as to the best movies to watch on the big screen. He felt momentary shame that he'd forgotten, and then reminded himself that he'd had a lot on his plate the last few days.

Plate? No, he'd had a full platter of things to deal with. He could be forgiven for forgetting about Star Wars.

Still, "Why did you?"

"Because when we were deciding what to watch, Sirius saw that one and said it was one of Lily's favorites, but she'd never gotten the chance to show it to him," Steve replied. "He really wanted to see it, and I thought it would be cruel to refuse, especially after suffering Dementor exposure all those years."

"Those are the things that suck your soul, right?"

"That's what Sirius said they do," Steve replied. "I don't know enough to know if that's actually true. And if it is-"

Tony waited, but Steve didn't seem inclined to share more. Which probably meant it needed to be shared. "If it is, what?"

"Then I have to question everything I ever learned in church," Steve said on a heavy exhale. "And wonder just what kind of society thinks that's a just punishment for anything. It sounds - evil."

"A lot of what we've heard about the magical world sounds evil," Tony observed. "But Sirius wasn't - kissed, they call it? Right?"

"No, but he was around Dementors for twelve years," Steve said. Before Tony could ask, he added, "Just being around them makes you feel miserable. It's like they feed on happiness and happy memories."

Tony could only stare at him. "Wow. Cruel and unusual punishment."

"We're in England," Steve pointed out. "I'm not sure that prohibition applies."

"Probably still grounds for a lawsuit - mental trauma and all that," Tony replied. "But yeah, that was a damn good reason for watching it. Even on a small screen."

"There's nothing small about that screen," Steve said with a grin. "It may be smaller than a movie screen, but that doesn't mean it's small."

Tony chuckled, but the entire discussion had reminded him of the meeting that was only an hour or so away.

"Think I should have the armor on?" Tony asked, only half-joking. Since Steve had pointed out that this meeting had the potential to turn hostile, his anticipation had taken on a flavor of dread.

"No." Steve's immediate, certain reply had Tony relaxing, if only a little. "They'll want to keep Harry here, sure, but there's no sense in antagonizing you right away."

"Even with the memory-wiping?" And that was Tony's biggest fear - losing the memories of what he'd learned, what he'd created. Losing those would mean he'd lose everything that made him who he was.

"Even with," Steve said. "These are teachers, remember - well, a teacher and a school nurse. They shouldn't have the authority to wipe your memories, and they may not even know how to do it."

Tony nodded. That all made sense … even if it didn't completely ease his fear. "But you'll stay close?"

"I'll stay close."

After more than twenty years of visiting the families of Muggle-born students to introduce them to the magical world, Minerva considered herself rather adept at navigating the Muggle world, from small family homes to grand manor houses to flats in the heart of London.

None of those visits, however, had prepared her for the imposing structure that was Stark Tower at London Docklands. It towered almost ten stories taller than its nearest neighbors, with the name STARK standing out in - she winced internally at her own pun - stark white letters against the rest of the building.

"Well," Poppy Pomfrey said beside her, the voice seeming to come from the air itself, as Poppy was, like herself, Disillusioned. "That's … something."

"Indeed," Minerva said, privately grateful that she'd taken the time to explore the Docklands - it was new, and she'd barely thought of it until Mr. Stark's letter arrived - before this trip. That exploration had yielded a safe apparition point, which is where she and Poppy now stood watching Muggles going about their daily business.

Minerva studied the women passing by, comparing their clothes to the ones she'd transfigured for this visit. The Muggles wore lightweight clothing, showing arms and legs below the knee, certainly more skin than wizarding robes typically revealed.

The clothing she'd transfigured, however, was a bit more conservative, with long sleeves and skirts that fell to mid-calf, and perhaps a heavier-weight fabric than Muggles would choose for summer in London. Still, their visit was professional, not personal or friendly, so she judged the more conservative choice a good one.

With a quick look around to confirm they weren't being observed, Minerva canceled the Disillusionment Charms and gave her companion a tight smile. "Shall we?"

Poppy's return smile conveyed her nerves. "I haven't been in the Muggle world in a very long time, Minerva. Please don't let me make a fool of myself."

"Nonsense," Minerva said briskly. "It's only Mr. Potter. You've seen him several times."

"That's very true." Poppy drew a breath in and herself up. "Let's go meet this Mr. Stark."

Minerva hid a smile and started toward Stark Tower, holding Poppy back at busy streets and teaching her how to cross them safely.

"My word," Poppy said once they'd crossed a second street. "Those contraptions do move quickly."

"I'm told that one striking you while moving at sufficient speed can kill you on impact," Minerva said. "Thus the safety systems the Muggles put in place."

"Safety systems?" Poppy at least waited until they were fully across the street before staring around them dubiously. "I don't see any safety systems."

"Just as we don't see safety charms on brooms," Minerva replied. "But the lights there - red, yellow, green? - those direct the Muggles on when to proceed. And there are limits to how fast they can go in any given place. The automobiles themselves are built to withstand impacts to a certain speed. They are quite safe, as far as Muggle technology goes."

"What's techology?" Poppy asked.

"Technology," Minerva corrected. "It's the Muggle equivalent to magic."

Poppy snorted. "As if there could be anything equivalent to magic."

But they had arrived at the entrance to Stark Tower, if the Stark Industries logo on the glass was any indication.

The doors slid open as they approached, and Poppy exclaimed softly. Minerva only barely concealed a smile as she murmured, "Equivalent to magic."

Poppy huffed softly but followed Minerva into the building. Ahead of them stood a crescent-shaped desk, its tips pointing further into the building. Behind it sat a young woman who didn't look old enough to have graduated Hogwarts, her blonde hair pulled back into a neat twist, and her makeup more subdued than Minerva would have expected from someone her age.

"May I help you?" she asked politely.

"My name is Minerva McGonagall," Minerva said. "I have an appointment with Mr. Stark at ten."

The woman - girl, really, Minerva's initial impression being confirmed by closer observation - turned to a … device? … in front of her, tapped something, and looked up.

"Mr. Stark is expecting you," she said. "If you'll proceed to the far right lift, it will take you where you need to go."

"Thank you," Minerva said, glancing back as she passed the desk to see what looked like a miniature telly-vision - or that's what she thought it was called. Except instead of moving images, this one displayed lines of text and static pictures in different boxes.

"Lift?" Poppy asked.

"Exactly what it says," Minerva replied. "It will lift us to higher floors in the building. Typically, a lift has a button for every floor, and you press the button for the floor you want. From what the receptionist said, this one," she added as they reached the furthest right lift and its doors slid open, "is set for one floor only."

Poppy shifted nervously as the doors closed, then started sharply when the lift began to move upward.

"Some of our Muggle-born students live in buildings like this," Minerva said, hoping the explanation would help distract her companion. "Though I say like in a most broad sense. The tallest building I've used a lift in before is ten stories. This one has several times that."

"Amazing," Poppy said, and she seemed to be returning to herself. "I wonder how the buildings stay up, without reinforcement and stabilizing spells?"

"I don't know," Minerva admitted. "Several times, I've thought of taking a sabbatical year and spending it in the Muggle world, just to see what they've come up with since I was a little girl. They had lifts, then, of course, but I don't remember many buildings this tall."

The doors slid open to reveal a well-appointed foyer, marble flooring and wood-paneled walls gleaming in the light. A corridor extended left and right, and a pair of double doors stood opposite them.

Before Minerva could do more than wonder which way they were supposed to go, the doors opened and a tall, well-built man emerged. He wore dark blue trousers and a button-up plaid shirt that reminded her of the Ancient Stewart Old Sett tartan and brought out the blue of his eyes.

"Mr. Stark?" Minerva ventured.

"No, ma'am," the man responded with a brief smile. "I'm a friend of Tony's. Steve Rogers."

"I'm Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts," Minerva said. "With me is Poppy Pomfrey, our matron."

"A pleasure, ma'am," the man said with a nod to her and then to Poppy. "If you'll come inside, Tony and Harry will be just a minute."

Inside turned out to be a conference room with windows that looked out over the city, drawing Minerva's attention to just how high up they were, and making her wonder with Poppy how the building remained standing.

A large conference table, half covered in stacks of paper, dominated the room. The near end of the table, though, was clear, with five place settings. To Minerva's right, a cabinet about as tall as the table lined one of the room's short walls, and atop it were silver-toned boxes on racks over small, contained flames.

A ding behind her had her tensing as she turned, only to see the doors to the lift slide open again, a dark-haired, brown-eyed man striding out of it, followed by -

"Mr. Potter." Minerva eyed him critically. "I understood from your letter that you had several casts?"

"I did, Professor," Harry said. "But when we went to Diagon Alley, Tom fixed the worst of it. Said he'd done a fair bit of healing spells when the Cauldron got rowdy."

"Hmf." Poppy made an annoyed noise beside her. "He may be good with basic spells, but he's no healer. Let's have a look at you, then."

She stepped forward and her wand slipped into her hand.

"We're new to magic, ma'am," Steve said, "so if you'd explain what you're going to do before you do it, we'd appreciate it."

"Of course," Poppy replied. "Sit down, Mr. Potter."

Harry took a seat at the table, and Poppy continued, "The first thing I'm doing is a diagnostic spell. It will tell me all of Mr. Potter's injuries."

She cast the spell, and Minerva watched a series of colors dance over Potter's body, a rainbow of mostly greens, some purples, a couple of red lines at his torso, and - most disturbingly - a black glob at the boy's forehead. Minerva took a step forward to get a better look, only to have her view blocked when Stark - for who else could he be - moved to stand beside Poppy.

"Hmmm…" Stark muttered. "Color association - green is healthy. Purple is … damaged? Bruising, maybe? Red … shows up in a line, not a wave, so maybe a bone fracture? Cracked ribs?"

Minerva couldn't see Poppy's expression, but she heard the surprise in her voice when she said, "Most accurate, Mr.-?"

"Sorry. Tony Stark." The man smiled at her briefly before turning back to Potter. "What's that black at his forehead? A tumor?"

"That's where he survived the Killing Curse," Poppy replied. "The night his parents were killed."

Stark frowned at her, but before Minerva could intervene, he was already speaking. "How do you know that? Has anyone else ever survived the Killing Curse that you have records to compare it to?"

Poppy paused in her casting. "Everyone knows that, Mr. Stark. Now I'm casting a Bone-Knitting Charm to take care of those ribs."

Stark frowned but stepped back to let the healer do her work.

Once the charm ended, Poppy resized her medical bag and reached into it, producing a potion and a jar of salve.

Potter scrunched up his face at the sight of the potion and Minerva hid a smile. She'd always suspected potion masters made their potions taste bad deliberately, though she'd never understood why.

"General health potion," Poppy said to Stark's inquiring glance, "and Bruise Balm."

"Think of the potion like a super-charged multi-vitamin," Potter said. "Along with a mild antibiotic."

"How do you know that, Mr. Potter?" Minerva asked, surprised in spite of herself. The boy's grades in Potions hadn't been anything exceptional so far.

Harry shrugged. "The first time I had to take one, Hermione went and researched it. That's her explanation, and it seems to fit."

"And Bruise Balm?" Stark said. "Presumably reduces the swelling and discoloration?"

"Precisely," Poppy said. "But I thought you're a Muggle?"

Stark scowled at that. "Yeah, not a fan of that term. I'm not magical, but I'm not stupid, either."

"Hm." Poppy returned her wand to its place and re-shrunk her bag. "Twice a day on the Bruise Balm, Mr. Potter. Owl me if it's not better by Monday."

"Yes, ma'am," Potter said. "Sorry to disturb you on the weekend."

"Nonsense." Poppy offered him a brief smile before turning to Minerva. "If there's nothing else for me to do here?"

"No," Minerva replied automatically. "I believe that's everything."

But Poppy's gaze had passed her and landed on Stark - specifically, on Stark's chest, where a circle of blue lights shone through the artwork on his shirt. People wear art on clothing? Minerva gave a mental shrug, supposing it was no different than the magical animations Albus liked to wear on his robes.

"What," Poppy asked, "is that?" She jabbed a finger toward Stark's chest, but he took a step back before she connected.

"It's an arc reactor," Stark replied, as though the words were supposed to make sense. "It's a miniaturized power generator - never mind." He broke off as he registered Poppy's completely baffled expression. Minerva was sure hers was no better. Stark took a breath and let it out. "Long story short, it's a magnet-" he paused, as though confirming they understood what a magnet was. Minerva and Poppy both nodded. "Right. It's a magnet keeping shards of metal from riding my blood into my heart and killing me."

Poppy's wand was in her hand in an instant and she cast the same diagnostic spell on Stark. "Hm."

Poppy studied the readouts - not just colors this time, but also arithmantic equations and runic symbols - while Stark looked to Harry.

"Is that a good hm or a bad hm?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "It's an I'm thinking about this and don't you dare disturb me hm."

Stark nodded, apparently accepting that, and stood quietly while Poppy finished her analysis. Minerva marveled at this Muggle - no, he said didn't like that term, but what else could she use? - who apparently accepted magic to the point of allowing it to be used on him without protest.

"Well," Poppy said finally. "It's too complicated for me, but the healers at St. Mungo's or St. Joan's could fix you right up."

"St. Mungo's and St. Joan's?" Stark repeated.

"Magical hospitals here in London and in Paris, respectively," Minerva said, glad to finally contribute to the conversation. "I suspect if you mention that you are Mr. Potter's guardian, they will admit you rather sooner than they might otherwise."

Stark grinned at that and focused on Harry. "How about that, kiddo? You're not piggybacking on my fame. I'm piggybacking on yours."

Harry laughed, but to Minerva's ears it sounded weak, almost forced. And she had to wonder what fame Tony Stark had in the Muggle world. She'd find out, somehow.

"If that's all, Minerva?" Poppy asked.

Minerva was about to thank her for her work when memory returned. "One last thing, Poppy, if you will. Will you cast the Kinship Charm, please? It's more accurate if a healer does it."

"On whom?" Poppy asked.

"Mr. Potter and Mr. Stark," Minerva replied. "Mr. Stark claims to be Mr. Potter's natural father."

Minerva would cherish this moment. It wasn't often that Poppy Pomfrey was caught off her guard, after all.

"This is like a magical paternity test, right?" Stark asked, breaking the moment. "To prove I'm Harry's father?"

Poppy shook herself and nodded briskly. "That is correct, Mr. Stark. Do I have your permission to cast it on you and Mr. Potter?"

To Minerva's surprise, Stark turned to Potter. "Harry? What do you want?"

To her further surprise, Potter looked torn. Finally, he blew out a breath. "I believe you - but I'm not willing to show anyone else why I believe you." Stark nodded, as though that made sense, and Potter continued, "So it's probably best if she casts the charm. Will the results be recorded, so we don't have to do this again?"

"Yes, the results will be recorded," Poppy answered. "As to whether you'll have to do this again, that I can't say. If it's true that Mr. Stark is your father, then perhaps."

"Hogwarts won't require anything further," Minerva put in, hoping to curb the growing annoyance in both Stark's and Potter's expressions. "But surely you can understand my caution in accepting your claim."

"Yeah, sure," Stark said. "I'd do the same - hell, I did the same. Go for it," he added to Poppy. "And if anybody else wants to cast it, we'll deal with them then."

Poppy waved her wand in the air and murmured the incantation under her breath. A golden bond snapped to life between Potter and Stark, confirming the man's claim of being Potter's father, however improbable that might be.

Poppy, though, almost dropped her wand, and Minerva winced.

"I must say," Poppy said, "I wasn't expecting that."

"I trust that is protected under patient confidentiality?" Stark asked.

"Yes, of course," Poppy answered immediately. "I'll swear an Unbreakable Vow, if you wish."

Again, Stark looked to Harry for confirmation. At Harry's shake of the head, Tony said, "We don't need it - unless you think you might, at some point?"

"The news will get out," Minerva said. "You've indicated some familiarity with fame - I assure you, Mr. Potter is quite famous in our world."

"For all the good it does me," Harry muttered. Minerva glanced sharply at him, as did Stark, but Stark just rested a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"We'll get to that later," Stark said before regarding Poppy seriously. "We don't need one of those vow-things. Patient confidentiality is enough."

"Thank you, Mr. Stark," Poppy said with a warmer smile than usual. Then she turned to Minerva. "Any other surprises this morning, Minerva?"

"Only as regards to Mr. Potter's third-year curriculum, I expect," Minerva replied.

"Though you're welcome to stay for brunch," Stark put in. "We have plenty."

He gestured toward the silver boxes and Minerva concluded that there must be food inside, and the flames were keeping it warm.

"Thank you for the offer, but I doubt I'd have anything useful to contribute," Poppy replied. "So, if you'll excuse me?"

"Thanks, Madam Pomfrey," Harry said. "For everything."

"You're quite welcome, Mr. Potter. Enjoy the rest of your holiday." Poppy apparated out with a relatively quiet bang. Stark stared after her for a moment but recovered quickly.

"Great," he said. "How about we serve ourselves, and we can eat while we talk?"

Minerva agreed, not least because Steve Rogers was already removing lids from the metal boxes. She drifted toward them, and confirmed her initial conclusion, as there was one box filled with hotcakes, one with scrambled eggs, one with potatoes, and one devoted half its space to bacon and the other half to sausage links. Small pitchers of honey and syrup, along with jars of butter and jam - presumably for toast, though the bread set out wasn't already toasted, so how …? She'd watch the Muggles and learn - completed the buffet.

"Ladies first," Rogers said with a smile, and Minerva stepped forward.

"Would you like some coffee, Professor?" Potter asked. "Or maybe tea or orange juice?"

"A spot of tea would be lovely, thank you," she replied as she added eggs, potatoes, and bacon to her plate. She would've preferred some toast, as well, but perhaps Muggles preferred un-toasted bread?

When she turned from the buffet, Stark was standing behind one of the chairs, offering to help her sit.

"Rogers brings out all the manners Mom and Aunt Peggy tried to teach me," he said with a grin. Minerva's lips twitched in return though she knew she wasn't getting the entire joke.

"Somebody has to be the good influence around here," Rogers shot back, but his tone was more amused than annoyed.

"You're both better than-" Potter broke off and appeared to focus completely on the tea he was preparing.

"It's okay, kiddo." Stark came forward and rested a hand on Potter's shoulder briefly before Potter brought her tea and then returned to the buffet to take his own turn.

When they had all served themselves and gathered around the table, Stark plunged right in. "How's Harry doing in school?"

"Quite well," Minerva answered with a smile at Potter. She withdrew his grade report and passed it over to Stark, who focused on it. "His first year, he achieved an O in Defense and Charms, EE in everything else except Potions, for which he received an A."

"So that's an A in Defense and Charms, B in everything else but Potions, which was a C," Stark muttered. Then he recollected himself and looked at Minerva. "Sorry - translating your grades into the ones I'm familiar with. What about his second year?"

"Ah," Minerva said. "Second year, exams were canceled as a school treat-"

"What?!" The exclamation came from both Stark and Rogers. Stark gestured to Rogers, who took a breath before continuing. "Pardon our surprise, ma'am, but why would you cancel exams? Isn't the entire purpose of a school to educate children and to measure their education with exams?"

"You are correct, of course. This past year, however, there were…" Minerva paused, considering her words carefully "…extenuating circumstances."

"Must've been pretty damn extenuating," Stark said. "What were they?"

Minerva hesitated. How could she possibly explain all that had happened the last year in terms a Muggle would understand?

While she was still searching for words, Potter spoke. "A basilisk got loose in school and petrified four students, a cat, and a ghost. And a student was possessed by the spirit of Voldemort, but nobody knew that until the end of the year, so you can't really hold that against them."

"A basilisk?" Stark and Rogers chorused. Then at the same time, they looked at each other and said, "How do you know about that?"

Minerva frowned at their uncanny - and probably unwitting - imitation of the Weasley twins, but she could see that Potter was struggling to contain laughter.

"I've read the classics," Rogers said. "Including the Venerable Bede in the original Latin."

Stark frowned. "He wrote about basilisks?"

"Among other animals," Rogers replied. "Da Vinci did, too. How do you know about them?"

"Dungeons and Dragons," Stark replied. "I never played it, but at junior high, there was only one recreational area for the students - which meant that after school, before Dad or Mom or whoever picked me up, I sat in a corner designing … well, whatever struck me as interesting. Not far from me, there was a group of kids playing D&D. I couldn't help overhearing when they talked about creatures like basilisks, beholders, kobolds, owlbears, and, of course, dragons."

"Of course," Rogers said with a wry grin that faded quickly. "How did one of those things get loose in a school? And the troll from first year, too?"

"A professor modified the wards so the troll could get in," Minerva replied. "Be assured we have corrected that problem - it now takes all four heads of houses to modify the wards, not just a single professor. As to the basilisk…." Again she hesitated briefly before plunging on. "We don't know how long the creature had been there - it may have belonged to one of the school's founders, as it was found in a chamber dedicated to him."

"Pardon me, Professor," Potter said. "But that's not entirely accurate. It was in a chamber that could only be accessed by someone who shared his magical gift. Judging by the library there, it might have been Salazar Slytherin's personal quarters. And the basilisk … well, I wonder if it was his familiar."

Minerva couldn't quite conceal her surprised inhale. "Slytherin's familiar? What an idea."

"Fascinating as that may be," Stark said, "I was asking why exams were canceled last year."

"As Mr. Potter said," Minerva said, "students were petrified - along with the Gryffindor House ghost and the caretaker's cat."

She finished the last of her eggs and reached for her tea, silently mourning the lack of toast to go with it. As she stirred a bit of sugar into her tea, a plate of toast appeared in front of her. Looking up, she saw Potter backing away.

"How-?" she began.

Potter shrugged. "I've seen you at breakfast - not spying," he added quickly, "just sometimes when I'd be getting up or something. You always have toast with your tea."

"Thank you," she said. "I admit, I'm not entirely certain how you made it, but thank you."

"The toaster." Potter pointed to a shiny box set somewhat apart from the boxes that had held their food. Minerva followed his finger and noted that the box he indicated had slots on its top. So that was what a "toaster" looked like. She'd remember that, and eventually learn how to use it.

"Of course," she said, before focusing on Stark again. "The headmaster decided that exams would be an unnecessary burden on the students, given the stresses of the year."

"The year?" Stark repeated.

"Of course - with students being petrified throughout the year, and the uncertainty as to the cause-"

"Uncertainty?" Rogers said. "If I understand you correctly, you're saying you didn't know it was a basilisk? How's that possible, when two people from the mundane world recognized it immediately?"

"And it was a Muggle-born who figured it out at school," Potter put in, then winced as Stark frowned. "Sorry - Hermione's parents aren't magical. What would you call her?"

"First-generation magical," Stark replied immediately. "First-gen for short."

"And it was a first-gen who figured it out," Potter said obediently.

Minerva had never had a conversation like this with Muggles before, and she admitted privately that she was starting to feel out of her depth. She took a breath and said, "Basilisks are quite rare. I daresay no one at the castle had any experience with one before."

"All right, fine." Stark threw his serviette onto the table beside his plate. "I'll accept that - not happy about it, but I'll accept it. How long was the school closed?"

Minerva blinked. "Closed? Why would we close?"

Stark looked as astonished at her question as she felt at his. "Why? To protect the students while the professionals dealt with the threat. If a wild animal got loose in one of our schools, that's what would happen - evacuate the school, close it temporarily, and let the animal handlers deal with the problem."

"That-" Minerva took a breath. "While an excellent suggestion, there were complicating factors, not the least being that no one knew where the beast was, until Mr. Potter found the Chamber of Secrets."

"Which was?" Stark asked, looking at Potter.

"A hidden chamber that you got to through a tunnel in the second floor girls' bathroom," Potter said. "But only a Parselmouth could open it."

"What's a Parselmouth?" Rogers asked, and Potter suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"Someone who can talk with snakes," he said.

"That's cool - but we're off track again," Stark said, and offered Minerva an apologetic smile. "Sorry. So exams were canceled - finals, I expect? What about mid-term exams? Or other exams throughout the year? Quizzes, even?"

"I've brought Mr. Potter's essays," Minerva said. "Those demonstrate his understanding of the material rather well."

Stark took the stack of parchment she passed him and flipped through them so quickly she'd be surprised if he could even tell her what their topics were later.

"About the same as your final grades first year," Stark said. "Except these Ps - Poor, right? What's that about?"

Potter scowled. "Potions. Professor Snape hates me."

"Surely not, Mr. Potter," Minerva protested.

Potter toyed with the last of his bacon - streaky bacon, as Minerva's own had been. Perhaps Americans preferred it that way? - dragging it through the dregs of syrup on his plate.

"Harry," Stark said gently. "Tell her what you told us about him."

It was another moment before Potter finally looked up and met her gaze.

"Our first day in class," Potter began, "he singled me out. Ah, yes. Harry Potter. Our new - celebrity."

That - was a surprisingly accurate impersonation of Severus Snape. Minerva frowned at the tone, however, and would've asked for more, except Potter spoke again.

"Then he asked me questions about adding powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood, and where I'd find a bezoar stone, and the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane. When I didn't know - because it was our first day of class - he insulted me, saying fame wasn't everything, and thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Potter shrugged. "I had read the first chapter of our potions book, but the answers to those questions weren't in it. Not that it would've mattered."

"Why do you say that, Harry?" Rogers asked, and Minerva found herself dreading the answer.

"Snape bullies all of the students, except the ones in Slytherin. He's Head of House for them," Potter said. "He especially has it in for Gryffindor, and me personally. When we were making our first potion - on the first day of class, remember - he'd just written the instructions on the board and told us to get started."

"No instruction?" Stark asked.

Potter shook his head before continuing, "Neville made a mistake with his, and Snape called him an idiot boy! before rounding on me and asking me why I didn't tell him not to add the quills. I was working on my own potion, how was I supposed to keep track of anyone else's, let alone know what they were doing wrong? Snape accused me of thinking it would make me look good if Neville got it wrong and took a point from me."

Stark and Rogers had gone still - deathly still, the stillness of a predator before it attacks its prey - and for the first time in a very long time, Minerva found herself wanting to draw her wand against a Muggle. She stifled the impulse as the two men visibly calmed themselves.

"He hasn't gotten any better, has he?" Stark asked in a surprisingly gentle voice.

Potter shook his head mutely.

Stark turned his gaze to Minerva, and she found herself as petrified by it as if he'd been a basilisk himself. "I want Harry transferred to another teacher for his Potions classes."

"There aren't any other Potions professors at Hogwarts." That her voice was steady surprised Minerva, but she pressed on. "Severus Snape is a Potions Master, one of only a handful in Europe."

"I'm not questioning his competency in his field," Stark snapped. "I'm saying I don't want him teaching my son. And if there aren't any other Potions teachers at Hogwarts, we'll find a private tutor. JARVIS, make a note."

"Done, Sir." The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, and Minerva shot to her feet, wand in her hand, looking for the threat.

"It's okay, Professor," Potter said. "JARVIS is Tony's … assistant? Think of him like a house elf, or a ghost, only not restricted by a body, physical or otherwise."

Slowly, Minerva holstered her wand and returned to her seat. "I - see. I must admit, despite my many visits to the Muggle - the non-magical world, I've never encountered such a thing before."

"JARVIS is unique," Stark replied in a manner that closed the subject without being unduly rude before asking, "So - what's on tap for next year? Same classes?"

"We start electives next year," Potter put in.

"Talk to me about electives. What are they, what are they good for?" Stark picked up a cup - coffee, not tea - as he spoke.

As he took a sip, Minerva blinked, again struck by the singular uniqueness of this visit. She'd never seen a Muggle so interested in their child's education before. But then, conscience forced her to acknowledge, she rarely visited Muggle parents after the initial visit.

She cleared her throat to cover her slight hesitation. "Five are available to third-year students: Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Muggle Studies, and Study of Ancient Runes. Some electives are necessary for certain careers."

"And are the students told which electives are needed for which careers?" Stark asked her, then whiplashed back to Potter. "Do you know which electives are good for which careers?"

"I don't know what I want to do for a career," Potter said.

Stark waved that away. "Of course you don't. You're thirteen - nobody knows what they want to do at thirteen."

"I'm pretty sure you did," Rogers said with a grin.

"Exceptions to every rule, Spangles," Stark replied without looking away from Potter. "Wasn't the question I asked, though. Did they tell you which electives are necessary for which careers?"

"Well - no." Potter shot a look full of apology at Minerva. And she frowned a little back. The boy shouldn't apologize for being honest.

"So how are you supposed to know what to choose?" Stark demanded.

"I asked around," Potter replied with a shrug. "Percy Weasley was happy to offer advice, but - well - after explaining why Muggle Studies was important, never mind that I was raised in this world, his advice was play to your strengths, Harry."

Much as he had with Professor Snape, Potter had done a passable imitation of Percy Weasley. Minerva wondered if it was a magical gift of some kind or if he had learned it with his Muggle relatives.

"So what did you pick?" Rogers asked.

"Divination and Care of Magical Creatures," Potter replied.

"Why?" Stark asked, his tone conveying more curiosity than accusation. "What drew you to those two subjects?"

Potter looked away suddenly, swallowing hard. "I - I picked the same ones Ron did, so I'd have someone who could help if I was lousy at them."

Minerva dropped her knife, the bit of jam falling onto the table unimportant. "Mister Potter!"

The boy flinched but met her gaze warily. Stark and Rogers looked interested.

"You have two very good friends at Hogwarts," Minerva continued. "Why you should think only one of them would be able to help you-" She broke off and drew a breath, trying to calm herself before continuing. "Why not choose the electives Miss Granger chose? I'm certain she's a better person to ask for assistance if you need it."

Potter shrugged. "She signed up for everything. I didn't think she'd have time to help me."

Minerva felt her lips thinning. That was a problem - not that Miss Granger herself was the problem! Far from it. No, the problem was that the girl had signed up for everything and seemed determined to proceed with the plan, despite its impossibility.

In a weak moment, Minerva had promised to see what might be possible, and had even written a letter to the Unspeakables at the Department of Mysteries to inquire about letting Miss Granger use a Time Turner to manage her course load. They had, quite rightly, refused. A draft of a second letter was on Minerva's desk, awaiting revision.

Now, she wondered if pursuing that request was, in fact, the right thing to do - not just for the lad before her, but for Miss Granger as well. Miss Granger's thirst for learning, for knowledge, was a wonderful thing, a trait that should be encouraged - but not at the expense of her health, and Minerva was absolutely certain that allowing the girl a Time Turner would ultimately be bad for her health.

Disappointing the girl wouldn't be easy, but at least Minerva had the letter from the Unspeakables to show she'd tried.

Realizing that her thoughts had kept her too long from the conversation, Minerva blinked and offered Potter the best smile she could summon. She was afraid it wasn't a very good one.

"Miss Granger may have signed up for everything, as you say, but that doesn't mean her request will be approved."

Potter blinked owlishly. "What?"

"There are only so many hours in a week," Minerva said. "I won't allow her to risk her health by overloading herself with classes and homework. She'll be allowed three electives instead of the standard two, and no more."

Silence followed that pronouncement, and she found herself more amused than she ought to be by Potter's dumbfounded expression. Finally, of course, Stark was the one to break the silence.

"So, what careers are Divination - and does that actually work for magical people? - and Care of Magical Creatures good for?"

"A few - a very few - have the gift of the Sight," Minerva replied. "Divination works for them, but not the rest of us. As for careers … well, not a bloody one requires Divination. Please forgive my language," she added as Potter looked shocked once more. "And Care of Magical Creatures is a prerequisite for Veterinary Healing and other careers working with animals. It's helpful for traditional Healing, but not required."

"It sounds like you could have chosen more generally useful classes," Rogers said, again with a gentle tone and no accusation in it.

Potter shrugged. "I told you why I didn't."

"Tutoring is always available," Minerva said. "Sixth-year students often volunteer to help the younger years."

"Why sixth-year?" Stark asked.

"Fifth-year students are studying for their O.W.L. exams," Minerva replied, "and seventh-years are studying for their N.E.W.T.s. Tutoring others, while helpful for revision in the particular subject, is not the best use of their time."

"Pick subjects you think are interesting, Harry," Stark put in. "If the sixth-years can't help, Rogers and I can."

Minerva snorted. She actually snorted, aloud, and her hand flew to her mouth as her eyes widened. "Forgive my lapse in manners, Mr. Stark - but - well, you're a Muggle. How can you possibly tutor Mr. Potter?"

Stark smirked - there was no other word for it. "I read the Arithmancy and Ancient Runes books last night. Neither of them require wands, so there's no problem helping Harry with them. Arithmancy looks fairly easy, actually."

"Easy?" Minerva noted that Potter echoed both her word and her tone, but she spoke alone when she continued, "It's considered one of the most difficult fields of study in magic."

"Hermione's hoping it challenges her a lot," Potter put in, only for Stark to snort.

Without apologizing for that, Stark said, "It'll challenge her just until she realizes that she needs a geometry textbook and a trigonometry book. Then she'll fly through it until she realizes that she needs vectors and affine transformations. That might challenge her," he allowed.

Minerva could only sit there, stunned as though she'd been hit with a Stunning Hex yet somehow remained fully conscious.

"You look like you need a drink," Stark said. "Any preferences?"

She swallowed. "Glengoyne 18 if you have it."

"Mm. I'll check. Be right back." He rose and left the room, and Minerva was glad for a respite from one of the most baffling conversations she'd ever had.

A respite which, unfortunately, didn't last long as Rogers sat forward. "Ma'am? How is it you're not aware of non-magical school subjects?"

"The International Statute of Secrecy requires us to remain hidden from the Muggle world," Minerva replied.

"Hidden? Why?" Rogers looked genuinely puzzled.

"For our safety," Minerva replied. "Surely the witch trials and burnings haven't been completely forgotten?"

"Of course not," Rogers replied. "But that was hundreds of years ago and is no excuse for ignorance, especially not when you have first-generation magical students attending your school."

Before Minerva could frame a response to that rather pointed and very awkward observation, Stark came strolling back into the room a bottle in one hand and three glasses pinched together in the fingers of the other.

"No Glengoyne, 18 or otherwise," he announced. "But I have a Glenlivet Nadurra you might like."

Minerva accepted the glass and the dram he poured with a murmur of thanks and then knocked back the pour in a manner she would later regret. One simply did not treat uisge beatha like that, but these were trying circumstances indeed.

"Another?" Stark asked and at her nod, he poured again before pouring one for Rogers and a final dram for himself and resuming his seat.

"So - where were we?" Stark asked, frowning briefly before his expression cleared. "Oh, right - you being surprised that non-magicals might understand something magical."

"It's worse, Tony," Rogers put in. "They're completely ignorant of our world."

"What?" Somehow, Stark's deadly calm tone was worse than Rogers' genuine astonishment.

"Apparently, the witch hunts of the 1600s scared them so badly they went into hiding."

Minerva frowned at Rogers' summary but found she couldn't argue it around the sip of Glenlivet she was savoring.

"Hiding?" Stark looked completely flummoxed. "Why hide?"

Minerva frowned right back. "The Burning Times-"

"Right, right." Stark waved that away with insulting lack of interest. "You let yourselves be persecuted and then you ran away. But that was three hundred years ago. Why stay hidden?"

"The dangers to us are too great," Minerva said in the tone that caused students to quake in their robes.

Stark, however, was not a student. "Bullshit."

Rogers turned to Potter. "Don't use that word, except when provoked."

"Have I provoked you, Mr. Stark?" Minerva asked.

"Your ignorance and stupidity continually provoke me," Stark replied without missing a beat. "But you're missing the point. The point is that until very recently - say, the end of World War Two - you could've come out of hiding in a position of strength."

Minerva frowned. "You don't understand. The Muggles attacked us, killed us-"

"You. Have. Magic," Stark said, as though explaining something to a particularly dim-witted child. "Until firearms became common, nobody could stand against a spell cast from a distance. Or, at the very least, distance spells were on par with bows and arrows. Firearms - well, based on what I've read so far, firearms have a significantly longer range than most spells, but that's offset by spells of wide-area effect. And that's just combat-related spells. We won't even talk about the kind of covert warfare you could've used. So again I say, bullshit. At least until the end of World War Two."

"Roughly contemporaneous with the Grindelwald War," Rogers put in, and Minerva was grateful for the clarification.

Still, "Why then?"

"Aside from significant improvements in firearms? Because that's when we got The Bomb."

Minerva heard the capital letters in Stark's delivery. "Muggles have had bombs for centuries."

"No, I mean The Bomb. JARVIS, show her what I'm talking about."

Minerva started again as the lights in the room dimmed and the windows turned opaque. After a moment lights flickered on one of the windows, resolving into a moving picture. A telly-vision in a window? She'd have to tell Arthur Weasley about it.

The images showed a blinding flash of light and an explosion that resolved itself into a mushroom-shaped cloud of … dust? Smoke? She couldn't tell. Text across the bottom of the image conveyed that she watched declassified footage of some of the atmospheric atomic tests conducted by the United States of America between 1945 and 1962.

"What-" Minerva began but paused as another set of images appeared.

"This," the same voice from everywhere and nowhere she'd heard earlier said, "is a recreation of what happened when the atomic bomb code-named Little Boy was dropped on the Japanese city of Hiroshima on August 6, 1945. Approximately eighty thousand people were killed instantly and almost every building within one mile of the epicenter was destroyed. Ultimately, fires caused by the intense heat of the explosion destroyed much within a four-mile radius. Residual effects - including radiation poisoning, cancer, and birth defects - still linger. For your reference, the mushroom cloud from Little Boy was some sixty thousand feet tall or eighteen thousand two hundred meters, if you prefer."

Minerva sank back in her seat as dim lights returned. "Blessed Saint Andrew."

"So, yeah," Stark said. "We've only ever detonated two of those things in wartime - both in World War Two - but they exist. Less than a dozen countries have or profess to have them, but that's still more than enough to deal with any magical threat, should worse come to worst."

Minerva had no words, so she reached again for the Glenlivet. It wasn't as smooth as her preferred Glengoyne, but it was more than tolerable, especially in light of what she'd just learned.

She let it burn down her throat before fixing Stark with her sternest glare. "And you think we should come out of hiding to face that?"

"No, I said coming out of hiding before that would've put you in a position of strength," Stark replied. "Now - not so much. There have been opportunities for you to rejoin the real world with little acrimony and a lot of appreciation, but you've been too busy hiding to notice them."

"Opportunities?" Minerva wasn't entirely certain she wanted to know, but felt she had to ask the question regardless.

"A couple of months back comes to mind," Stark said in a quiet, deadly voice. "Show her, J."

"The footage you are about to see is compiled from many videos posted to various social media platforms," JARVIS, whoever or whatever he was, told her - as though she'd understand any of it. "Much of it is shaky, some of it is blurry, but it should suffice."

What followed was a sequence of images - a moving collage - that was the stuff of nightmares. Creatures Minerva had never dreamed might exist - some like a cross between humans and dragons, and some like a giant scaled flying worm - poured through a hole in the sky over a city that she only recognized as New York thanks to the Empire State Building.

Even Hagrid, she thought, would have difficulty finding any affection for these … things.

More and more followed, and Minerva recognized an invasion, not just an attack. Initially, the invaders appeared to be winning, overwhelming the city's defenders by sheer force. But then - then - she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding when a man in red and gold armor - she approved of the color scheme - flew in and started firing some kind of weapons at the invaders.

The battle continued - more and more invaders, and the man in red and gold armor was joined by a large man in a red cape carrying an over-sized hammer as well as a green-skinned man about Hagrid's size and a few others she couldn't quite make out save for the red-white-and-blue uniform one wore.

Finally, the armored man flew upward, some cylindrical thing on his back, and the image shifted to - she assumed - the maw that spat out invaders. Ahead of, she further assumed, the man in armor, a large ship or house floated in space. A moment later, she saw the cylindrical thing heading toward the structure, which then receded in the distance.

Then there was a flash of blinding light, much like the ones in the first pictures she'd seen today. When her vision cleared, she saw the ship falling apart, and then falling away.

The screen went dark.

"That happened in May," Stark said. "We could've used your help. We would've welcomed your help, and honestly, after finding out that aliens are real, finding out that magic is real … kinda loses its impact. So I've got to ask: where were you two months ago? Where were you? And not just you, but all the magical people in the U.S., Canada - anyone who could've gotten there to help defend our home. Where were you?"

"Tony." Rogers rested a hand on Stark's shoulder. Stark shrugged it off, lurched to his feet, and stumbled to the coffee service.

"Just so you know, Professor," Potter said quietly. "Tony was the man in the armor, and Steve was in the red-white-and-blue suit."

"Oh." There wasn't much else Minerva could say, except, "Thank you."

She had much to think about when this meeting concluded.