Normally, Albus Dumbledore avoided the clock tower hallway Granted, it was a shortcut from his office to the corridor that ran behind the Great Hall, but the normal route gave him time to marshal his thoughts and there were so many swirling in his head that not even the Pensive had enabled him to fully sort out and that was a rare thing indeed. In fact, he'd spent so much time with the Pensive tonight that if he didn't take the shortcut, he would be late and that simply would not do.

Still, he wished he'd had more time. Harry Potter was coming to Hogwarts, and Dumbledore could see the hard road the boy had ahead of him. Too much was on those shoulders and he could already see the hounds circling, looking for their pound of flesh. All that and the threat of Voldemort hanging over them all. Not for the first time, Dumbledore cursed his own ego. He'd been so sure of his ability to mentor Riddle, so sure of his . . . no, he would be honest with himself. In Riddle he'd seen his failure to recognize Gellert for who and what he was until it had been too late, and he'd thought to redeem that hubris with Riddle.

Which was, unfortunately, also hubris. Ah! The irony!

Shaking his head, Dumbledore continued on his way when he happened to glance at the clock room and saw a figure standing at the glass, staring out over the lake.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, moving to stand next to the man.

"Headmaster," Severus Snape replied in that deep, level voice that had cowed many an unruly student. He was one of those men who could fill a room with his presence, somehow looming even though he was not that tall. He had a hooklike nose, hair that fell to his shoulders and eyes that never seemed to open more than halfway.

Below in the water, Dumbledore could see a group of lights beginning to move across the water from the far side.

"He's down there," Snape said. Dumbledore didn't have to ask who Snape was talking about. "Her son . . ." Snape murmured softly and Dumbledore's head jerked up sharply to look at the other man.

"Severus?"

"Lily's son." One lip curled in disgust. "Potter."

A number of oaths rushed through Dumbledore's mind. Since that night when Snape had come to him, seeking absolution, Dumbledore had accepted the man's loner tendencies, granting him the solitude that Snape preferred and confining their conversations to Order or school business. That, it seemed, had been a mistake. Still, he was glad now that he had taken the shortcut; this mistake, at least, he had a chance to correct before it was too late.

"Severus!" He snapped, his voice sharp enough to fully catch the other man's attention. "Do not confuse him with James, Severus, he's Harry, and must be judged as such."

"I have every intention of doing so, Headmaster," Snape replied, and his tone of voice set off nearly every alarm bell Dumbledore had.

"I should hope so, Severus," Dumbledore replied, and in Snape's eyes. fifty years seemed to fall away from Dumbledore in an instant, and suddenly, he was a young boy again. "Your feelings for Lilly Potter turned you from Voldemort. The fact that you loved her - that you have the capacity to love- was one of the reasons I have entrusted you with teaching the children here and even allowed you to lead them as a Head of House." Dumbledore made a mental note to speak with Snape further on how the man defined love. "I would hate to think you allowed your prejudices to influence how you treat the children."

His ice blue eyes held Snape's own for moments that seemed like hours and it was Snape who blinked first and looked away.

" . . . yes, Headmaster."

Dumbledore laid his hand on Snape's shoulder. "He is not James, Severus. He is not James. Nor is he Sirius Black. He is Harry and he cannot pay for the sins of his fathers."

Snape turned back to the glass. The lights of the boats were nearly halfway across the lake now. "He is not ready. None of them are, and Potter is as a Muggle. He knows nothing and he's been in America to boot. Heaven only knows what he's picked up."

"Do not be so sure, Severus," Dumbledore replied. "Remus Lupin has done wonders in the past few months. Young Harry at least has a grasp of the basics."

Snape grimaced and Dumbledore couldn't blame him. On the one hand, Lupin had come very close to killing Snape. On the other, Lupin was one of the few people who could keep up with Snape in terms of Academics, not that Snape would admit it. "I suppose Lupin is an adequate tutor," Snape replied, "but I have my doubts, Headmaster."

"Doubts are not certainties, Severus. Nothing is certain until it happens." Dumbledore replied, turning away from the window. "Until then, we must always hope and strive for the best." He smiled. "We should make our way to the Great Hall. Minerva will be cross with us both if we are not seated before the first years arrive."

"And that would be a tragedy," Snape replied with a trace of sarcasm.

The two men left the clock room and continued down the hall as they reached the stairs, Snape spoke again. "There is one other matter, Headmaster."

"Yes?"

"Do you not find it odd that Quirrell has taken to wearing a turban?"

"Not at all. Why, I once knew a wizard who wore yellow chiffon gown every third Thursday. Splendid fellow; made his own frostrum."

Tony Stark's first full day back in America began when he awoke from a dream where he, Pepper and Rhodey were all teenagers and living in New York, but he was still Iron Man. That was about seven thirty or so. By eight, he'd showered and dressed. Obie had wanted him to lay low and that was fine. He had plans. Things, things to do.

But first, orange juice.

Humming to himself, Tony half jogged down the hallway, sidestepping a bird cage, and sauntered into the kitchen.

Bird cage?

Tony turned around and walked back. The cage sat on the floor near the front door in the way that someone might set down their backpack, purse, or briefcase when they got home.

"Jarvis, what's this?"

"A bird cage, sir. It belongs to Mr. Potter."

"Oh. Well when Harry gets here, have him move it."

"May I remind you, sir, that Mr. Potter left for school three days before you were found."

Tony felt the white hot surge of anger flow through him at the time lost and then he buried it. "Right . . . right . . ." Turning on his heel, he headed back towards the kitchen. "Orange juice."

The fog had rolled in and there was a chill breeze through an open window, which gave Tony pause. Why was there an open window? For that matter, since when did he have windows that could open?

Moving closer, Tony could see that there was a bowl of water on the sill and some sort of perch mounted to the exterior window frame. Shaking his head, he dumped the water down the sink and reached out to close the window when a blur of white feathers entered his filed of vision and he jerked his hand back.

Sitting on the sill was a an owl with feathers of pure white. It stared at him for a moment and then turned towards the frame and stopped, then slowly turned its head to look at him. Gold eyes narrowed and its feathers puffed up.

Tony had the distinct impression the bird was pissed.

Taking out his phone, he dialed Pepper's number.

"Yes, Tony?" Pepper asked on the second ring.

"Pepper, I got up this morning to get some orange juice and there's an owl in the kitchen. It came in through an open window pissed off. Why is there an open window in the kitchen? It's glaring at me, Pepper. Why do I have an open window in the kitchen for pissed off owls to just show up and glare at me?"

"Is it a white owl?" Pepper asked calmly, which Tony found slightly alarming as he was going to get killed and eaten by a pissed off owl and quite frankly, he really felt Pepper should be showing more concern for his well being.

"Yes. Like snow. Like winged angry snow that wants to murder me." The bird hooted at him and then furiously tapped the sill with it's beak. "And now it's tapping the sill. No, I'm not going to put my head there, go find someone else to—"

"Tony!' Pepper's shout cut him off. "Her name is Hedwig. She belongs to Harry and she— look, just put me on speakerphone." Tony did so. "Hedwig?" The owl cocked it's head at the phone and then hooted. "The man is Tony. I was going to explain things to him when Remus and I arrived today. I'm sorry." The owl hooted again. "We'll be there in ten minutes. Tony, there's a water dish on the window sill, fill it with fresh water."

"But death owl."

"She's not a death owl, Tony."

"Pepper, I'm pretty sure she wants to murder me."

"Tony! Give her fresh water and try to make friends. Ten minutes." Pepper hung up.

"Right. Right. Fresh water." Tony kept one eye on Hedwig (and what kind of name was that for anything?) and filled the dish with water before setting it on the sill, ready to jerk his hand away in case Hedwig sprouted owl guns or something. No weaponry appeared, but Hedwig dipped her beak into the dish, lifted her beak out, clacked it a few times, then dipped it in again.

"Thirsty, huh?" Tony asked. Hedwig glared at him. "Right, right. Shutting up."

"Well what about rerouting the power through—" Tony asked, pointing at his screen, only to be interrupted by Hedwig's hoot. "Well yeah, I know I need to EMP shield the core, but—"

"Hoot! Hoot!" Hedwig was perched on Tony's shoulder and she leaned forward to peer at the screen. "Hoot!"

"I need output better than three gigaojoules. The power has to go through here!"

"Hooooot!'

By the workshop door, Pepper turned to Remus. "What are the odds that Hedwig is actually arguing engineering with him?"

Remus shrugged. "To be perfectly honest, I don't know. Post owls have been exposed to magic for a thousand years or more. It's sunk into their blood and bone. Not even wizards fully understand how they get around or find the recipient. They . . . just do."

"So it's equally possible she's telling him to shut up so she can sleep?"

"If she wanted to sleep, she'd be in her box," Remus replied, indicating the birdhouse he, Pepper and Harry had put together the previous month. It now sat in the lounge area near the fridge. "I don't speak owl, Pepper."

"Potts, there you are." Tony was walking over to them, Hedwig still perched on his shoulder and Remus considered the man he'd only seen in pictures. In person, Tony was perhaps Pepper's height when she was in heels, short dark hair, a mustache and goatee that was carefully shaved to give width to his narrow face and a point to his chin. His black shirt was grease stained and smeared with the signs of a thousand lunches and late night dinners. Under the fabric, some sort of disc glowed and the shirt itself hung on a frame that suggested broad shoulders and chest. Unlike Stane, Tony was not strung together by bone, muscle and tendon, but more compact, sleek. His eyes were moody, distracted.

A tiger, Remus decided. If Obadiah Stane was a bear, then Tony was a tiger, and going by the look in his eyes, a tiger that had just woken up and saw no particular reason to rush.

"Good morning, Mr. Stark," Pepper said pleasantly. "Sleep well?"

"Incense, I need incense that smells like burning candles. Or lamp oil," Tony replied and then fastened dark brown and suddenly very alert eyes on Remus. "Who are you? Pepper, who is this?"

"This is Remus Lupin," Pepper replied. "Remus, this is Tony Stark."

"Good to meet you," Tony told him, those same eyes taking his measure. His handshake was firm, with callouses and burn scars.

"Remus works for SI now. He's also a wizard and a graduate of Hogwarts." Tony looked at her blankly. "The magic school Harry's at."

"Oh. Good. Then you don't have to go find one. Awesome. Cross that off the list."

"List?" Pepper asked.

"Yes, Potts, list. I told you, vacation's over." Pepper gave Remus a side glance, but opened her padfolio and clicked her pen. "Call a contractor and take some bids. I want this whole house wheelchair accessible and handicap friendly top to bottom. Find an apartment or twelve that's the same. You've already found a wizard, so set him up with an expense account. I want everything he can find about magic. Spells, magic gizmos, doodads, hullabaloos, whatever." Pepper's pen scratched across the paper as she wrote. "I need palladium, a twelve by twelve grid of mats and have the contractors also bid for a twelve by ten by eight pit here in the workshop. I need carbon steel, the V-Vac micro computer, Two Hundred TB of flash storage, the missile repulsor arrays and the EMP shielding. Contact HR, everyone in Weapons Development is getting transferred to other departments or to StarkCom. If they don't like it, they can quit, but we are not laying anyone off."

"Stark . . . com?" Pepper asked.

"Our new division. I'm going to wipe the floor with Jobs AND Google in the cell phone market." Tony pursed his lips. "Oh yeah. Whatever department you put Wolifie McWolfwolf here in, transfer him to my personal R&D team."

"You don't have a personal R&D team, Tony," Pepper replied.

"I do now. Make it happen."

Remus raised an eyebrow. Pepper's description of Tony Stark was a man who flew by the seat of his pants, bull-rushing his way through obstacles as they happened and leaving her to clean up his mess. This didn't match that description. This was a man with a plan and Remus couldn't help but smile in anticipation.

This was going to be interesting.

It wasn't until almost lunch time when Pepper remembered that Hedwig had come to the house for a reason and dashed downstairs to the workshop. Tony was glued to his computer and Hedwig was perched on one of the monitors, eyes half closed.

"Hedwig, I am sorry, I am so sorry," Pepper apologized as she untied the letter that had been strapped to the bird's leg. "I completely forgot."

Hedwig responded with an extremely disgruntled hoot before spreading her wings and gliding across the room to her birdhouse where she ducked inside, pausing only to pull the door shut.

"Is that a letter?" Tony asked. "The death owl brought you a letter?"

"Hedwig is not a death owl, Tony," Pepper told him. "If she was, you would be in pieces and Remus, Happy and I would be updating our resumes." She waved the letter at him. "And yes, its a letter and yes, Hedwig brought it. In the Wizarding World, owls are the mail carriers. More specifically, she carries mail from Harry."

That got Tony's attention. "So then that letter . . .?"

"Is from Harry, yes." Pepper sighed. "Hedwig is really annoyed with me though. She couldn't sleep until I collected the letter, and I was so distracted by you, I didn't think of why she was here."

"Wait. Is that a hand-written letter? No email? If I want to write to Harry, I have to sit down and write?" Pepper had a hard time not laughing at the look on Tony's face. "What's their phone number? Can I at least call?"

Pepper shook her head. "Anything electronic or electrical doesn't work there. Too much magical energy floating around. Remus described it as water over a campfire." She spread her hands. "Poof."

Tony's eyes narrowed, and then he crossed his arms and leaned on the table. "All right then, let's hear it." He waved a hand at the letter. "Read, Potts."

"Your pardon, Sir," Jarvis interrupted, "Mr. Hogan and Mr. Lupin have returned with a truck." At the charging station, the three robots Tony had designated, for reasons only he knew, Butterfingers, Dummy, and You, whirred and began heading up the ramp towards the garage entrance, pausing only to grab the push carts.

Dear Aunt Pepper,

The staircases move! They move! I mean, really move. We have to keep an eye on them because they like to change and the paintings are alive. I have to recite a password to this one of a really fat lady because she's the door to our dorm and I've got dorm mates. It's like camp.

Pepper smiled as she continued to read through the letter, passing pages to Tony as she finished them, but she had began to form a picture of Hogwarts and a healthy respect for Harry's writing ability.

Although Remus had told her stories, Harry's letter built on that; a thousand year old castle high in the mountains of Scotland, stones worn smooth from generations of students in its halls and enduring weather of every kind. There were paintings that moved and talked, ghosts, and for the first time in his life, Harry didn't have to guard himself, didn't have to guard his words. She was so happy for him she could burst.

"Gryffindor?" Tony asked, looking up from the page he was reading, "What the hell kind of name is Gryffindor? That's almost as ridiculous as this other guy . . . Slytherin."

"Godric Gryffindor. As in one of the Four Founders of Hogwarts," Pepper replied.

"My point stands," Tony replied.

Pepper decided to let it go and kept reading as Harry began to talk about the people of Hogwarts, describing the teachers and the friends he was making, and then . . .

"Remus?" Pepper asked. "Do you know a man named Snape?"

"Snape?" Remus looked up from the laptop he'd been working on. "Severus Snape?"

"Snape, Snape, Severus Snape," Tony muttered. "Who the hell names these people? It's like a tv show; Potter and his Puppet Pals."

"I guess so." Pepper looked down at the letter. "He teaches Potions."

"Oh yes. Brilliant fellow. Why do you ask?"

"Harry says he gets the feeling Snape doesn't like him very much."

"Not surprising, given that Harry looks like James," Remus replied, getting up to pour some hot water for tea. "Unfortunately."

"Bad blood?" Tony asked.

"That's one way of putting it," Remus replied. "I don't know much about him. He and Lily - Harry's mother- grew up together and were friends. I always got the impression he wanted to be more, but she simply didn't see him that way. They had a falling out shortly before she and James started dating."

"So he lost the girl," Tony shrugged.

"Well, it didn't help that James and Sirius were also bullying him," Remus replied. "I imagine he sees James whenever he looks at Harry' face and Lily when he looks Harry in the eye. Can't be easy."

"James was a bully?" Pepper asked. "But Hagrid said—" She broke off, frowning. During the trip to Diagon Alley, Hagrid had sung the praises of James and Lily Potter, giving the impression of upright and forthright people; a credit to Hogwarts and the magical world. But Hagrid was also blindly loyal to Albus Dumbledore, so she should have thought about whether or not he'd been completely right.

Remus smiled his twisted, sardonic smile. "Hagrid is many things, bless him, but a good judge of character isn't one of them." The kettle whistled and Remus poured hot water into the cup.

"What is it with the British and tea?" Tony asked. "You're pouring water over bits of leaves."

"As opposed to pouring water over ground up beans to make coffee?" Remus asked.

Tony stared at him. "Stop being clever with words."

Remus laughed softly. "James and Snape took an instant dislike to each other. Historically, Gryffindors and Slytherins have never really gotten along as a group, so that certainly didn't help, but Snape has his . . . . drawbacks all on his own, so when you added Lily into the mix, well," he scowled, "And of course, Sirius Black had a hand there as well."

"So what changed?" Pepper asked. "You said Lily had a falling out with Snape right before she started dating James."

"Sirius played a prank on Snape," Remus replied. "One with potentially lethal consequences for Snape had James not intervened. Snape blamed both James and Sirius for it. Lily was Snape's only friend and he'd been hanging around with a . . . bad crowd. Between that and Snape doubling down on trying to get her to hate James over the prank, well, she'd had enough." Remus shook his head. "Snape blamed James for that as well. Even later, when they worked together, Snape continued to hate. James was willing to let the past go, but Sirius . . . we . . . I should have seen it coming back then."

"Someone died, didn't they?" Tony asked. "Besides Harry's parents, I mean."

"Tony!" Pepper exclaimed.

"What?"

Remus waved a hand. "It's fine, Pepper."

"Remus, you don't have to-"

"No, no. It's fine. You should know . . . you need to know." He took a moment to explain to Tony about his friendship with James and the others. "Sirius' family, the Blacks, are an old, old family. They call themselves the 'ancient and most most noble House of Black' with a lineage that goes back to before Merlin himself. Few houses can claim that kind of longevity and since the founding of Hogwarts, they have been part of Slytherin house and all the pureblood dogma you can muster, which is why Sirius broke the mold when he was Sorted into Gryffindor. Went against tradition. In any case, for whatever reason, Voldemort set his sights on killing the Potters and James and Lily went into hiding with Harry. Sirius was the only one who could have told Voldemort where they were."

"Oh come on, there had to be someone else who knew," Tony snorted. "You can't hide a family without help."

"There were, but it didn't matter, because Sirius was the Secret Keeper." At Tony and Pepper's baffled look, he sighed. "There's a spell called the Fidelius Charm, It's old magic, blood magic. It involves concealing a secret inside a single person, and only that person may reveal it. Without Sirius, James and Lily could have walked right past Voldemort and he wouldn't see them. So you see, it wouldn't have mattered what the rest of us knew, only Sirius could have told him."

"Remus, you don't have to-" Pepper began, because it was clear the memories were causing him pain.

"No, no. You need to know. When the Potters were killed, Peter went after Sirius. He was no warrior, and only barely a spy, but James was his friend . . ." Remus shrugged. "When they caught up to him, Sirius was standing at the side of a crater, laughing like a loony, and nothing remained of Peter but a bit of his finger. Sirius was found guilty of treason and murder and sentenced to Azkaban. I expect he's dead by now, the Dementors would have made short work of him."

"Dementors?" Tony asked.

"There are such things as boogiemen, Mr. Stark, and even boogiemen are afraid of the Dementors."

"Oi!" Ron Weasley barked, causing Harry to pause. "Slow down there, Mate. Merlin's beard, I get tired just watching you."

"Off the bannister, Potter!" A passing prefect barked.

Harry made a face, but did as ordered and Ron shook his head. Occasionally, you would get a student who slid down the bannisters. Harry was the only one Ron could think of who regularly ran up them. In fact, Harry had a certain notoriety for his seeming inability to stay on the floor if there was some other way.

"You're going to get yourself hurt, Harry," Hermione Granger sniffed as she walked past them. "And you're breaking the rules."

Ron looked at Harry and they both rolled their eyes. Herrnione seemed to feel that rule breaking was a crime that was unforgivable. Or should be. That she had apparently memorized all the textbooks and was happy to do homework just made her a nutter in Ron's mind.

Still, she was going to get hers, Ron decided. Their next class was their first flying lesson and you couldn't study for that.

Minerva McGonagall had always had superior peripheral vision. As a Hogwarts student, it had made her an excellent Quidditch player (She had been both a chaser and a beater), and as a teacher, she could keep an eye on her students even if she was seemingly turned away.

Which was why, even though she had been in the middle of writing Molly Weasley a letter (Fred and George were in detention for the ninth time this week), she still caught the movement of something flying towards her window.

And then she watched as Harry Potter rocketed in from seemingly nowhere, snatching the object from mid-air even as he pulled his broom to a stop. He obviously hadn't seen her, but she could see him staring down at his hand and grinning.

A dozen thoughts and possibilities raced through her mind as she let the quill fall to the desk and ran from the room. Chief among them was that Gryffindor finally had a chance to take the Quidditch Cup and possibly even the House Cup and wipe that slight smirk off Severus Snape's face at the end of year feast. Oh yes. Of course, she would need to convince Albus to grant an exemption for Potter, but she was fairly confident he would agree.

That night, she could not stop herself from smirking at Snape as they entered the Great Hall. This was going to be the best year ever.

"I have to admit, Albus, I am impressed by you and your staff's ingenuity." For a man who was over six hundred years old, Nicolas Flamel certainly didn't look it, but then again, he was one of the world's only two immortals. "Though I'm none to sure about some of the puzzles."

"We tried our best, Nicolas," Dumbledore replied as the two men existed the third floor corridor, the sounds of a harp fading away as the door locked. "The true strength of the defenses is their diversity."

"I don't doubt that, Albus, but some of them . . ." Flamel waved a hand at the door. "Like that beast in there."

"Fluffy is merely a deterrent for the children," Dumbledore replied as the two men descended the stairs, "and Pomona does not cover the Devil's Snare in her curriculum. It would take an extremely dedicated student to discover its secrets."

"Hm." Flamel grunted. "And the logic puzzle?"

"Severus Snape is profoundly gifted in the field of logic," Dumbledore explained. "Second only to his skill at potions and I have yet to meet anyone who can surpass him, myself included. But more importantly, Voldemort discouraged the study of logic among his followers, making it unlikely any of them would be capable of solving it."

Flamel snorted. "I don't doubt Voldemort's power, Albus, but even if he's still alive as you claim, he's yet to show his face in the past ten years, and even Eibrich the Vile didn't wait that long." Flamel smiled. "Though I expect he wished he had as I was packing him off to Azkaban." He looked at the ceiling. "That was, oh, I don't even remember now. So long ago."

Dumbledore looked at his old friend. "Nicolas?"

Flamel sighed. "Perenelle and I have been talking as of late, and . . . six and a half centuries is a very long time, Albus, and the Stone is far too dangerous to be left behind in anyone's hands. At the risk of being offensive, my friend, that includes yours."

Dumbledore merely nodded. "No offense taken, Nicolas. Though if it's any comfort, I have no desire for the stone and while the final decision belongs to you and Perenelle, I must confess that I would miss our bridge games."

Flamel threw back his head and laughed.

Pepper gave one last grimace as she signed the hospital bill, her eyes lingering on the total for a moment before passing the paperwork back to the nurse in charge. She was glad this was coming out of Tony's pocket. While Stark Industries had a top rated health plan, this went beyond that. Way beyond.

Checking her Blackberry, she answered emails until the sound of wheels on linoleum reached her ears and she looked up and gave her best smile at the man in the wheelchair being pushed by a sour-faced orderly. He appeared to be in his late forties, dressed in a suit and clutching a plastic bag full of pill vials.

"I was told Tony Stark paid my bill," he said to her. "Which means you must be Pepper Potts."

"I am," Pepper replied and held out her hand.

"He spoke of you a great deal," the man replied, taking her hand and giving her an unsure smile. "Josef Yinsen."

"A pleasure, Doctor," Pepper replied as they headed for the exit.

Outside, Happy waited by a large van and a motorized wheelchair. The orderly unceremoniously transferred Yinsen to the new chair and then went back inside.

"Happy, would you get Doctor Yinsen loaded into the van? Mr. Stark is expecting us back soon."

"Sure thing, Ms Potts," Happy replied.

"Ms. Potts, not to seem ungrateful," Yinsen spoke up, "but if Stark paid my hospital bill just to get me to come work for him. . . "

"Oh no, Doctor," Pepper replied with the ease of someone who had had this conversation before. "The hospital bill and the chair is Mr. Stark thanking you. Everything after this is where he gets you to work for him."

She gave him a sunny smile and Yinsen weakly smiled back and wondered if if would have been better had he died in the cave.

Josef Yinsen considered himself a patient man, but the air of mystery was, if he was to be candid, driving him nuts. It was true that he was grateful to Stark for paying his bill, and the wheelchair was incredibly comfortable, not to mention L.A. was spectacular, but he could not shake the air of unease that nibbled and pried at the back of his mind.

Part of it, he supposed, was waking up alive. When he'd charged out of the room to give Stark time, he'd hadn't expected to wake up in a military hospital. Apparently while he'd been shot multiple times, they hadn't been fatal. Oh, had the Americans not arrived when they did to investigate the blast Stark had set off before leaving, he would have bled out, but they'd gotten to him in time to save his life.

He was unsure if he hated them for that or not.

He looked down at his lap and scowled slightly. Before heading to Stark's, they had stopped at a secondhand store where Potts had asked him to pick out some knick-knack, apparently on Stark's instructions, who was also very intent that once he had made his choice, he was to keep it with him until they arrived at Stark's. Yinsen had complied, if only because his curiosity was (so far) outweighing his irritation at the mystery.

"Ms Potts," he asked. "Are you sure you can't tell me what this is about?"

She nodded. "Sorry, Doctor, but Tony wants you to hit the ground running, his words, not mine, sorry."

Yinsen sighed. "He does tend to talk first think later, doesn't he?"

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"We shared a cave, Ms Potts. I can believe quite a bit."

She looked at him gravely. "To be honest, Doctor, this is more than a bit."

By the time, they arrived at Stark's, Yinsen's was equal parts curious, irritated, and in pain, which is why he rolled into Stark's workshop and glared at him.

"Yinsen!" Tony exclaimed, "how are you?"

"What is the meaning of this, Stark?" Yinsen waved the knick-knack (some sort of duck looking thing dressed in an orange sports jersey) at him.

"Fair enough," Stark replied and waved a hand at a man with an impressive mustache. "That's Lupin, we'll get back to him." He indicated at a card table in the middle of the room. "Okay, so, card table. Take a look, check it over, no hidden pockets or anything funny, right?"

Yinsen huffed but dutifully examined the table. It was exactly as it appeared; an ordinary table. "Right."

"Okay, so knick knack in the center - that is a godawful shade of orange - right. Okay, Moon Moon, do your thing."

Lupin gave Stark a look, but he took out a wooden stick and waved it at the knick-knack, which promptly turned into a small squirrel. Another wave, and the knick knack was a duck again.

"How—" Yinsen stared. "What trick is this, Stark?"

"You picked out that thing with no help from Potts, right?" Tony leaned forward, staring directly into Yinsen's eyes. "It never left your sight, and that table has no pockets, neither Lupin or I touched it or was in any position to do some David Copperfield stuff, right?"

Yinsen swallowed. "Right." His mouth was bone dry, his thoughts drowning in mud. "Magic. Magic is real."

"Yup, magic is real, Lupin is a wizard, and we need your help."

"My . . . help?" Yinsen's brain was slowly chugging to life again. "Stark, what could you possibly need my help for when you have a wizard?"

"There's . . . limitations," Lupin explained.

"And for why, we need someone who with skills at marrying flesh and tech." Tony called up something on a monitor. "Because we're making this."

Yinsen stared at the screen, absorbing the schematic even as he read the notes scrolling up the side. "You're mad, Stark."

"That's what I told him," Lupin murmured.

Yinsen gripped the armrests of his chair. "This . . . this is insane. They don't even go together!" Stark flipped to another screen, this one with an mathematical equation on it and further protests died in Yinsen's throat as he realized that Stark was not only serious, but had the math to back him up. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"More than serious," Stark told him. "This is just phase one." He let that hang in the air. "So what do you say, Yinsen, you in?" He held out his hand.

Yinsen stared at the hand, thinking of every single reason not to take it and the one single overriding one that he should.

"God help me," he muttered, half prayer, half casting himself to the winds of fate and took Stark's hand. "Yes," he said. "I'm in."

Stark grinned.

Author's note.

I know exactly what Tony's up to. You, however, are going to have to wait and find out.

Mine is an evil laugh . . .