Steve appreciated the small break that followed the discussion of bullying teachers. Besides giving him the opportunity to relieve a bladder made full by tea, scones, cookies, and finger sandwiches, the break gave him time to collect himself before diving back into the fray.
Despite hearing the name before this visit, he'd been surprised to see the Albus Dumbledore he'd fought beside. Surprised and, if he were honest, just that little bit upset. Seeing an elderly, approaching ancient, Albus brought home to him once again the differences between the time he'd gone into the ice and the time he'd woken up in.
In his memory, Albus was a man in his prime, casting spells as quickly as Steve could fire a pistol and joining Steve and the Howling Commandos for a pint after particularly hard mission.
Now, Albus was well past his prime - though undoubtedly still formidable - and Steve couldn't quite reconcile his memories with the man before him.
It was, he concluded reluctantly, just the hardest of the adjustments he'd had to make since coming out of the ice.
Tony came up beside him at the washbasin. "You heard her, right?"
"When she said she protested Harry being left there? Yes. What're you planning to do about it?"
"For the moment? Nothing," Tony replied. "Too many other things higher on the priority list."
Steve could only nod to that. Just having a son would create a to-do list several pages long. Having a magical son made that list into a book.
"And," Tony continued, "I'm not sure I'll do much even when she reaches the top five of the priority list."
"Oh? Why's that?" Steve asked.
"Because from how everyone else reacted, Dumbledore's the big kahuna in the room, and they all followed his lead."
"He always was charismatic," Steve murmured.
"Still is," Tony allowed. "But the point is, she offered a protest. That's more than a lot of them did, it sounds like. I'm willing to give her another chance."
"And that has nothing to do with the fact that Harry likes her a lot?" Steve asked.
Tony snorted. "He likes that Hermione girl a lot. He respects McGonagall."
"Fair enough." And Steve admitted, privately, deep inside his mind, that he was surprised by Tony's discernment. As far as he knew, Howard Stark never had it. Steve wiped his hands and turned to Tony. "Once more into the breach?"
"Cry, 'Havoc!', and let slip the dogs of war," Tony replied, and for a moment Steve was startled by his answering a quote from Henry V with one from Julius Caesar.
When they returned to the staff room, only Albus and McGonagall remained.
"I thought," McGonagall said, "you might prefer this part of the meeting to be private."
Tony gave a careless shrug. "Your choice. I have nothing to hide."
Sometimes, Steve wished he could imitate Stark's - either Stark's - breezy manner, even if they themselves were faking it.
He'd never regret volunteering for Project: Rebirth, ever, but one of the implications of Erskine's serum that he hadn't fully realized was that, as Erskine himself said, it enhanced everything. In addition to extra strength, speed, and endurance - no doubt the Army's original intention - Steve's mental abilities, too, improved, so that he could remember in some detail things he only got a glimpse of, for example.
That was a logical extension of the serum's effects, but the part that surprised Steve the most was that his personality traits, too, were strengthened. His tendency toward honesty meant that he'd never be suited for undercover work, for example, and his instincts for protection meant he'd never run from a fight.
Not that he ever had, of course, but still.
And, unfortunately, he'd never be able to affect as casual a manner as Tony had just now. He set aside momentary regret for that fact.
He had other skills to bring to the table, after all.
Steve brought his thoughts back to the moment - and found the moment hadn't really changed. The four of them still sat silently at the table, untouched cups of tea going cold on the table before them.
The silence stretched to a full minute, during which Albus sat looking like someone's dotty grandfather, McGonagall sat looking like a stern Mother Superior, and Tony slouched in his chair, staring intently at the phone in his hand.
It was like some weird contest of patience, or maybe endurance. Who would break first?
McGonagall did, her brusque, "Well?" echoing in the room.
Tony looked up from whatever he'd been doing on his phone. "Hey, you guys invited me. Oh, and the brooms are on order from the manufacturer and will be delivered in about two weeks."
"Most generous of you," McGonagall said. "I'm anticipating a golden era of Quidditch at Hogwarts."
"I'd like to see a game, sometime," Tony said.
"I'm sure that can be arranged," McGonagall replied. "Perhaps the first Gryffindor/Slytherin match this year? Those games are always most entertaining thanks to the rivalry between the houses."
"Sure, sounds good. Just let me know when."
"You'll enjoy watching your son play," Albus said. "Harry is a most talented Seeker, already playing at near-professional skill."
"He's a natural on a broom," McGonagall said by way of agreement. "And every single day, I'm grateful he was sorted into my House."
"I hope the invitation's open whether or not Harry returns to Hogwarts," Tony said, and despite his mild tone, Steve recognized the conversational bombshell included in those few words.
Albus frowned at Tony. "What are your intentions with regard to Harry's education?"
"I want him to have the best education possible." Tony must have noted the other man's satisfied expression just as Steve had because he added, "In both worlds."
"But why?" Albus asked, his eyes twinkling once again. Steve didn't remember them twinkling like that during the war. "Harry is a wizard. What possible use could Muggle education be for him?"
Tony's jaw dropped, and Steve could almost feel the disappointment rolling off him.
"Ignoring the blatant prejudice and ignorance behind that question, Harry's a child of both worlds," Tony said, his voice surprisingly calm. "He grew up in the non-magical world. And someday he might want to live in it again. He won't be able to do that without an education."
"Surely not." Albus looked as if the very suggestion offended him.
"None of us can predict the future," Tony said. "Or even what will make us happy in the future. My job is to make sure Harry has as many options open to him as possible - magical or otherwise."
"Harry is a wizard," Albus said slowly, as though Steve and Tony were both children. "And his destiny is in the wizarding world."
Steve couldn't take it any longer. "His destiny is what he makes it," he snapped, his voice tight with barely-controlled anger. "The same is true for all of us."
"Harry is a special case," Albus said, and now he was serious as Steve had ever seen him. "There is a prophecy about him, you see."
"Prophecy?" Tony repeated, his expression openly disbelieving. "Seriously?"
Albus' expression remained grave. "Quite."
"Okay." Tony sat back in his chair. "Let's hear it."
"Such things should not be spoken of lightly," Albus chided.
"You brought it up," Tony said. "So you can share it now, or it's off the table. Forever."
"Young man-" Albus began, but Tony shot to his feet.
"C'mon, Cap. We're done," he said, and appeared pleased that Steve was on his feet before the second word left his mouth.
"Mr. Stark," McGonagall began. "Please don't be hasty."
"I won't be hasty if he-" Tony shot a glare at Albus "-won't be rude. Deal?"
"Albus?" McGonagall prompted.
Albus heaved a sigh and offered Tony an expression of extreme disappointment. Steve bit back a grin at the tactic, because there was no way Tony Stark gave a damn what Albus Dumbledore thought. "Very well."
Tony sat again, but he was nowhere near as relaxed as he had been just minutes ago. "Let's hear it."
"I was interviewing a young woman for a position teaching Divination," Albus began. "And in the middle of the interview, she gave a prophecy."
"Sounds like she knew how to get what she wanted," Tony said. "Or else that's spectacularly convenient timing. But go on."
"She said, The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches . . . born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies . . . and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not . . . and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives . . . the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies . . ." Albus said. "So I knew she had the gift, she was a true Seer, and could teach the subject."
When Albus didn't say anything else, Tony glanced at Steve and Steve could only shake his head.
"That's it?" Tony asked, turning back to Albus. "That's the prophecy you think is about Harry and - who? Voldemort?"
"Yes."
"How do you know?" Tony demanded.
"Voldemort marked Harry when he attacked - the scar on his forehead," Albus said.
"Not what I asked," Tony shot back. "I asked how you know it's about Harry and Voldemort."
"It could've been about another boy, Neville Longbottom," Albus admitted. "But Voldemort chose Harry."
Steve stared at the other man, wondering privately whether Albus might be suffering from early stages of dementia, or the magical equivalent thereof. It was a horrible fate for a once-vibrant man, but if Steve had learned anything, it was that life was rarely fair.
"Again, how do you know?" Tony demanded. "The Dark Lord isn't identified, and neither is the one with the power to vanquish him. It could refer to any dark lord, any time after she gave the prophecy."
"It took seven hundred years for Isaiah's prophecy to be fulfilled," Steve put in when Albus looked mulish. "I have to agree with Tony - as vague as that prophecy is, it doesn't have to be about Harry."
"As I said," Albus said with a kindly, grandfatherly, smile. "It could also have been about Neville Longbottom."
"I'm not convinced," Tony said, and held up a hand when Albus started to speak. "But let's say, for the sake of argument, that you're right. In that case, I just want to know one thing."
"And what's that?" Albus asked.
"How many times is Harry expected to vanquish this Voldemort person?"
"I - beg your pardon?" McGonagall asked.
"I thought it was a simple question," Tony replied. "How many times is Harry supposed to vanquish the Dark Lord? Because by my count, he's already done it twice. Three times, maybe, if he actually did something the night James and Lily died."
Both McGonagall and Albus stared at Tony as if he'd grown a second head.
"Don't think about it too hard," Tony advised. "Or you might disappear in a puff of logic."
Steve stifled a laugh at the comment, but the two magicals were apparently mulling over what Tony had said. The silence stretched long enough that Tony finally rose to his feet.
"Thanks for the tea," he said. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go flying with my son."
It wasn't until the door closed behind Tony that Albus and McGonagall came out of their befuddlement and looked at each other. Where Albus looked completely baffled, McGonagall looked like she might jump the line for people who wanted to punch the man.
Steve spoke before either of them could. "How long have you been at Hogwarts, Albus?"
Albus blinked, and again, and finally focused on Steve. "I started as professor of Transfiguration in 1927 and became headmaster in 1966."
Steve allowed his disappointment to show. "I expected better of you."
Albus's jaw actually dropped, but it was McGonagall whose ire found words.
"You expected better of Albus Dumbledore?" She glared at him with enough heat that Steve was surprised she didn't spontaneously combust. "Who are you - a Muggle, no less - to expect better of the man who defeated Grindelwald?"
"I'm the Muggle who fought beside him when he did," Steve snapped back, his gaze fixed on Albus rather than her. "I'm the Muggle who listened to him talk about equality under the law for everyone, regardless of blood status. I'm the Muggle who listened to his dreams and his hopes for the future of the magical world. I'm the Muggle who sees what he's made of those hopes and dreams in the intervening three-quarters of a century and who is very disappointed by it."
"Albus?" McGonagall asked, and her tone was hesitant now. "Is that true? He fought beside you?"
Steve thought he should be insulted by the question - by her doubt - and he probably would be at any other time. Now, though - now he had a stronger point to make than that, so he held his tongue.
"It is," Albus said finally. "He and his team were a specialized unit dealing with the occult and the … unusual science … that Hitler was interested in. Gellert attempted to work with Hitler once, and my team and the captain's team stopped that - and in the doing, also defeated Gellert." He focused fully on Steve. "What more do you expect me to have done?"
"You've had nearly fifty years as headmaster of what everyone says is the best magical school in Europe," Steve said. "In that time, you've allowed - no, you've encouraged the house system, which forces kids into antagonistic positions from the first day they're here. Why didn't you abolish that system, or at the very least, restrict its influence by encouraging students to mingle with students from other houses?"
"That would be difficult," Albus said.
"No more difficult than randomly assigning students' class schedules, instead of keeping all the houses together," Steve said. "You could do the same thing with extracurricular activities - not all of them, of course, but some."
"Parents would object," McGonagall observed.
"Let them," Steve said. "And if they don't like it, they're free to send their children elsewhere." He paused, then, shaking his head. "I don't know why I'm bothering. For every idea, you object."
"Changing centuries of tradition is never easy," Albus said, his hands spread in a placating manner - but Steve was in no mood to be placated.
"You haven't even tried," Steve snapped back. "And don't I remember you saying once that it's better to do what's right than what's easy?That was you, wasn't it?"
"I-" Albus began and then broke off before he finished whatever sentence he might have had in mind, frowning thoughtfully. After a moment, he gave a heavy sigh. "I have failed my students." He met Steve's gaze directly. "I will do better."
"I'll help," McGonagall said, resting a hand on Albus' forearm.
"Thank you, Minerva." Albus patted her hand before looking up at Steve once more. "What did he mean, he was going flying with his son?"
HP | HP |HP | HP | HP
Tony stepped out onto the castle grounds after only three wrong turns - helpfully pointed out to him by the talking portraits on the wall. He paused at the last one, a young-ish woman dressed in late Medieval or maybe early Renaissance fashion, her reddish-gold hair dressed in jewels, and a long rope of pearls dangled almost to her waist.
"I'm new to the whole magic thing," he told her, feeling only a little silly for talking to a painting. "Are portraits like yours common?"
"They were most uncommon in my day, kind sir," she replied, her Scottish accent tinged with something else that Tony couldn't immediately identify. French, maybe? Or the Medieval equivalent? "Massys only stayed in Scotland long enough to paint me and Daracha MacKay, Headmistress of Hogwarts. I believe he was going to paint a few others in England after he left. Surely my cousin would have had her portrait painted - by someone else, if not Massys - but I've no idea where it might be hanging now. If it survived."
"So reserved for the noble classes, or people of some importance or wealth?" Tony asked.
"Certainly. And they take quite a long time," she added. "I sat for him an hour a day, every day, for near six months."
That surprised him. "Did it really take that long to paint back then?"
"Oh, no - regular portraits could be finished with much less sitting time required. The artist could paint the pattern on the gown, for example, with it as a reference. Backgrounds and such could also be painted without the subject sitting for the artist," she explained. "But to imbue the personality of the subject into the painting? That's a complicated process and the subject must be present for the spellwork to take."
"Huh." That made sense, but… "Do you know if the process has changed since whenever you were painted?"
The woman frowned briefly. "It's not a subject I'm familiar with, I'm sorry to say. But perhaps portraits painted after mine would know."
"I'll ask," Tony said, and it wasn't exactly a promise. More a curiosity that he would indulge some other time. "Thank you."
"You are most welcome," the portrait began, the paused. "Forgive me, I know not your name."
"Tony Stark. Pleasure to make your acquaintance…?"
"Mary. Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots."
Tony didn't even try to hide his surprise.
"You know of me?" the portrait asked.
"Mostly because of your cousin - Elizabeth, right?" The portrait nodded, and Tony continued, "My godmother was English, and she told me stories from English history."
The portrait sniffed in a most un-queen-like fashion. "Biased, of course, in their favor."
"Of course," Tony replied, "but since your son became king of England, you really don't have a lot to complain about."
Mary glared at him, but then laughed briefly. "I do so miss intelligent conversation. Most of the students ignore me completely, except sometimes to ask for directions as you did."
"They wouldn't if they knew who you are - or were? Whichever," Tony said, and that brought up another question. "Do the headmaster and staff know who you are?"
Mary gave a delicate shrug. "None have addressed me by name since before the current headmaster took office."
Something in her tone made him ask, "Do you like hanging here at Hogwarts?"
"There are far worse places I could be," she said philosophically. "But surely there are better, too."
"I'll see what I can do about finding you a better place," Tony decided. "No promises, and maybe not soon, but I'll do what I can."
"Just the offer is more than anyone else has ever done. Thank you, Mr. Stark."
Tony offered her a smile and a nod and turned toward the door that would take him out of the castle and onto the grounds, his armor forming around him as he walked.
The door opened and he took to the air. "Systems check, JARVIS?"
"All systems functioning normally," JARVIS replied immediately. "The temperature is sixty degrees Fahrenheit with humidity at sixty-three percent. There are thunderstorm warnings across much of the Highlands."
"Then we won't stay out too long."
But he would stay out long enough to fly with Harry - who was halfway across the Quidditch pitch spiraling up into the air, no Snitch in sight.
Tony caught up to him in seconds, and Harry grinned at him. This close, it was easy to see the joy in Harry's expression, the sheer exultation at having slipped the surly bonds of Earth. Tony grinned even though his son couldn't see it behind the mask.
"Race you around the pitch?" Harry asked.
Tony snorted and toggled the loudspeaker. "I can reach Mach Two, you know."
"I have no idea how fast that is, but let's do it! Three times around the pitch?"
Harry shot off before Tony could reply, and he spared a moment to laugh at his son. Then he took off after Harry, content to trail behind and just enjoy being with his son.
Three circuits of the pitch later, Harry landed.
Tony followed suit, his faceplate rising as his feet touched the earth once more.
Harry frowned at him. "You let me win."
"Sort of," Tony said. "More like I wasn't trying to win. I was just enjoying it."
And Harry's expression showed he understood.
Tony wasn't ready to have an emotional moment here, not with Dumbledore and McGonagall approaching with expressions of astonishment, Rogers trailing behind them, so he smiled at Harry as his armor retracted.
He slipped his hand into a pocket and withdrew a handkerchief that Paddington Bear had turned into a portkey before they left.
"Ready to get out of here?"
"Yes, please!"