Harry had spent his entire life believing he was alone. He had accepted it, learned to live with it.
His parents had died protecting him, and he had fought and bled to honor their sacrifice. He had learned to carry the weight of the wizarding world on his shoulders, the burden of being the Chosen One, the Boy-Who-Lived, and later, the Master of Death.
But now, as he sat in Grimmauld Place with the small Stark Tech device in his hand, his reality had changed.
He had a father.
A living, breathing, real father.
Not a memory. Not a whisper in a mirror. Not a shadow in a photograph.
Tony Stark was out there. And he had been looking for him for seventeen years.
Harry's hands clenched around the device as emotions warred within him. A part of him wanted to be angry—angry at Dumbledore for stealing his chance at a family, angry at the world for keeping this from him. But another part of him, the part that had spent too many nights staring at the ceiling, wondering what it would have been like to have a father, was simply… tired.
Hope was dangerous. It had burned him before.
But he had never been a coward.
"J.A.R.V.I.S.," Harry said, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. "Connect me to Tony Stark."
There was a brief pause before the AI's voice responded smoothly.
"Initiating direct communication with Mr. Stark. Please hold."
Harry exhaled slowly. His magic pulsed beneath his skin, a steady reminder of how much he had changed. He wasn't the same boy who had once trembled in fear before fate's cruel hand. He was powerful. Strong. Ready.
And then, the device flickered to life, and a holographic screen appeared before him.
A face filled the projection—one Harry had seen countless times on the covers of Muggle magazines, on television screens during his brief forays into the non-magical world.
Tony Stark.
But this wasn't the billionaire playboy that the world knew.
The man staring at him had tired eyes, dark circles hinting at long, restless nights. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his gaze—a sharp intensity, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Harry met his stare, his heart hammering in his chest.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence.
Then Tony let out a breath, almost a laugh, but it wasn't amusement. It was disbelief.
"Holy hell," Tony whispered. His brown eyes flickered over Harry's face, scanning, assessing. "You're real."
Harry swallowed. "I guess I am."
Tony ran a hand through his hair, muttering something under his breath before shaking his head. "I—I don't even know what to say. J.A.R.V.I.S. told me there was a chance, but…" He exhaled sharply. "You have no idea how long I've been looking for you."
Seventeen years.
Harry already knew the answer.
"I read your letter," Harry said quietly. "About my mother. About what Dumbledore did."
At the mention of the name, Tony's entire demeanor shifted. His expression hardened, his jaw tightening.
"That old bastard," Tony muttered. "I knew he was hiding something from me, but I never thought—" He stopped, shaking his head. "He took you from me."
Harry's throat felt tight. "Yeah," he admitted. "He did."
More silence. But this time, it wasn't empty. It was full of unspoken words, of years stolen from both of them.
Then Tony sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "I don't—Look, kid, I'm not exactly great at this kind of thing." He gestured vaguely. "The whole dad thing. But I wanted to be. I would have been."
Harry nodded. "I believe you." And he did. There was no hesitation, no forced sentiment. Just truth.
Tony seemed to deflate slightly at that, something unreadable flickering across his face. "You—you look like her, you know. Lily."
Harry's heart clenched. He had heard those words before. But this time, they meant something different.
"Yeah?" he asked, his voice quieter.
"Yeah," Tony said, his voice softer than before. "But the eyes? Those are all me."
Harry had known that. He had spent too many years being told he had his mother's eyes. But now, looking at Tony, he realized—Lily's green had never been his. They were Tony's.
A lump formed in his throat.
"I don't even know where to start," Harry admitted.
Tony let out a breathless laugh. "Join the club, kid."
Another pause.
Then Tony straightened. "Where are you?"
"London."
"Right. Okay." Tony clapped his hands together. "Then I'm coming to you."
Harry blinked. "Wait—what?"
"You think I'm just going to have this conversation over a screen?" Tony scoffed. "Hell no. You're my son, and I'm coming to see you. Like, now."
Harry hesitated. He had expected this to go differently. Maybe a longer conversation, more time to process. But at the same time, wasn't this exactly what he wanted?
"You sure?" Harry asked.
Tony gave him a look. "Seventeen years, kid. Seventeen years of missing everything. First words, first steps, first time you kicked someone's ass—I assume you've done that by now."
Harry snorted despite himself. "Yeah, a few times."
"Good. Stark blood right there," Tony said with a smirk. Then his expression softened. "Point is, I missed all of it. And I'm not missing another damn second."
Harry swallowed against the unexpected emotion rising in his chest.
"Okay," he said. "Come to London."
Tony grinned. "Damn right."
And just like that, everything changed.
Harry paced the length of Grimmauld Place, his magic thrumming beneath his skin.
In a few hours, Tony Stark would be here.
His father.
He had no idea what to expect. Would it be awkward? Would Tony regret this? Would he?
But no—he wouldn't. He wanted this. And from what he had seen, so did Tony.
The crack of apparition suddenly echoed through the house. Harry spun around, his wand raised instinctively, only to freeze.
Tony Stark stood in his living room.
No holograms. No screens.
Just him.
And for the first time in his life, Harry Potter—no, Harry Stark—wasn't alone.