I post this chapter with a few remarks:

1. I'm still struggling with Harry's POV so it took me a little longer to edit than I had hoped and I'm not completely sure it's where I want it to be but the best it's going to get at this point

2. This chapter is Harry's side of the night, which starts just a touch backwards. I try to swap POVs seamlessly in the timeline but sometimes I need to go back a bit.

3. Given how many Hedwig guesses I received after the last chapter this could either get an awesome reaction or a really bad one. Please be gentle in the comments, my dumpster fire of life right now just (figuratively) burst up in flames again.

When Harry slammed his bedroom door behind him, he had every intention of packing his belongings — only the things he had brought with him from Privet Drive and nothing Tony had given to him — and use his invisibility cloak to sneak out of what was probably the most secure building in the city. He knew it had been a huge mistake to come to the Tower, and New York for that matter. Had he taken a second to logically think about the plan when Snape had first told it to him, he would have told Snape where to shove the idea and gone out on his own. At least Surry would have been familiar to him. He could have taken care of himself there.

But no. As soon as he'd heard that James Potter wasn't his real father and that his real dad was still alive, Harry had wanted to travel around the world to see him. He wanted to believe the man could keep him — and by extension, everyone else — safe. Harry had only himself to blame for this mess and had only one remaining option left: disappear and hope he could survive the crowded streets of New York. It had to work. If not, Tony, Pepper, Sirius, and all his friends would become collateral damage… just like Cedric.

Kill the spare!

Although the idea sounded great in his head, it failed before it started because he never made it inside his closet to get his backpack. In a race to beat whatever monitoring Tony had on the Tower, Harry's hand slipped as he pulled the closet's door knob, sending him face-first into the closed door. The pain in his forehead, and embarrassment from it, brought back all of his anger from the night. Instead of simply trying to open it again, as any sensible person would do, he allowed his emotions to take control and kicked his desk chair repeatedly until his foot went numb.

When he finally felt absolutely empty inside, and a little childish, he collapsed to a heap on the floor, leaning against the wall. Sitting there in a room not quite his own — belonging to the father who, in some sick twist of irony, was actually trying to get to know him — Harry laid his forehead on his bent knees.

He took a few deep breaths trying his best to stay strong, just like he had during his awful childhood and every summer after Hogwarts. But despite his efforts, tears rolled down his cheeks, finally letting go of all the bottled-up emotions he had been keeping inside of him. What began as a few sniffles quickly turned into overwhelming sobs as he poured out his grief. He missed the parents who had died for him — the ones he still felt were truly his parents in his heart — and Sirius, and his friends. He ached at the memory of Cedric's death, haunting him and keeping him awake more nights than he cared to admit. On top of that, he carried the weight of guilt about his role in Voldemort's return. No matter what anyone said to him, if it weren't for that night, none of this would have happened… If Harry hadn't taken the cup in the maze, Voldemort wouldn't be a threat at all. If he hadn't grabbed that cup, he'd be hanging out with Ron and Hermione at the Burrow, enjoying the rest of the summer by degnoming the garden and playing pickup games of quidditch with Fred, George, and Ginny.

Harry sat on the floor, hugging his legs to his chest, for what felt like hours. Twice, Pepper knocked on his door checking in to see if he was okay or if he needed anything. Even though she seemed unsure about his "m'fine" answer, she thankfully didn't ask to come in. Harry didn't know how he'd face her if she had. Tony had made it crystal clear how much they had changed their lives around for him. They welcomed him into their home, and how did he show his gratitude? By lying straight to Tony's face… and apparently doing a bloody terrible job at it too.

What a great son he was turning out to be.

When all his emotions were spent, his tears long dried, and he was as physically exhausted as he felt mentally, Harry dragged himself off the floor and flopped onto his bed, not even bothering to change into his pajamas or brush his teeth. As his eyes fluttered closed, he couldn't help but think about Tony and Pepper, and how much he wanted to share his world with them. If only he knew everyone would be safe, life with them might actually be perfect.

Suddenly, a loud crack from somewhere outside his window made Harry spring out of bed in a frantic panic. The crack sounded oddly familiar, and something inside of him warned him to be wary of it, maybe even get as far away as possible, but still half-asleep, standing in the dark bedroom — when did I turn off the lights? — he couldn't remember where he'd heard the sound before, or why he should be afraid of it.

When a second, louder crack sounded, way closer to this window this time, Harry nervously moved over and looked outside. His heart pounded harder than in any quidditch game he could remember. At first, nothing looked out of place. The sky was as clear as it could get in the city, no storm clouds were in sight, and down below, the streets were the same mess of red and white from the almost comically tiny cars filling the streets. Harry turned around, ready to crawl back into bed while muttering that he was getting as paranoid as Mad-Eye Moody's reputation when a bright orange light on the other side of the window came flying directly at him. He had no time to react before it slammed into the window with a loud smack, startling Harry and sending him tumbling backward onto his bed.

What the bloody hell was that?!

His mind screamed for him to leave immediately — that light was too close to a curse for his liking — but instead of rushing out the door, he sat frozen on his bed watching as a series of orange lights began pounding against the glass. Bolts of lights collided with the window, one after another, leaving spider web cracks covering the entire pane. Harry had barely covered his head before the window inevitably burst into what seemed like a million pieces, enveloping him and his bed in shards of glass.

Crisp, icy air flooded into the room through the now open wall where his window had once been, jolting Harry out of shock and into action. He leaped out of bed again, this time going to the door to get as far away from whoever broke into his bedroom as possible. Except as he reached for the doorknob, it vanished before his eyes, leaving him unable to escape — just like how his earlier plan to run away ended. His hands scoured the door in a desperate search for the missing knob, but they came to a halt when a horrific, evil yet familiar laugh echoed all around him, confirming his equally horrifying reality: Voldemort had found him. Pushing through his rising panic, Harry mustered up the last of his Gryffindor courage to turn around. The lights flashed back on all on their own, and Harry found himself standing face to face with Voldemort and the same group of Death Eaters he had seen in the Graveyard.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort gleefully stated. "Going so soon? We have only just begun."

Before Harry could blink, a thick pair of ropes wrapped around his body binding his arms behind him and bringing his handles so close that they touched. Although his arms tingled from how tightly the ropes were tied and he swore he couldn't feel his feet anymore, somehow Harry remained upright, standing directly in front of Voldemort. With a hideous, malicious grin, Voldemort levitated Harry, dropping him uncomfortably close to the ledge now leading outside. Harry screamed in pain as his right ankle twisted at an unnatural angle as he fell, not that anyone in his current company cared.

"It's a good thing I didn't kill you at the graveyard after all," Voldemort taunted, jabbing the tip of his wand into Harry's chest. "We aren't anywhere near done with you yet."

The masked Death Eaters surrounded Harry and Voldemort, making any escape impossible. Pettigrew stepped forward and conjured a splintery wooden table and a massive cauldron opposite Harry. An uncontrollable chill ran down Harry's spine.

With spots of dried blood and thick leather shackles that Harry knew he'd be strapped into, it looked like something right out of a torture chamber.

I have to find a way out of here!

Voldemort waved his ivory wand, and the table stood up and the strap's buckles unfastened. Harry twisted and turned, trying to get a part of himself free to grab his wand in the bedside table's drawer. But as he continued to move, the rope gradually tightened and before he was anywhere near free, his body became rigid. Now unable to move a muscle, the ropes unceremoniously dropped to the floor and Voldemort levitated him onto the table, fastening the buckles on his wrists and ankles so securely that Harry felt blood trickle down his hands.

"I should leave you Petrified," Voldemort threatened, "but then I'd lose the joy of hearing you scream. And I will make you scream, Harry Potter."

Harry did scream. As soon as Voldemort released the Petrificus spell, Harry screamed at the top of his lungs, "Tony! Tony, help!"

In what felt like the blink of an eye, Tony appeared, one of his hands covered by his Iron Man gauntlet and the door broke at his feet. Pepper stepped in after him, treading carefully across the shattered wood, showing no signs of pain in her bare feet. Harry blinked again, and Tony and Pepper were Petrified on the floor.

"Let us play, shall we?" Voldemort sauntered up to Tony and Pepper, his wand pointed at Pepper's chest. "Blood of thy mother… close enough. Diffindo!"

A flick of Voldemort's pale wrist sent a pink line racing to Pepper, landing on her collarbone. He slowly dragged his wand down her chest to her bellybutton, flaying her open right there in front of everyone. Harry pulled against the binding, bruises and cuts forming underneath the raw leather, desperate to get to her. His struggles were in vain, though. In seconds, Pepper was gone and tears poured down Harry's cheeks.

"Now for the bone of thy father," Voldemort announced, walking in his bare feet up to Tony. Another Diffindo, pointed at Tony's shoulder, and removed it from his body. One by one, Voldemort swiped his wand at Tony's other arm and both his legs before taking one last swipe across the neck. And just like Pepper, Tony was gone.

Voldemort snapped his fingers, sending the waiting Death Eaters, who Harry had almost forgotten about until now, onto the bodies. They filled up phials upon phials of Pepper's blood and broke apart Tony's arms and legs to fit into the giant cauldron sitting on Harry's bed.

"Don't touch them!" Harry yelled, or he tried to but his throat was so raw from screaming it came out as a small croak. "Leave them alone!"

"Harry!"

"I said leave them alone!" The young wizard cried again. "Please, it's me you want…"

"Harry, get up! Everything's ok…"

"What's that?" Harry asked. He could have sworn he heard Tony's voice saying his name. "What's going on?"

"Harry! Wake up!" Tony's scared voice rang throughout the air. "You're having a nightmare!"

With a gasp, Harry bolted upright, his forehead missing Tony's by a hair.

"Harry!" Tony said again. Tony gently took Harry's left hand and placed it on his chest; right beside the blue glowing spot of his arc reactor. "Take slow breaths, ok? Focus on your hand… in and out… good job, just like that."

As his breathing synchronized with Tony's, the fuzzy feeling inside of his head faded and the surrounding room became clearer; a strange feeling since he rarely fell asleep in his glasses. Although the lights were now dimmed, Harry could see Tony sitting halfway on the left side of the bed, with his leg tucked beneath him, and Pepper standing off to the side behind him, both looking equally terrified. In contrast to Harry wearing his clothes from dinner, both of the adults were in pajamas — Pepper's a flowery shirt, solid blue shorts, and slippers, and Tony in a pair of black gym shorts under a gray T-shirt. Obviously, he had woken them up at whatever ungodly hour of the morning it was.

"Harry… Harry, kid, look at me," Tony instructed. Harry listened, and the pit in his stomach grew at the deep worry he saw in Tony's hazel eyes. "You're alright, Harry. I think you were having a nightmare."

"A nightmare?"

An icy breeze hit the right side of Harry's face, making him turn towards the shattered window. Unlike in his nightmare, only a moderate area closest to his bed was missing. Dread filled him up. If he had a nightmare, his magic had likely caused the hole.

"We'll figure out what happened later, honey," Pepper said reassuringly, following his gaze to the window. She handed him a tall glass of water. "We need to make sure you're not hurt, first."

"M' fine," Harry lied. He was so far from fine, he couldn't even see it. He stared down at the glass in his hand. "I-I have nightmares sometimes. It's not a big deal."

"I wouldn't exactly call what I walked into 'not a big deal', kiddo," Tony said. "You were in a full-blown night terror. And the window… let's just say they should be unbreakable… So when JARVIS said there was a breach, and you were screaming, I fully expected…"

He trailed off, clearly as shaken as Harry.

The other side of his bed dipped down as Pepper sandwiched Harry between the two adults. Never in his life had he had this much attention from adults and it made him extremely uncomfortable.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" Pepper asked. Searching for some kind of injury, Pepper lightly touched his arm in several places. Harry half expected her to find bruises on his wrists from him pulling at the cuffs holding him to the table or cuts on the back of his arms from the rough table. But, of course, nothing was there. That had only been in his nightmare.

"No, I don't think so," Harry replied, attempting to resist the urge to pull his arm away. He'd seen Mrs. Weasley would do this to Ron and Aunt Petunia to Dudley — although in a much more dramatic way. It's what mum's… or at least caring adults… did for kids. "It was just a dream. A really, really bad dream. I promise."

"There's no glass here," Tony abruptly stated, searching around the floor and the top of Harry's bedspread. "Nothing around you, either. How about your side, Pepper? Any glass?"

"No," she answered, just as confused by his train of thought as Harry. "Why–"

"If the window broke open," Tony rushed to the window to examine it, "then where did shards of glass go? JARVIS?"

"I am detecting objects on the ledge outside of Master Harry's window."

Tony craned his head carefully out of the window, shining a flashlight Harry hadn't noticed before at the small cement ledge right outside. "Huh," he said. "So the glass blew out? Not in?"

Understanding the meaning of his findings, Harry swallowed hard. "I swear I didn't do anything to the window."

"I know."

Harry frowned. "You do?"

"Pretty sure… yeah," Tony said with a chuckle. "These windows won't break if you throw something at them. I'll have to pull the sensor data to see what caused the failure though. No one got in, and that's all that matters right now."

Tony continued to study the window, muttering numbers to himself and plans for a temporary repair, which by the sound of it, was something he planned for Iron Man to do. Pepper scurried Harry to his bathroom with explicit instructions to check for any glass, emphasizing that just because the glass blew out didn't mean none of it was sucked inward during whatever event had caused it. Harry knew he wouldn't find anything. Besides not feeling any physical injuries — being fully awake now — his accidental magic would have made sure not to harm him. His magic never harmed him, and if anything the window blowing out was probably a reaction from his magic to protect him from the Voldemort of his nightmare.

What about MACUSA? Harry thought. A tremor ran through his right as the panicked thought of the Magical Government of America hit Harry midway through brushing his teeth. Was he supposed to have registered when he arrived in New York? Could they detect his magic here? He didn't even know if they tracked magic here, and if so, how. Maybe he should contact Snape in the morning? Would Snape consider an exploding window an emergency worth contacting him over? He really should have gotten a more defined set of rules about contacting him or Sirius.

He took his time washing his face and changing into the fresh set of pajamas Pepper had handed him on his way into the bathroom, so by the time he returned to his room Pepper was gone and Tony was securing a metal sheet over the missing window pane using some kind of heat from his Iron Man gauntlet to secure it in place. Where Tony had gotten the materials or how he had gotten them in, Harry wasn't sure he cared to know; probably some scrap metal from his workshop or something.

"It's not pretty, but it'll hold," Tony announced, jumping off the chair and placing his gauntlet down on it before meeting Harry at his bed. He took the spot Pepper had sat in earlier. "Once I download all the sensor data from the outside wall, I'll call my contractor to get it fixed. I doubt they have this specific glass in stock, meaning you might be stuck with the ugly metal for a few days."

"I don't mind." Harry shrugged. At least it was better than bars, or the implication of those bars. "Where's Pepper?"

Tony peered towards the closed door. "I sent her off to grab a few more hours of sleep. I hope that's alright. She had a hell of a day yesterday and I doubt today is looking any better for her."

Harry checked his watch — almost four in the morning. How long had he been asleep, stuck in that awful nightmare? Watching Voldemort kill and dismember two of his only family left somehow felt like it took an eternity and a matter of minutes.

"Do you think you'll be able to get back to sleep?" The question caught Harry so off-guard he didn't know how to answer it, and taking his silence as his answer, Tony offered, "If not we can go do something to help get your mind off of things. I told you I like to tinker if I can't sleep. What do you like to do?"

That was a good question. What did Harry do on the nights he couldn't sleep? At the Dursleys, he'd write his friends a letter. Here, he had mostly sat up and read. He got the feeling Tony wanted to go do something, so Harry suggested the one activity he enjoyed and knew would keep his mind and hands busy, "We can make breakfast for Pepper."

Tony puffed out his cheeks, and Harry saw the wheels in his head turning. "Breakfast? I love breakfast and it'll give Pepper a good start to her day." He nodded his head towards the hallway, "Let's do it."

They decided on scrambled eggs, breakfast potatoes, sausage patties, banana pancakes — Tony told him they couldn't do the strawberry banana Harry had originally suggested since Pepper was allergic to strawberries — and blueberry scones. Despite Tony's insistence on making Harry home-cooked meals, they still mostly ordered takeaway from Tony's favorite restaurants or from the SI cafeteria, leaving the kitchen with only four eggs, a half container of flour, salt, sugar, bananas, and blueberries. Not enough to cover even half of the times on Tony's list. Harry was about to give up, tell Tony they'd do something later, and then go sit in bed until Tony asked JARVIS to create a shopping list using the Avengers' common kitchen as the primary source and the SI cafeteria pantry as the secondary source. Between the two, they found the rest of the ingredients needed, plus the field trip gave Harry a cool behind-the-scenes look at parts of the Tower he hadn't seen yet.

"You realize that the SI kitchens will be open by the time we finish all this, and they could make it for us, right?" Tony jokingly asked as he set out the newly collected ingredients beside the bowls Harry already had ready on the counter for their 'prep stations'; one area each for pancakes, scones, and eggs. The sausage and potatoes didn't need any prepping, so they'd go from their packages to their pans.

"But it's not as fun when someone else makes it," Harry aptly pointed out. "Besides, I hate to brag, but I've been told that I make the best scones in Surrey. At least according to the ladies in Aunt Petunia's book club."

Not that his aunt relayed any of the compliments Harry had overheard from his cupboard to him. Harry wasn't about to share that part with Tony though.

"All of Surrey, huh?" Tony clasped his hand onto Harry's shoulder. "Well, now I have to have them."

With a smile, Harry separated the ingredients Tony brought into their respective stations and measured the flour for the scone before handing the measuring scoop to Tony, instructing him to do the same for the pancakes. Using JARVIS, Harry recorded the instructions for the pancake recipe he'd learned to make when he was only seven. The steps were straightforward enough for Tony to follow that Harry hoped it'd give him some encouragement in the hobby Harry enjoyed.

"What would you do if you didn't have all this? Like if you were forced to start over?" Harry asked. He had meant it to be a lighthearted question, simply asking Tony how he would eat if he didn't have people to do it for him or seemingly unlimited wealth to buy takeaway every day.

Tony, probably rightly so, interrupted them differently.

"Is that what you think this is? That there's some magic wall separating your life 'before New York' and after?" He asked firmly. Harry didn't tell him how close he was to Harry's reality. Again, Tony took his lack of answer as his answer. A hand on Harry's forearm made him meet Tony's gaze. "That's not it all, kid. Trust me, if there's anything from England you need… or want… you just say the word. I want you to be comfortable here. You mentioned friends from school, right? Well, they can visit anytime. I can send a plane to pick them up tomorrow if it'd help you."

As tempting as the offer was — he wanted to see Ron and Hermione so badly — he needed to keep everyone safe and to do that, he needed to stay hidden. They all needed to believe he'd run away on his own.

Harry shook his head, for Tony and himself. "It's complicated."

"Then uncomplicated it for me."

Harry didn't answer him. How could he without earning him the wrath of Snape?

"First, I'd be a mechanic," Tony eventually said, his rough voice sounding loud in the quiet kitchen. "If I woke up tomorrow and had to start all over… if I didn't have someone forty floors down to make me breakfast every day, or a multi-million dollar company and a team of superheroes to help run… I'd be a mechanic."

"A mechanic? Like work in a grease shop fixing cars?"

"That's the one," Tony stated as if it were the most natural thing in the world for a man with a closet full of Armani suits to do. "While the media loves to focus on my genius engineering side, at my core, I love to fix things. Cars, motorcycles, if it has a motor I'll work on it. Plus, it'd be a simpler life–no board meetings, no shareholders, and no one else to answer to. Just me, Pepper to actually run the shop, and whatever I want to work on.

"Does it mean I'd give up all of this tomorrow for my own shop and more autonomy? Hell no, because I can fix bigger problems in this position. All the philanthropy I do isn't just for the tax breaks. Don't get me wrong, it's a nice perk. Ultimately, though, I sleep better at night knowing I'm helping someone less fortunate. Pepper says it's my guilt talking, and she's probably right. The way I see it, the people benefitting from my donations and shit don't care about that side of the equation."

Harry thought hard about what Tony said, mentally adding "fixing things" to the list of ways they were alike. Just like Tony, Harry was giving up what he loved — magic, his friends, and possibly Hogwarts if Snape didn't figure this whole situation out by September — to protect the greater good; even if he didn't really know how, or why, he fit into Voldemort's plans when he was a baby or now.

"To answer your actual question," Tony went on, "my mother was a fantastic cook. If I didn't have the Stark Legacy to fall back on, I'm sure I would have learned to cook from her. I'm not saying I'd be anywhere near her level, but I like to think she could teach me to make more than grilled cheese. Hell, that's probably where you get your affinity for culinary arts from."

Harry had never thought about his love for cooking being part of his family history. He'd always assumed it was because he'd been forced to do it from a young age. That he could have a quality from a relative, a link so to say, to his paternal line, warmed him more than he'd ever admit to anyone. Sure, had his mother's vibrant green eyes and his father's messy hair, but those were just features of Harry. They weren't part of who he was, as a person.

Deep in thought about Harry's place in his father's family tree, they fell into comfortable silence, more so than any others since he moved in, while they worked on their respective breakfast dishes. Harry poured his bowl of wet ingredients into the bowl of dry and focused on mixing the dough. Tossing a few handfuls of flour onto the countertop he dumped the dough onto it, all the while feeling Tony's watchful eye over his shoulder. His hands went to work almost on their own, kneading the dough, and adding flour as he felt necessary until he had perfectly sized balls laid out on a baking sheet ready for the oven.

"Ok, Harry, here's the deal," Tony declared solemnly, his rough voice sounding oddly loud in the quiet kitchen. He faced Harry, a serious look up his face that Harry hadn't seen on him yet; somewhere between concerned and cautious. "I care about you–"

"You didn't know I existed until two weeks ago," Harry replied, half jokingly and half seriously.

Tony's head jerked back as if Harry had hit him. A hot flush crept up Harry's face; he hadn't meant for it to come out so harshly, but he didn't take it back either. Blood didn't automatically mean you were required to like someone. His aunt and uncle had known him for years and they despised him.

"So, what?" Tony retorted, folding his flour-coated arms over his chest. "You're my son… we both agreed on that much last night… and I can tell something's going on. We can start with you haven't gotten a decent night's sleep in weeks–"

"So you are spying on me."

Tony's hands raised in defeat. At least he didn't deny it. "I'm trying to help you. But I can't do that if I don't know what's going on. And if you don't let me in, then I'm forced to find creative ways to get the information."

Harry prepped the griddle on the stove and immediately took over ladling the pancake batter onto the hot griddle to give himself something to do during what was bound to be a tough conversation. Because he knew he had to give the man something or else he would never move on.

Thankfully, Tony seemed to understand and didn't stop him.

"A f-friend died at the end of the school year last year. Sometimes I dream about it," Harry admitted. Voldemort might be off limits, but Cedric's death wasn't as long as he changed the circumstances behind it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Tony run his hand down his face and muttered a curse under his hand. "Clearly, I went about asking this the wrong way last night, and I am truly sorry about that, but I need you to be honest with me here. Were you away at some institution… maybe juvie, or whatever the British equivalent of it is, o-or rehab–"

"No!" Harry exclaimed, dropping the spatula as he turned. "Why would you–"

"The bruises, the scars." In one smooth move, Tony reached for Harry's forearm and revealed the long scar from Pettigrew's knife above the circular one from the Basilisk fang. Harry yanked his arms out of Tony's light grasp and pulled his sleeves down. With a raised eyebrow, Tony challenged Harry to dispute his claim and when Harry remained silent, he went on, "A kid died at your school… tragic enough to give you nightmares like the one I walked into tonight. Let's face it. You have half of my genes and if I didn't have my father as a father I probably would have been in jail or rehab at your age. So if you don't tell me anything then I have to make my own assumptions and, frankly, it's not looking promising. You gotta give me something here. Anything, please."

"I wasn't locked away in some institution, I promise," Harry said, although he wished he sounded more sure of himself.

"Ok." Tony nodded. "And your friend? What happened there? Most kids don't die at private boarding schools."

Images of Cedric's dead body sprawled on the grassy ground flashed in front of Harry's eyes. He closed them, hoping to push the images away, only they didn't disappear. Of course they wouldn't, his mind was making them and it wasn't ready to let Cedric go, or to ease any of the deep-seated guilt of Harry's role in Cedric's death.

"He… Cedric, my friend's name was Cedric. He died in an accident of sorts." Harry ignored his wavering voice because saying Cedric's name out loud, for the first time since leaving school — since the nightmares started — opened the floodgates inside of him and he actually wanted to tell Tony about it, or as much as he safely could tell. "We had this… competition… between our houses at school. More like a dare, or series of dares, really. The last one… it came down to me versus Cedric. We were… climbing… the wall outside of the school, up into the girls' dormitory window."

Tony scoffed, and Harry let him think what he wanted about the made-up accident. The details didn't matter in the long run, anyway.

"We were neck and neck reaching the end and Cedric… he slipped." Swallowing hard, and staring out at the rising sun, Harry continued slowly, in a trance-like state making up the best substitute possible off the top of his head. "Cedric was two years older than me, so his fumbling gave me the perfect chance to get ahead of him. I thought about it too… leaving him hanging there however high above the ground we were, I would have won. I ended up shuffling down to help him."

Tony slowly removed the spatula Harry had been holding in his right hand and only then did Harry notice the tremble running through it. The trembling lessened when he squeezed his fist but didn't stop completely. It wouldn't stop until Harry finished his half-true story.

"W-we reached the t-top together," the teen stuttered, "and he told me to go in first. I guess it made sense because if I hadn't gone back for him,I would have gotten there first. B–but I, erm, I ended up climbing too far to the side of the window to get a good grasp of the ledge, so I told him to go and I'd race him when I got in. The ledge, though… as soon as he put all of his weight onto it, it crumbled and he fell. One minute we were talking about what a crazy event it was and next… he was gone… and I killed him."

"Whoa, kid, hold it there. You didn't push him, right?" Harry shook his head no, even if he still blamed himself for urging Cedric to take the cup… to take the ledge. "You didn't force him into this competition, right? To take the dare?" Another shake of his head. "Ok, then, you did nothing to him. This boy–Cedric–was older than you, he knew the risk of climbing the outside of a building. For the record, it's not the brightest idea for either of you… unsupervised teenage boys really don't make the best decisions… but you didn't push him or coerce him to climb it. This isn't on you."

"It should have been me," Harry argued, getting louder as he spoke. "I got to the ledge first, so I should have been the one on it. He'd still be alive if I hadn't told him to go first."

"Shit," Tony whispered and then mumbled something under his breath about survivor's guilt and Rogers being right. He released a loud exhale and surprised Harry by asking, "So, what about the scars on your arms?"

"Uh." Frowning, Harry lifted his sleeves again. He pointed to the Basilisk scar. "This one is from a snake bite. It was kind of my fault. I went after it. The other one I got when Cedric died."

"Do you mean you got it from climbing down the wall?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded too quickly, averting his gaze anywhere besides Tony's, "from the wall."

"It healed fast." Tony's finger trailed down the long scar. Harry couldn't feel the touch of his fingertips following the same path as the dagger had a month ago. Another permanent change in him from the night. "Thank you for telling me the truth. Watching a classmate–a friend–die is a traumatic event without being involved. That your school did nothing… you know what, forget it. Now that I know what's going on, there are things we can do to at least curb the nightmares."

"Thanks," Harry said, as guilt swelled up inside of him at the genuine relief in Tony's words. He truly believed Harry had poured out his demons when, in reality, he'd hardly scratched the surface, and what he had told the man had been a complete lie; aside from Cedric dying and Harry's active role in it.

The beeping of the scone timer reset the atmosphere in the kitchen by reminding them they hadn't finished making breakfast yet. Harry didn't argue when Tony insisted on trying a scone while they were warm and fresh, and the smile from Tony's moan of approval motivated him all the way through the rest of the cooking.

Pepper woke up right as Harry took the last sausage out of the pan and Tony finished setting the table. Opposite to the pajamas she wore a few hours ago in Harry's bedroom, Pepper was dressed in the same outfit she wore the first day Harry arrived at the Tower, and she carried herself just as tall and confident as she had then. Much to Tony's feigned chagrin, she complimented Harry on the amazing breakfast; a bit of an exaggeration if anyone asked Harry, but after years of preparing breakfast for his ungrateful relatives, he basked in the praise.

Sitting between Tony and Pepper at the table eating breakfast felt so normal, like he was actually part of a family. Tony told Pepper he planned on having a slow morning, prompting Pepper to reschedule two meetings, and he invited Harry to the lab for the afternoon. Although Harry felt overwhelmed next to his father in his element, specifically whenever he was building something, he agreed. Tony must have felt similarly while they were cooking breakfast, yet besides his comment about getting food from the SI kitchen, he didn't complain once. In fact, he actively listened to Harry walk him through making pancakes — how to measure the dry versus wet ingredients, the benefits of lumpy batter, and adding the banana chunks on the flip instead of at the start — as if Harry's instructions held the meaning of life.

He was trying to get to know me.

The thought of Tony — someone best known for his boisterous, strong, and selfish personality — stepping so far outside of his comfort zone almost made Harry forget the nightmare and lying to Tony about Cedric's death.

"Sir," JARVIS interrupted Tony's explanation of the latest communication system he was working on for the team, "Director Fury is requesting access to your floor."

"Tell him he can go fu–"

"Tony!" Pepper scolded, shifting her eyes between Harry and Tony.

"Fine," Tony pouted and took a slow sip of his coffee intentionally delaying his response to JARVIS. "Tell him… Tell him to meet me in the briefing room upstairs. Tell him to get comfortable, too, I'm feeling a little sluggish this morning."

Suddenly, the door to the corridor swung open.

"No need to get yourself fancied up for me, Stark." A man looking scarily like Mad-Eye Moody, from his black leather coat and boots to his eye patch, stomped into the kitchen. Grabbing a scone from the plate on the breakfast bar, he took a bite and said, "Now isn't this the most domestic scene I've ever seen. Never took you for a family man, Stark, yet here you are. And if I hadn't seen it with my own eye, I'm not sure I'd believe it."

"You are a few floors short from where the vermin stay," Tony snapped, casually standing to place himself between Harry and the new Mystery Man. "What happened to requesting access? Clearly, someone needs to get you a dictionary. How did you get up here? Actually, scratch that, I don't care, you just need to leave. I'll meet you upstairs when my official office hours begin, which today is–" he pretended to examine his watch, "–sometime between one and four. Why are you here? Cap already sent you the boring details of the wasted mission in Morocco."

The man, Harry assumed the Director Fury guy JARVIS mentioned, completely ignored Tony in favor of leaning around him to nod his head at Harry as he casually made Harry's world come crashing down in a single sentence, "You know? If I squint, I can sort of see why you chose not to notify us about your offspring appearing out of nowhere–as if we didn't already know–but I kind of thought having the Wizarding Jesus as a son might at least trigger an email."

Here we go! There's no hiding it now.

After all the guesses of it being Hedwig at the window, you have no idea how badly I wanted to add her in. Hedwig is a hard character to keep up with (like remembering Harry's glasses despite me wearing glasses my whole life) and I really don't like the idea of me forgetting to have Harry feed her or him accidentally keeping her locked up, so we won't see her until near the end of the story.