Chapter 1 - A New Beginning
The sneakoscope atop the desk whirred with a fury, its blinding light and screeching whistle agitating the dark-haired man who was the sole resident of the chamber.
"I know," he growled, "I know!"
Lifting his trunk and throwing it hastily on the table, the man unceremoniously began throwing into it the objects strewn around his desk, before seeming to realize with a muttered curse that there was no time.
A dull boom resounded from outside his shelter, and he cursed again. He cast a furtive glance to the dark veil raised at the center of the room, and then back to his desk; his research- his papers- he couldn't let them fall into their hands.
Another boom, and dust began to rain on him from the ceiling of the trembling chamber.
It seemed his time was up.
At last, the man approached the raised dais where the veil stood. He fiddled with his long-broken wristwatch, aware of the enormity of the decision he was about to make.
A final deafening blast blew wide the mighty doors of the chamber, revealing a squad of navy-robed figures, wands in hands, incantations prepared-
The dark-haired man was quicker.
With a hushed mutter and a deft wave of his wand, a radiant, glowing flame burst forth in the form of a phoenix, its eerie light illuminating the gloomy room. The living flame swooped towards the navy-robed infiltrators, incinerating the desk with all the papers and odd knick-knacks.
Amidst the screams, Harry Potter hefted his trunk and walked into the veil.
xxxXXXxxx
Tony Stark wasn't having the best day.
Living for three months in the captivity of uneducated terrorists already kinda ruins a guy's mood, but that wasn't even the main problem.
No, the main problem was that the suit that was supposed to be flying him to safety was rapidly depleting itself of energy, and from what little he could see through the slits in his visor, the end of the desert was nowhere in sight.
Perhaps, he mused in retrospect, wasting propellant to roast his captors for the death of his friend Yinsen hadn't been such a wise idea, but it was too late to change that.
The suit shuddered and creaked, hasty welds groaning, the rockets propelling him sputtering their last breaths- and Tony Stark fell out of the sky.
xxxXXXxxx
The heat was the first sign something had gone wrong- the strange roaring noise, the second.
Letting out a low groan from the ache he felt all over his body- a side effect of interdimensional travel, no doubt- Harry stood to observe his surroundings.
Golden sand extended in each direction as far as the eye could see, only the ripples and dunes from the scorching desert winds providing respite from the harsh monotony of the rugged terrain.
He absentmindedly cast a cooling charm on himself, and immediately felt as if he'd plunged into an ice bath.
Maybe another side effect, he mused, frowning down at his wand.
What had happened?
He'd planned to travel to another version of his world, to warn everyone of the fates awaiting them, but in this world, he felt none of the magic that had electrified the air of his home.
The theories he had devised- his careful planning, his meticulous research to ensure he'd reach his target destination- all of it was for naught?
His mind raced at the catastrophic failure- what would he do in this world? Was there even intelligent life? Where was he? Why on earth was that strange roaring sound getting louder?
He turned his gaze to the sky, squinting to see despite the glaring desert sun-
"What the-"
xxxXXXxxx
It was all quiet for a moment, and Tony could nearly believe that he'd died and gone to hell- it would certainly explain the scorching heat, and the pain all over his body- but his commendable deductive skills quickly served to reason that it was likely just the normal weather without the cooling effects of flying.
He'd crashed, but the desert sand and his relatively slow speeds had allowed him to survive.
Groaning and coughing from the dust, he threw off his visor, climbed out of the ruined suit, and lay painting on the sand. He needed to find civilization, and quick- he could already feel the effects of dehydration beginning to set in, and it was unlikely he'd last another few hours in the scorching sun.
"Oi!"
The call broke Tony out of his musings, and he whipped around.
"What in the bloody hell was that?"
Not ten feet from where he'd landed was a dark-haired gentleman- British, from the sound of his accent- holding a little stick.
Tony's instincts called for him to beg the welcome stranger for help- but his brain, still running high from adrenaline, tempered his actions with caution.
"What- what are you doing out here?"
His voice was croaky and dry, and he barely avoided coughing again from the dust.
The dark-haired man regarded him cautiously, and Tony could see some strange curiosity in his eyes.
A tense few seconds passed, before the mysterious man sighed.
"I got lost."
Tony eyed the guy incredulously.
"Seriously? All the way out in the Afghanistan desert, with no water?"
The man froze, and Tony tensed.
"It doesn't really matter anyway," he backpedaled, sensing something amiss, "because- because I'm Tony Stark, and if you just help me get out of here, I'll get you back to wherever you need to be."
Tony hoped his name would be enough to get the man to react positively, but it didn't seem to work.
The man grimaced, and raised the sliver of wood he had been carrying, pointing it at Tony.
"Aw, fuck."
xxxXXXxxx
Tony Stark sipped his coffee in the run-down cafe.
It had been an interesting three months, living off the grid in Afghanistan.
He felt that he now truly understood the pain his weapons had inflicted, and resolved to do something about it when he returned- Obadiah would disapprove, of course, but he'd deal with that issue once he got to it.
Perhaps he could shift the focus of his company to his arc reactor technology…
After all, if he could shrink one down to implant into his chest, he could definitely improve further on it, and perhaps provide energy to the whole world at a fraction of the usual cost.
He frowned, suddenly feeling a bit strange-
When had he put the arc reactor in his chest?
Had it been years? Months? Days?
He couldn't remember.
An image of an explosion flashed in his mind- terrible pain, horror, loss- a dark haired man, a flash of light- at the center of it all, a crude metal behemoth-
As suddenly as they had come, the thoughts vanished from his head, replaced by a fuzzy haze.
Yes, it had been an interesting three months, but it was time to go home.
He took a last sip of coffee, and wandered off to phone Rhodey.
xxxXXXxxx
"Sir, we've got a situation."
Director Nick Fury groaned, turning his chair to face the door. In his decades of working for SHIELD, he'd come to know and hate that phrase- all it meant was paperwork, a headache, and more paperwork, not necessarily in that order.
"What is it?"
Agent Maria Hill handed a file to the director.
Fury looked up, unamused.
"Stark's file. He's still in captivity in Afghanistan."
Hill shook her head.
"Not anymore, sir. He's just been rescued."
The headache was starting.
"By who? The Army?"
Hill nodded.
"Yes, sir. The events surrounding his rescue are- peculiar."
Fury swiveled his chair back towards his window, rubbing his templed to alleviate the growing pain.
"Peculiar how?"
Hill checked a tablet before replying, "It appears he was picked up from the nearest city to the Ten Ring's base we'd established him to be captured in, but- he seemed to not remember the details of his escape. The Army diagnosed it as psychological trauma- they believe he's chosen to repress the memories of his capture and escape due to the traumatic nature of the event."
Fury groaned, annoyed and frustrated.
"Satellite imagery?"
Hill nodded again.
"Yes, sir. I've already reviewed the Ten Rings base- or what's left of it, anyway. It appears to have been attacked, with all weapons caches destroyed. We aren't certain if it was a rival terrorist group or an unknown, but the safety of Stark and his return to civilization-"
"Means it's likely the latter," Fury finished.
This was going to be a problem. An unknown person or group with an unknown agenda, with ties to Stark, and, given the man's mental state, possibly some hold over him.
This meant paperwork.
AN: Hi everyone! I know I haven't written on my old story in years, and I wanted to try to start over and improve it. I went for a sort of different tone and writing style than I had in the past- please let me know if you prefer this or the way I wrote the few chapters I had up of "The Story of an Arcane Avenger". Let me know your thoughts so I can try to improve- I'm mostly a reader, not a writer, so I'd love your feedback, it helps a lot.
AN 2: Completely rewrote this and the next chapter. I decided to go with what I now want this new story to be, and not what it was in the past. Hope you enjoy, and sorry for the inconvenience.