Note: I took some liberties in this chapter with Tony's background. It's just a little add-on that doesn't really impact the plots/storyline all that much. Thank you to everyone reading/subscribing/commenting! Enjoy :)
Harry knew nothing about cars, something Tony quickly promised they'd fix during their summer together. Harry couldn't even remember the car Uncle Vernon drove despite the endless boring hours he'd spent staring at the logo on the bloody steering wheel whenever the Dursleys left him in the car to do their shopping "in peace". Tony Stark, on the other hand, obviously loved cars. Fast cars, luxurious cars, foreign cars, it didn't seem to matter what type, the man could name the brand and year of almost any car, as well as rattle off a list of stats and engine types. But Harry didn't need to know a single thing about cars, hot rods, or any other vehicle to know that all of Tony's cars — or at least the half-dozen he saw in the garage on their way to the black Audi waiting for them where Happy stood beside open the rear driver's door — were luxurious and very expensive; two qualities that made Harry nervous as he stepped carefully into the back seat.
"Where to, Boss?" Happy asked from the driver's seat once Tony unexpectedly slid into the rear passenger seat next to Harry. It left Harry feeling more claustrophobic than sharing the back with Dudley, and no one in the front with Happy.
Clicking away on his phone, Tony never looked up as he answered, "I scheduled an appointment with Suzanne. Figured we'd knock out the clothing and bedroom stuff first. They'll be discreet and, with any luck, it'll be a one stop shop for everything Harry needs."
Harry looked down at his clothing choices for the day, more embarrassed than anything about his options. Except for his torn up shoes, under any other circumstances the new loose-fitting blue jeans — Pepper must have underestimated how below average Harry was compared to a typical British fifteen-year-old — Harry picked with his better quality dark red t-shirt would have been perfect for a casual day in New York City. After putting on the black Stark Industries ball cap and the pair of dark sunglasses designed to fit over his glasses, which Tony gave him on their way out the door, Harry actually thought he looked pretty decent. However, when he compared himself to Tony and Happy, he felt wildly underdressed. Happy wore clothes almost identical to yesterday, an all-black suit with a simple white shirt, just as a driver or bodyguard would wear in any movie, and given the type of vehicle they were sitting in, it made sense. Tony had swapped his casual morning clothing for a crisp suit that Harry estimated cost more than all of Harry's belongings put together. He didn't think he'd ever be comfortable in his father's world.
"Then we're going to Josephine's for lunch," Tony went on. To Happy or Harry? Harry did not know, and Tony didn't seem to care. "She's expecting us around one-thirty and for Josephine, I'd actually like to be in the ballpark of that time. On our way home from lunch, we'll grab some groceries. Just enough to get us through the weekend until I can come up with a better plan. I might be a bit late for the team's debriefing, but they can wait for me. Trust me, none of us want to meet before they've gotten cleaned up, anyway."
An awkward silence passed between the three people in the car, with Tony's constant clicking of the keys on his phone and the traffic — oddly quieter than Harry would have guessed — the only sounds to break it up. When the silence became too much, and thinking maybe Tony was waiting for Harry to weigh in on their plans, Harry said, "Erm, I don't think shopping should take that long. I have enough clothes to get through the summer, especially if I do the washing every few days. And then my school uses uniforms. You can't buy those from a regular store, but most of mine from last year still fit."
At best, both of Harry's arguments stretched the truth; at worst, they were outright lies. In reality, while a few of Dudley's shirts were decent so long as he didn't leave their floor, none of his jeans were acceptable. It left him with the two from Pepper, both a touch too big in the waist and length but nothing a belt and rolled up cuffs couldn't fix, and one decent pair from Ron. His shirts were looking better. He bought a few muggle style t-shirts from Diagon Alley last summer, and they were in good condition and fit. School would be a whole different obstacle to tackle. For starters, all of his school things were still at Privet Drive, and Uncle Vernon had most likely burned everything when they discovered he had left. So, other than the few books he brought with him and his wand, he'd have to get creative in replacing everything. A problem for another day.
Harry's response must have caught only off guard. His head snapped up from his phone, surprised, and just stared at Harry, slowly putting together who he'd actually been talking to.
"Oh shit," Tony exclaimed, his brows knitted together in confusion. "Did I just information-dump on you? You see, I do that sometimes. I'll get in the zone as I'm typing and forget I'm not talking to Pepper. And I shouldn't even be dealing with any of this anyway while I'm here." He shook his phone in front of Harry, making a big show of him sleeping it into his pocket. "Gone. No more distractions. I promise, only Pepper calls for the rest of the day.
"It's fine. I don't mind."
Harry, of course, had become used to the Dursleys ignoring him throughout the summer, he actually meant what he said. One year, they went four days without saying a single word to him, relying instead on snapping and pointing to get his attention. Just in case it was supposed to be a punishment, Harry never mentioned how wonderful those four quiet days were. So, no, Harry didn't care if Tony needed to work here or there. At least was present and hadn't kicked Harry out. Besides, based on what he'd seen of the company and in Tony's private workshop, Harry saw how essential his new father was to his business and to the United States government — both of which were more important than Harry. He also had the feeling Tony looked for excuses to ignore phone calls he didn't want to take, and Harry wouldn't mind him using their day out as that excuse.
"But, that means you too, though," Tony added, shaking a finger at Harry. "Phone off."
"Erm…" Harry's face heated up. How could he admit to the tech genius he landed with as a father that he doesn't have a phone?
Misinterpreting Harry's hesitation, Tony lifted his eyebrows and asked, "Waiting on a girl to call?"
"No!"
His hands lifted in innocence. "A boy? That's totally cool too."
"No, that's not what I meant. There's no girl… or boy," Harry stammered. He wanted to stay far away from the topic of his dating life, or lack thereof. "It's that… erm… I don't… I don't have a phone."
"What?" Tony snapped at him. "What do you mean you don't have a phone? You go to a boarding school hundreds of miles from home and you don't have a phone? How do you contact anyone at home? Email from a computer? That's inconvenient."
Harry almost laughed at the irony. He'd known his father a whole day, and he already thought about Harry contacting home, whereas his relatives were perfectly fine never hearing from him during the school year. It was an oddly good problem to face for once.
"I just don't have one," Harry answered. "I write letters if I need to contact anyone."
"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that." Tony gave his head a small shake in disbelief as he pulled his phone out one more time and began typing. "Last message, I promise… there… you'll have the latest StarkPhone waiting for you by the time we get home. It's a US phone number, but you'll be able to call out internationally if any of your friends back in England have a phone."
"Some do and some don't," Harry said, confident that Hermione had a mobile, or at least a landline. Ron didn't even have a landline so he definitely wouldn't have one. Not that he could contact either of them under the current circumstances.
Maybe someday.
As they drove on, Harry listened to Tony point out all the interesting sites from behind the tinted car window. They drove by Rockefeller Center, Times Square, a collection of museums and theaters that Harry probably would never remember, and Central Park, which surprised him to see such a vast green space surrounded by concrete. Having never left the United Kingdom, known for its quaint villages, peaceful cobblestone streets, and hundreds of years old historic buildings, Harry gazed up at the skyscrapers of Manhattan with the same awe as he had on his first trip to Diagon Alley. In New York, technology replaced magic in so many ways. The billboards and signs he saw in Times Square advertising the latest movies or foods moved in a similar — and some might argue better — manner as the displays in the windows of Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Alley showing off the latest brooms and practice Snitches. And while New York City's streets were congested with people and cars at every turn, at eleven years old, Diagon Alley felt just as crowded and loud; likely because of the narrow streets, outdoor market stands, and swarms of students gathering school supplies at the limited shops available.
Unlike the morning's superhero stories, where Tony and Rhodey were one-upping the other over their abilities, Tony didn't bring up anything about the attack on New York or the wormhole he flew the bomb into. Harry had watched the footage of the battle, the wormhole opening up over the very Tower he now lived in, and the damage that followed. He knew it had happened in his backyard, and was curious about what had been destroyed, but Tony never mentioned "that was where…" used to be, and somehow Harry knew better than to mention it.
Just Like everything else Harry was discovering about life with Tony Stark, shopping ended up being a lot more complicated than it really needed to be. To start, the whole place had been closed when they arrived and only opened after Tony made a call to say they were waiting in the Audi outside. Then, entering the department store was like going through a portal to another world. The whole multi-floor store was completely empty, with only a handful of employees left restocking the shelves, the older woman named Suzanne who reminded Harry of McGonagall with her stern face and gray bun topped high upon her head, and Suzanne's assistant Claire, a younger woman there to help make suggestions to keep Harry's new wardrobe "simple and fresh" for a soon-to-be British fifteen-year-old new to Manhattan. Tony introduced him to them as James — he figured it was after Rhodey, but the reminder of Tony finding out about James Potter made Harry's hands sweaty — and he didn't say anything else about why Harry was there or why he needed as many clothes as Tony apparently planned to buy him, and the two women assisting them never asked.
Next came the actual shopping part. In Harry's mind, they were going to grab a few pairs of jeans and trousers from the men's department, and maybe another set or two of pajamas and a bag of socks and pants, and then be on their way. But, no. Suzanne began with taking Harry's measurements, a process a lot like Madam Malkin did for his first Hogwarts robes; however, without a magical measuring tape her hands ended up in places Harry would rather they didn't. With his measurements in hand, they walked the whole store, where Tony told Harry to try on whatever he picked, and he defined "pick" as anything Harry's hand touched, even if accidentally.
In the end, it took way longer than Harry expected to pick out clothes, but once he got over the awkwardness of the situation, he had a little fun with it. For every three outfits they settled on, Tony would toss in some ridiculously absurd piece that neither of them would ever be caught dead wearing; a hideous pea green button-down shirt covered in bright yellow and orange circles or a pair of skin-tight trousers that matched Harry's skin tone so perfectly he might as well have been naked from the waist down. With each one worse than the last, they fell into fits of laughter, especially before Suzanne and Claire caught onto their jokes and were struggling to politely tell Tony Stark how horrible his suggestions were.
Things were going great until Harry tried on his last pair of trousers, which Tony added at the last minute to "make sure we got it all". He turned around on the small platform in front of the three-part mirror to give himself, Tony, and their two personal shoppers a good view of the well-fitted chinos when Suzanne lifted the new Polo shirt a little too high to check the waistband — muttering something about needing a belt — revealing a half-healed bruise; one of three Madam Pomfrey had missed during his stay in the hospital wing following the tournament. Unfortunately, didn't pull the shirt down fast enough to conceal the yellowing mark on his ribs from Tony's keen eye.
"Woah, hold it," Tony exclaimed, springing out of his chair in the corner to study the mark. Without thinking, Tony grabbed the corner of the shirt right out of Suzanne's unsuspecting grasp and pulled it higher.- His other hand floated above the bruise as if he suddenly decided at the last second not to touch it. "Uh, what happened here?"
Harry, infuriated by his newfound lack of privacy, tugged the shirt down and fled to the dressing room to change back into his clothes. He tried to sound casual as he yelled over the door, "It's nothing. You really don't need to make a big deal about it."
"Don't make a big…" Tony spoke, then asked Suzanne and Claire to give him a moment, assuring them he'd be out in a minute to finish the purchase. Once the door to the dressing area closed, Tony — sounding like he was just outside Harry's dressing room door — said, "Sure doesn't look like nothing, kid. Is that from… was it football you said you played?"
Desperate for the conversation to end as quickly as possible, Harry gave a half-hearted, "Yeah, it's from football."
"Or did you say rugby?"
Shit. Harry's stomach dropped. He had used rugby to cover up his Cruciatus tremors, hadn't he?
"Both. This one is from a football tournament at school. I won," Harry answered, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. "The rugby thing was last week in Surrey."
Halfway through putting on his shirt, Harry stopped to check out the injury. He didn't blame Madam Pomfrey. With everything going on — Cedric's death, Harry's bleeding arm from Pettigrew's knife, healing Fleur's and Krum's many injuries, the Minister issuing the Dementor's Kiss to Crouch Jr — she really had done her best, even if she didn't catch that the salve hadn't fully healed the bruise below his rib cage after fixing his ribs. Now, the faded yellow looked way worse than it actually felt, and Harry had almost forgotten about it. But when he pressed on the spot, it still made him wince.
"At school?" Tony confirmed as Harry swung open the dressing room door, holding his chinos and Polo shirt over one arm and his old shoes hooked in the fingers of his other. "A football… or I guess it's soccer here… tournament you won at school?"
Harry nodded, but he could tell Tony wasn't buying it; he saw the concern in Tony's brown eyes, which he had only seen in an adult once when Mrs. Weasley visited him in the hospital wing the night he got the bruise. However, Tony did not call him out on his lie. He simply grabbed the clothing from Harry's arms and motioned for Harry to sit on the bench and put on his shoes while he took care of everything else.
As he waited by the exit for Tony to finish up, Harry's guilt over lying to Tony grew. Having practically raised himself, no one had ever paid attention to his "adventures" — if one considered his accidental entry into a deadly tournament to resurrect an evil wizard an adventure — so it took some time for him to recognize his shame. But once he did, he considered telling Tony everything; about magic, the many times Voldemort tried to kill him, life at the Dursleys, and how he was hiding from his imminent death… because Harry had zero confidence in his ability to defeat Voldemort and survive the experience in the end.
"All set, bambino?" Tony asked, wrapping his arm around Harry's shoulders and leading him out to the waiting car. If Tony held any animosity towards Harry, he hid it well. "We don't want to be late for the best lunch in Manhattan."
"And where exactly is that?"
Tony opened the back passenger door so that Harry could get in before him. "Josephine's place, of course."
Josephine wasn't the name of the restaurant, as Harry originally assumed, but the name of the owner of a little Italian restaurant a short drive from the department store, appropriately called Little Italy. Judging by the hours posted on the door, they weren't open for lunch on weekdays, yet the door was unlocked and a small jingle from the bell above them announced their arrival. Josephine, a small woman in her seventies, greeted Tony with her arms wide open, saying something in Italian to him. Tony, much to Harry's surprise, happily walked right into her hug and answered whatever she'd said to him in flawless Italian; right down to the accent. Not sure what he was supposed to do while they talked, Harry stepped half a step to the right to position himself squarely behind Tony, out of Josephine's view.
Unfortunately, it didn't save him from whatever reunion was taking place, and if anything, it drew more attention to his presence.
"This is Harry?" Although she addressed the question to Tony, she not-so-kindly shoved him out of the way so she could see Harry. Then, without waiting for an answer, she clutched her hands to her chest and squealed, "Oh, he has Maria's eyes. Not the color, obviously, but the shape is entirely her's."
"Yeah, I thought so too." Tony's expression softened as his gaze skimmed Harry's face. Proudly, he waved Harry forward. "Harry, this is Josephine, my mother's… your grandmother's… favorite cousin and my Godmother. Her family owns Little Italy."
In all the chaos of the last few days, Harry had never considered the possibility of having an extended family through this biological father, and the obvious joy his presence brought this woman, who was virtually a stranger to him, made him ashamed for not realizing it. He'd read about Tony's parents dying in a car accident — a real one this time. With no siblings, Tony had taken over the family company at a young age and settled into a very solo bachelor lifestyle, painting the image of living a life as far from a family man as one could get. Throughout all of his research, Harry had read nothing, nor really cared much, about Howard, Maria, or their families.
"It's nice to meet you, ma'am," Harry politely said, triggering her to pull him into a hug rivaling any of Mrs. Weasley's.
Josephine jumped right into oohing and ahhing at Harry's British accent, which Tony had already warned Harry to get used hearing now that he lived in the States, identified every one of Harry's features he got from Tony's side of the family — his dark messy hair, sharp jawline, medium height and stature, everything Harry had grown up believing he'd gotten from James Potter — and finally led them to the only table that didn't have chairs stacked on top of it. The four-person table in the corner, partially hidden from the front window, had a red and white checkered faux leather tablecloth with two sets of plain white plates sat across from each other. Tony took the seat facing the front of the building, looking almost comically out of place in his pressed suit in the extremely casual atmosphere, especially when he unrolled his set of utensils to place the paper napkin across his leg. Sitting across from Tony meant Harry had to sit with his back to the front door, but at least Josephine chose the chair on Tony's side of the table so Harry didn't feel boxed in.
Josephine hung around to catch up with Tony about the family he was no longer in touch with and to ask Harry a few friendly questions to get to know him better — things like how old he was, about his mother, and what he thought about New York compared to where he grew up. Harry couldn't help but laugh at the last one. Comparing New York City to Little Whinging was like muggle London compared to Hogwarts; they're literally and figuratively worlds apart. The more Harry talked to Josephine, the more relaxed he felt and understood why Tony liked her so much. She was easy to talk to, had an infectious laugh that went along with her kind eyes, and listened to everything he said like he was the most important thing at the moment.
Even though they never placed an order, their lunch arrived — a variety of Italian dishes all smelling amazing — and Josephine gave them some space to enjoy it. But in the face of their new privacy, Harry appeared to have lost his appetite, instead just poking at his plate with his fork.
"You could have given me a heads up we'd be visiting family," Harry said, finally taking a bite of the warm roll. The fluffy buttery garlic bite melted in his mouth, unlike anything he'd ever gotten from the Dursleys or the Hogwarts' kitchen. "I would have been better prepared… better dressed."
"She doesn't mind."
"But I do," Harry argued. "The only experience I have of meeting family was my uncle's sister and let's just say that was always going to be hopeless. Maybe I wanted to make sure I made a good impression this time around."
Tony took a long sip of his sparkling water, and for a split second Harry feared he'd be dismissed.
"You're right." Harry nearly choked on his own soda, taken aback by Tony's admission and respectful tone. "I should have at least warned you that Josephine is a relative and ultimately asked your opinion on it. I mentioned I have an impulse problem, right?"
Harry chuckled. "Yeah, you might have mentioned it once or twice."
"Just keep that in mind over these next few weeks," Tony said. He took a bite of his pasta and when Harry thought that was the end, he added, "See, Josephine took Mom's death almost as hard as I did. As my Godmother, she constantly harped on me about settling down, almost as much as Dad did… though she'd never admit to agreeing with him on anything. All she wanted was to see me happy, and while I thought I was happy at the time, looking back, it was more of a… misguided happiness. Needless to say, when Pepper and I got together… God, she was ecstatic, and now getting to meet you… my son… I wanted to see her smile like that again, particularly after the rough few years she's had."
"I don't care!" Harry was all set to release his frustration over every adult making decisions for him, but he hesitated when he thought about meeting Bill and Charlie at The Burrow last summer. Almost every night, Mrs. Weasley would casually bring up the topic of any girlfriends they might have on the horizon. Mrs. Weasley never got a solid answer from either of them. Was this another family thing that felt unfamiliar to Harry since he never really had a family? "Alright," he finally said, after his anger faded away. "I understand. Just… let me know next time, ok?"
"You got it. I'll make sure you're well aware of any future visits. Prometto." Tony crossed his finger over his heart. "That means I promise in Italian."
During lunch, Harry found out that, besides Italian, Tony was also fluent in French and Spanish. He was pretty good in German and Mandarin too, and was just picking up Thai and Tagalog. Just like with the cars, he swore he'd teach Harry Italian, even if it was the last thing he did because Maria would definitely come back to haunt him if he didn't teach her grandson their language. Harry also learned about Maria and Josephine growing up together and how they stayed close even after a feud ripped Josephine's family limbs away from the Carbonell family tree — something neither girl was really involved in, more victims of the situation than anything. Therefore, Maria picking someone from her forbidden family to be Tony's Godmother was definitely a bold choice. Harry was certain his Grandmother did it out of spite for her family, a fact Harry found admirable. By the end of the history lesson, Harry felt crazy for worrying about the Sorting Hat placing him in Slytherin considering his whole family were true Gryffindors… and perhaps a touch of Hufflepuff with a bit of — mainly Tony — Ravenclaw.
"Alright, kid, I've got to ask," Tony said. Having paid their bill and said their goodbyes and thank you's to Josephine, Harry thought they were going to head out, but Tony just stayed put, resting his clasped hands on the table. "It's been on my mind, and we both know I don't do subtle any better than I resist my impulses. Hell, until last year, I had my name plastered on the side of the Tower for crying out loud. So, I'm just going to call it as I see it, and I need you to be honest with me."
No matter what angle Harry tried to spin it in his head, nothing about that statement sounded good at all and he wanted nothing more than to run out the exit, find Happy, and meet Tony back at the Tower.
"O-ok," he said, pretending he wasn't terrified by what might come out of Tony's questioning. "I'll try."
"Guess it's the best I can ask for." Tony took a deep breath, looked Harry in the eye, and said, "Your aunt and uncle aren't dead."
Surprised by the statement, not a question, Harry quickly replied, "I never said they were."
"No. No, you didn't. You get that… evasiveness… from me too." Tony's head shook with a small, almost proud grin. "Then tell me why didn't they accompany you here. Why did your professor… Lily's childhood friend, I understand that part of it… bring you instead? On that note, how the hell did he get you out of the country with no issues whatsoever? I didn't find any temporary custody papers under his name and you are definitely a minor. It's possible they hadn't processed through the system yet, but something seems off about this. Did he help you run away?"
Uncomfortable with how close Tony was to the truth on the last question, and not wanting to outright lie more than he had to, Harry opted to ignore it; it hadn't seemed like a serious one, anyway. Of course, Harry also wasn't naïve enough to believe he could distract someone like Tony Stark with smoke and mirrors. If he really wanted to sell his story, and if believed Snape and Sirius, then his life literally depended on it, he'd have to shed light on a few, very specific, shadows.
"My aunt and uncle never liked me."
To help sell this as his deep dark secret, Harry swiftly shifted his eyes up and down, feigning shame. Far from embarrassed, confessing the truth about his relatives out loud actually lifted a heavy burden off his shoulders he hadn't realized he'd been carrying for all these years. The Dursleys didn't simply "not like him", they detested him, but he didn't have to go that far to convince Tony, whose hands were now clenched in fists on the table, tightening and relaxing in time with his flaring nostrils, attempting to keep himself under control.
"Did they hurt you?"
Harry's heart rate sped up, and he felt the thumping in his neck. How could he respond honestly when hurt had such a broad definition? Yes, they had hit him. How else would he have learned to stay out of their reach or run away so quickly? And Tony might consider the work they forced him to do for hours on end as "hurting him". However, nothing they physically did to him hurt him as much as being forced to live in the cupboard under the stairs or the horrible things they called him over the years. It took seeing how Mr. and Mrs. Weasley interacted with their children for Harry to realize how wrong his childhood had been, and he had long given up wishing for a family like Ron's, making this conversation with Tony even more sensitive.
"They didn't cause those bruises," Harry said, choosing his words carefully. "I promise those came from the tournament at school."
"You see?" Tony shook a finger at him as he grimaced. "That's not what I asked. Did they ever hit you?"
"Not really." The answers seemed innocent enough until he remembered the school reports from his primary school teachers and nurse had filed. Tony had probably found them, or if not he certainly had the means to find them. "Ok, maybe a bit when I was little, but nothing recent–"
"Harry…"
"It doesn't matter anymore." Harry stared at his hands as he said, "I live here now. What difference will it make?"
"I can have them arrested for child abuse for one, make sure they'll live the foreseeable future in prison."
Harry scowled. "It won't change what happened. You'll just feel better about not being there to stop it." The words left his mouth long before his brain could stop them. "I didn't mean… I'm sorry-"
"Don't apologize for the truth, Harry," Tony interrupted, firmly. "Would I feel better if they were held accountable for their actions? Absolutely. And we can cross that bridge later. For now, I gotta know the story behind your aunt. What happened there last week?"
If he had to lie, Harry learned the best type was based on a kernel of the truth. It certainly wasn't difficult for him to picture Aunt Petunia's reaction to discovering Harry had someone else to live with, so that's where he started. "I don't know how they did it… legally and stuff… you'd have to ask one of them. I just know that when my aunt found out about you, she was more than happy to get rid of me. Make me your problem, I guess."
"My problem? God. She didn't check… or…." Tony muttered more to himself than to Harry as he scrubbed his hand down his face. "Fine. We'll… ah…" Like a flip of a switch, he pulled himself together and tilted his head towards the door. "You know what, let's get home."
Still a little anxious, Harry trailed behind Tony as they hopped into the car, which was once again perfectly timed waiting for them. It turned out they didn't need to stop by the store because Happy had already picked up the groceries Tony ordered before they left that morning. It was a good thing, too, since the traffic had grown so bad it took them forever to finally pull into the Tower garage. They took a detour to Happy's office on the fifth floor to sort out Harry's new security access and then gave it a test run in their private lift on the way home. Home. Harry had always reserved that word just for Hogwarts, but the Tower and his life with Tony were quickly catching up.
For the second time that day, they put aside their tension, and they fell into hysterical laughter over one of the ridiculous outfits Suzanne had tried to persuade Tony to buy for himself; one far wilder than anything Tony admitted to owning even in his craziest of clothing years. If Harry could hit the pause button on time, he would have frozen it right there in the lift, just as they were heading up to the penthouse, before stepping through their door and into Pepper's furious red face coming at them.
She shoved her StarkTablet into Tony's unsuspecting hands, nearly making him drop it, and sounding more exasperated than angry, asked, "Tony, what did you do?"
Trying to match Tony's cool demeanor, Harry leaned in and caught a glimpse of what made Pepper so upset. His face paled when he saw a picture of himself and Tony at the department store. Images of Snape looking more enraged than ever — even more than the time he thought Harry had stolen from him — danced across Harry's eyes. This was not good at all.