A/N: Hi... this fic was last updated July 2019 so I hope this is a pleasant surprise for all of you who thought I was dead or had abandoned it. You can thank ScarletRainbow1 for commenting and reminding me that I have an account on this platform!
To make up for my absence, there are four excellent chapters coming your way, including this one. Come find me on AO3 to get 'real time' chapters, same username.
Now... onto the story...
Sometimes, Harry found it easy to forget that he was well over two hundred years old. He looked young, was mischievous and cheeky, and he tried his best not to become anything like the condescending old bugger that Dumbledore had been.
Days like today, Harry failed. He had always spent the 2nd May in quiet, peaceful contemplation. This year, in this world, he'd chosen to venture out because it wasn't healthy to mope in the silence of his safe house with no one for company. Bath was but a quick Apparition away and his favourite cafe, Sally Lunn's, overlooked a gorgeous cobbled courtyard. He'd hoped to read a novel and enjoy the tranquility, while disguised as an offshoot of the Weasley family, with red hair and blue eyes.
He hadn't counted on the bloody tourists. It was half-term week and the town centre was swarming with families. Harry had eventually been seated in a corner of the cafe and was doing his best to ignore the shrill cries of children that would much rather be at home playing computer games than visiting Ancient Roman ruins.
Harry opened his book: The Affair by Lee Child, a formulaic thriller by an author Harry loved. He was barely three pages in when a shadow loomed over his table.
"I'll have the French Toast and a pot of tea," Harry said without looking up.
"I'll be sure to inform the waiter when I see him," the shadow replied with an American accent that was jarring after hearing nothing but British for weeks.
Harry groaned. He had a brand new face on and he was sure he'd not performed any magic within the sight of CCTV footage. He set aside his book and narrowed his eyes at the one and only Tony Stark. He was smirking down at Harry, drawing the attention of curious onlookers.
"Have you seriously followed me all the way to England?"
"Did you seriously expect me not to?"
"I don't know, Stark, because I don't know you." Harry glanced around. "If SHIELD have followed you here, I'm going to be pissed."
Stark raised his hands in the universal gesture of surrender.
"No SHIELD, no cameras, I promise. JARVIS is currently diverting all and any footage of us to a remote server, while looping last week's footage over the top of it."
"Hmm. And who's JARVIS?"
Stark didn't wince, but Harry could see him hesitate. A weakness. That was something, at least.
"He's a computer system. Very clever."
"A learning program?" Harry mused. At Stark's narrowed gaze, he smiled. "An AI, then? Probably this world's first."
"Perhaps," Stark said. He suddenly seemed a lot more cautious than he'd been before, as he should be. This world wasn't ready for a fully functioning AI and Stark seemed well aware of that.
"Not so fun when it's your secrets on the line, is it?" Harry said. "Don't worry, Stark, I can imagine the danger of revealing a full autonomous AI to a public that glorifies movies like Terminator and Space Odyssey."
"Glad we're in agreement," Stark said, his shoulders stiff. He visibly pulled on another mask and forced a grin. "Now, Merlin, I've been waiting five days for you to make a reappearance on camera and I've got someone here with me that's looking forward to seeing you."
Harry glanced regretfully at his book, and then at the waiter that was watching them with narrowed eyes, as if trying to figure out if Stark was harassing him.
"Where have you camped out?" he asked.
"The Macdonald Spa," Stark said. "Ironically, far classier than any similarly named restaurant."
"I know it," Harry interrupted. A flick of his fingers generated a Notice-Me-Not Charm. "See you there."
Tony blinked and stared at the empty space where Potter had been standing less than a second ago. A glance around the room told him that he'd been the only one to notice Potter's teleportation. That was the first piece of magic he'd seen up close and personal. It fascinated him. It looked as if Potter had generated an isolated wormhole and jumped through the very fabric of spacetime.
"Astounding," he breathed.
"Can I help you, sir?"
Tony jumped, turning to face the waiter that he'd barrelled past earlier. The man was frowning at him, obviously unaware or uncaring of Tony's reputation.
"Actually, yes. Could you get a portion of French Toast and a pot of tea to go?"
"We don't do takeaway, I'm afraid."
Tony arched a brow. "I'll pay double. Triple, if you can get it out to me in less than five minutes."
"We don't do takeaway," the waiter repeated.
"Look, kid. Name your price. I'll pay it. I'd buy the restaurant, but it would take too long. So, can you get me the damn order? I'm just trying to buy my friend breakfast."
The black look on the waiter's face disappeared. "Oh, you're buying for Harry Granger?"
Tony nodded, filing away yet another alibi Potter had thought up.
"It'll be right out, sir," the waiter said. "Just one moment."
It didn't take long for Potter's order to arrive. The man had obviously been here before, often enough to become a regular and a favourite with the wait staff. Tony paid and tipped them triple, feeling like a moron as he balanced a mug of tea and steaming box of food with his cell phone while walking back to where he'd parked. The food smelled delicious and he was beginning to regret not having bought breakfast for himself.
"Don't say a word," Tony said when he got in the car, slotting the tea in the drinks holder.
"Quite the change from your usual fare, sir. Did they not have coffee?" JARVIS asked from his phone's speaker.
"You get sassier every day."
"I am as you made me, sir," JARVIS replied.
"Yes," Tony said, igniting the engine. "That's what I'm afraid of."
The familiar sound of his phone ringing jolted Phil awake. He grimaced, squinting at the screen and trying to see past the glare. It was a little past five in the morning. Whoever was calling him—an unknown number—had better be worth his time.
"Yes?" he growled, answering the phone.
There was a long pause, before a hesitant voice spoke. "Uh, Phil. Hi. It's me."
Phil yawned into his pillow and tried to identify the voice. He recognised it, but couldn't put a name to it.
"Wuh?" It was tempting to hang up and hope they didn't call back.
"Steve. Steve Rogers. You gave me this phone a few weeks ago."
Phil jolted upright, clutching at his cell. "Steve. Of course. Is everything okay?" He rubbed at his eyes and glanced around, checking he was still in his bedroom. Yup. "Do you need something?"
"Maybe."
The bedclothes tangled as Phil stumbled to his feet, but he managed not to trip. Coffee was in order, then food, then doing his damn job.
"What do you need, Steve?" he asked as he headed to the kitchen and began to wake up the coffee machine. "I can get a chopper to your flat in thirty minutes."
"No!"
Phil frowned at Steve's tone. It sounded urgent and anxious. He set the phone down and placed Steve on speaker as he began making eggs. He wouldn't get back to sleep now, not after all this.
"Okay…?" he said, when the silence stretched.
"Well, I'm about to see Harry and I guess I thought you should know because you never agreed with all this nonsense. I wish I hadn't either. Now I've got to apologise and I'm crap at that. He's a pretty intimidating guy, I don't want to screw this up."
"You won't," Phil reassured him, even as he added salt and pepper to his breakfast. Shit, how the hell had Steve managed to find Harry when Phil had used up every single one of his favours to try to do the same. He took a breath to steady himself. "He values you as a friend. He wouldn't have spent so much time with you otherwise. Be honest, he'll appreciate that, and just don't betray him, I guess."
It was possibly the shittest pep talk Phil had ever given. But goddamn it, it was five in the morning and there was something intrinsically wrong with ordering Captain America about.
"Thanks, Phil. I'll put in a good word for you, okay?"
"I appreciate that," Phil said, and it was strange to realise that he meant it.
Joshua had seen many strange things in his life. He'd seen his aunt bloated and dead in her flat, half her face eaten by her own cats. He'd seen a customer come in and pretend to shoot herself with an imaginary gun, only to collapse to the floor and fake a seizure moments later. He'd seen four men fucking in the single toilet cubicle, and birds that could imitate human speech, and magicians that could make cards disappear with a flick of theif fingers.
He'd never seen a man teleport before. When Mr Earl Grey and French Toast graced Sally Lunn's with his presence, he was normally unassuming and quiet. Twitchy, but predictable. He read his book, checked the paper, paid and left a generous but not excessive tip.
This time, he'd spun on a single foot and disappeared. Joshua blinked, rubbed his eyes, and then turned to Maisy.
"Hey, did you see that?"
"Table four needs cutlery," she snapped in answer.
Joshua glanced again toward the empty space where Earl Grey and French Toast had been. Only the man that had been harassing him was still standing there, looking a curious combination of thoughtful and frustrated. It was strange—Joshua recognised the man from somewhere. Probably EastEnders or another bullshit soap.
He took cutlery to table four and then stepped into the strange man's personal space.
"Can I help you, sir?"
As he spoke, he glanced around for clues as to how Earl Grey and French Toast might have disappeared, barely replying to the man in front of him. There was nothing that he could see, no curtain to hide behind or window to jump through.
Magic. It had to be. There was no other explanation.
Joshua was determined to find out how.