**Tony Stark's Malibu Mansion - Front Grounds - 8:23 PM PST**
The tension crackling across Tony's perfectly manicured front lawn was thick enough to power a small arc reactor. Two groups of uninvited guests faced each other with the kind of barely contained hostility usually reserved for nuclear standoffs or particularly contentious board meetings.
President Seraphina Picquery moved across the grass like a lioness stalking prey, her burgundy coat flowing behind her with liquid grace that made every step look like a carefully choreographed power move. Her dark eyes gleamed with the kind of predatory intelligence that had toppled governments and rebuilt them stronger, while her perfectly manicured fingers drummed against her thigh with the rhythm of someone calculating exactly how many different ways this situation could go catastrophically wrong.
"Well, well, well," she purred, her voice carrying enough velvet-wrapped steel to make dictators reconsider their career choices. "If it isn't the British Magical Establishment, gracing us with their presence on American soil. How absolutely... presumptuous."
Behind her, Percival Graves stood with the relaxed posture of a man who'd survived three goblin rebellions and a vampire uprising, his weathered face set in lines of professional irritation. His steel-gray eyes swept the British delegation with the kind of tactical assessment that had kept him alive through decades of magical law enforcement, while his right hand rested casually near his wand holster with practiced readiness.
"Yeah, ain't this just perfect," he growled, his Brooklyn accent thick enough to spread on a bagel. "Nothing says 'diplomatic relations' like foreign wizards popping up on private property without so much as a courtesy owl. Real classy, Dumbledore. Your mother teach you manners, or did you skip that class at fancy boy wizard school?"
Across from them, Albus Dumbledore stood with the kind of theatrical dignity that suggested he'd practiced his poses in front of enchanted mirrors, his magnificent beard catching the evening light like spun silver. His blue eyes twinkled with what might have been genuine amusement or carefully calculated manipulation—with Dumbledore, the distinction was often academic.
"My dear Percival," he said, his voice carrying the rich theatrical tones of someone who'd spent decades delivering profound pronouncements to captive audiences, "surely we can conduct this discussion with appropriate civility. After all, we're all here for the same reason—the welfare of young Harry Potter."
"Harry Potter-Stark," Picquery corrected with silky menace, taking another predatory step forward. "American citizen, legal resident, under the protection of American magical law. But please, do continue with your little speech about welfare, Professor. I'm fascinated by the British definition of 'child welfare'—apparently it involves abandoning infants to abusive relatives and then losing track of them entirely."
Professor McGonagall's spine went rigid as a steel rod, her thin lips compressing into a line that could have been used to perform precision surgery. Her emerald robes rustled with barely contained indignation as she fixed Picquery with the kind of withering stare that had reduced centuries of Hogwarts students to quivering puddles of regret.
"Madam President," she said, her Scottish accent growing sharper with each precisely enunciated word, "I hardly think it's appropriate for foreign officials to make inflammatory statements about matters they don't fully understand. Harry Potter was placed with his closest living relatives under carefully constructed magical protections designed by some of Britain's most skilled—"
"Yeah, how'd that work out for ya, sweetheart?" Graves interrupted with all the subtlety of a charging rhino. "Kid ends up in a London orphanage because his 'closest living relatives' decided magic was too much trouble for their suburban sensibilities. Real masterful planning there, Minerva. Remind me to never let you babysit my goldfish."
Mad-Eye Moody's scarred face twisted into something that might generously be called a grin if grins were typically more threatening than most death threats. His magical eye whirred and spun with mechanical precision, scanning for threats, escape routes, and probably cataloging the thread count in everyone's robes for future reference.
"Big talk from a bunch of Americans who couldn't find their own arses with both hands and a tracking charm," he growled, his voice carrying the gravelly menace of someone who'd personally arrested half the dark wizards in Europe. "You think your fancy suits and government badges make you qualified to protect the Boy Who Lived? That kid's got more dark wizards gunning for him than you've got brain cells, and you've just handed him over to some muggle who probably thinks 'defensive magic' is what happens when his car alarm goes off."
"Oh, this is rich," Picquery laughed, the sound sharp enough to cut glass and twice as dangerous. "Lectures on child protection from the people who lost him in the first place. Tell me, Mad-Eye, exactly how long did it take you to notice that Britain's most famous wizard had vanished from your oh-so-carefully-monitored protection? Days? Weeks? Or did you only figure it out when you saw his picture in American newspapers?"
The magical silence that followed was loaded with enough tension to power a small magical village. Dumbledore's twinkling eyes dimmed slightly as he absorbed the implications of just how badly their carefully laid plans had gone awry, while McGonagall looked like someone had just informed her that all her lesson plans had been graded in red ink.
"We were... unaware," Dumbledore admitted with the kind of careful diplomacy that suggested he was choosing each word like a man defusing an explosive device, "that the Dursley family had chosen to... relinquish their guardianship responsibilities. The protective enchantments were designed to monitor Harry's magical development and general well-being, not his precise geographical location."
"Blood wards," Graves said with disgust that could have curdled milk. "Let me guess—all that ancient family magic bullshit that works great until it doesn't. You built your entire protection scheme around the assumption that people who hate magic would take care of a magical kid out of some kind of mystical family obligation. Christ, Dumbledore, have you ever actually met any muggles?"
"The blood protections," McGonagall said with icy precision, "were based on well-established magical theory regarding familial bonds and sacrificial magic. They should have been absolutely impregnable as long as Harry remained with his mother's blood relatives in their home."
"Should have been," Picquery agreed with mocking sweetness. "Funny how magical theory tends to fall apart when it meets actual human nature. Like assuming that people who spent years despising and fearing their magical sister would suddenly develop protective feelings toward that sister's magical son. Revolutionary thinking there, Professor."
Moody's magical eye suddenly stopped its constant rotation, fixing on something behind the MACUSA delegation with laser intensity. "Hold up," he growled, his normal eye joining the magical one in staring at the mansion. "We got company, and they ain't carrying wands."
The front door opened with the smooth precision of expensive German engineering, and three figures emerged into the California evening light. Tony Stark moved with the casual confidence of a man who owned everything he could see and probably half the things he couldn't, his designer jeans and vintage Black Sabbath t-shirt somehow managing to project more authority than most people's formal wear. He walked like someone who'd never encountered a room he couldn't dominate or a problem he couldn't solve with sufficient application of genius and resources.
Happy Hogan flanked his left side with the solid, dependable presence of someone who'd made a career out of keeping Tony Stark alive despite Tony's best efforts to the contrary. His thick frame moved with surprising grace, and his deceptively mild expression didn't quite mask the fact that his hand was resting casually near his concealed weapon.
James Rhodes took position on Tony's right with military precision, his posture radiating the kind of professional competence that came from years of dealing with situations that could turn deadly without warning. His dark eyes swept both groups of visitors with tactical assessment, cataloging potential threats and escape routes with the automatic efficiency of someone who'd walked into hostile territory before.
"Well, well, well," Tony drawled, his voice carrying across the lawn with the same smooth authority he used to address UN committees and congressional oversight hearings. "Gentlemen. Ladies. Distinguished... costume enthusiasts. I'd love to say this is a pleasant surprise, but since none of you were actually invited, and all of you seem to have bypassed approximately seventeen different layers of military-grade security to get here, I'm going with 'spectacular breach of privacy' instead."
Both groups of magical officials turned to face him, and Tony found himself on the receiving end of stares that ranged from curious professional assessment to barely concealed alarm mixed with what might have been recognition.
"Mr. Stark," Dumbledore said, stepping forward with the kind of theatrical gravitas usually reserved for delivering life-changing news or accepting major awards, "please allow me to introduce myself. I am Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Order of Merlin First Class, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards." He gestured toward his companions with elaborate courtesy. "These are my esteemed colleagues—Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts and Transfiguration Master, and Senior Auror Alastor Moody, retired but still devastatingly effective. We have traveled here to discuss a matter of extraordinary importance regarding your recently adopted son."
Tony blinked slowly, his expression cycling through skepticism, amusement, and what might have been the first stirrings of genuine scientific interest. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he repeated with the kind of careful precision usually reserved for reading potentially explosive technical specifications. "Order of Merlin. Supreme Mugwump." He looked at Happy and Rhodes. "Guys, either I'm having the most elaborate fever dream in the history of fever dreams, or we've just stumbled into the most sophisticated LARPing event ever organized."
"If it's a fever dream, Boss, then we're all sharing it," Happy replied, his Brooklyn accent making everything sound more skeptical. "Because I'm hearing the same thing, and my imagination ain't that creative."
Rhodes had automatically shifted into full threat assessment mode, his military training evident as he cataloged details about both groups with professional thoroughness. "Tony, I count nine individuals who somehow penetrated your property's defense perimeter without triggering any of our sensors, alerts, or automated systems. That level of infiltration capability suggests either advanced technology we don't understand or..." He paused, clearly struggling with the implications. "Or capabilities that exceed conventional military parameters."
"Conventional parameters," Tony mused, then turned toward the MACUSA delegation with raised eyebrows and the kind of expectant expression that suggested he was prepared to be either entertained or alarmed. "And you distinguished individuals would be...?"
President Picquery stepped forward with the fluid grace of someone who'd spent decades commanding rooms full of people who could level city blocks with pointed sticks, her burgundy coat billowing dramatically in the coastal breeze. "Seraphina Picquery, President of the Magical Congress of the United States of America, duly elected representative of the American magical community, and currently your son's legal magical guardian under federal statute 847-B regarding the protection and education of magical minors." She gestured toward her team with professional efficiency. "This is Senior Auror Percival Graves, our Director of Magical Security, and our specialist team for handling situations involving magical-muggle integration."
"Magical Congress," Tony said slowly, his voice carrying the kind of dangerous calm that his friends had learned to recognize as the precursor to either brilliant breakthrough moments or spectacular explosions. "Federal statute 847-B. American magical community." He looked directly at Happy. "Happy, remind me—when exactly did we schedule the appointment with the people from the parallel universe where magic is apparently a thing?"
"We didn't, Boss," Happy replied with deadpan certainty. "Though to be fair, your schedule's been pretty weird lately. Last week you had that meeting with the guy who claimed he could build a perpetual motion machine using nothing but coffee grounds and positive thinking."
"That was different," Tony protested. "That guy was just delusional. These people are..." He gestured at both groups. "Well, I'm not sure what these people are, but they're definitely more organized about it."
Rhodes cleared his throat with military precision. "Tony, setting aside the question of whether we're dealing with elaborate performance art or something more serious, we have a security situation here. Nine individuals infiltrated your property using unknown methods, they're making claims about having authority over Harry, and at least one of them is carrying what appears to be some kind of weapon." He nodded toward Moody's visible wand.
"Weapon?" Moody's scarred face twisted into what was definitely a grin this time, though it was the kind of grin that made smart people reconsider their life choices. "You think this is a weapon, do you?" He pulled out what looked like a gnarled piece of wood about thirteen inches long, examining it with the fond affection most people reserved for favorite pets. "Well, I suppose that depends on your perspective. AGUAMENTI!"
A powerful jet of crystal-clear water erupted from the tip of the wooden stick—no, Tony realized with dawning amazement, from the wand—and arced through the air in a perfect parabola before splashing into the ornamental fountain near the mansion's entrance. The water continued flowing for several seconds, far more than could possibly be contained in such a small implement, before Moody flicked his wrist with practiced ease and cut off the stream.
The silence that followed was so complete that even the evening birds seemed to have stopped singing.
"Holy shit," Happy breathed, his usual composed demeanor cracking like an eggshell.
"That's not possible," Rhodes said flatly, though his voice carried the tone of someone whose definition of 'possible' was undergoing rapid and unwelcome revision. "There's no mechanism, no visible energy source, no technological explanation for what we just witnessed."
Tony stared at the wand, then at Moody, then at the fountain that was now overflowing with conjured water that definitely hadn't been there thirty seconds ago. His brilliant engineer's mind raced through every possible rational explanation—concealed reservoirs, sophisticated stage magic, nanotechnology, holographic projection, quantum manipulation—and found all of them utterly inadequate to explain what he'd just observed.
"Do it again," he said quietly, his voice carrying the intensity he usually reserved for breakthrough moments in his workshop.
Moody's eyebrows climbed toward his receding hairline. "Come again?"
"Do it again," Tony repeated, his scientific curiosity overriding every other consideration as his eyes fixed on the wand with laser focus. "Different incantation, different effect. I want to observe the underlying energy patterns, the mechanism of action, the conservation principles involved. Are you manipulating matter at the molecular level? Converting ambient energy? Accessing some kind of dimensional interface?"
"Tony," came Pepper's voice from behind them, and they all turned to see her approaching with quick, purposeful strides. She carried a tablet in her perfectly manicured hands and wore the expression of someone who'd spent the last twenty minutes conducting urgent research that had yielded deeply unsettling results. "We need to talk. Right now."
"Pepper, not now," Tony said without taking his eyes off Moody's wand. "I'm in the middle of having my entire understanding of physics, thermodynamics, and the fundamental nature of reality completely revolutionized. This could be the most important scientific discovery since—"
"Now, Tony," she said with the kind of firm authority that had successfully managed Tony Stark's professional life for years despite Tony's best efforts to make that impossible. She looked at both groups of magical officials with professional courtesy that didn't quite mask her underlying concern. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you'll excuse us for just one moment. Private consultation. We'll be right back."
She physically took Tony's arm and pulled him several steps away from the assembled groups, speaking in urgent whispers while showing him something on her tablet screen. Tony's expression shifted through several distinct phases—surprise, concern, calculation, and what looked suspiciously like dawning comprehension mixed with excitement.
"You're absolutely certain about this intelligence?" he asked quietly, his voice carrying the kind of focused intensity he usually reserved for technical specifications that could potentially explode.
"JARVIS confirmed it through multiple independent sources," Pepper replied in equally hushed tones. "Cross-referenced with classified databases, verified through intelligence contacts I didn't even know we had. Tony, these people aren't elaborate con artists or performance artists. They represent organizations that have been documented by various government agencies for decades, even though those organizations officially don't exist."
"JARVIS verified magical organizations," Tony said slowly. "My AI assistant, running on quantum processors and advanced pattern recognition algorithms, has confirmed the existence of wizards."
"Your AI assistant has access to some very interesting classified databases," Pepper replied dryly. "Apparently, magical communities have been maintaining diplomatic relations with various world governments since at least the seventeenth century. There are treaties, territorial agreements, jurisdictional protocols..."
"Protocols," Tony repeated, then looked back toward the two groups of magical officials who were watching this hushed conference with obvious interest and growing impatience. "Pepper, are you telling me that there's an entire parallel governmental structure that deals with people who can make water appear out of thin air?"
"I'm telling you that your son is apparently a member of that community, and these people are here because of him."
Tony processed this information with the same methodical thoroughness he brought to engineering problems, his brilliant mind working through implications and possibilities at light speed. When he returned his attention to both groups, his expression showed the kind of sharp focus that meant he was prepared to treat this situation with the seriousness it apparently deserved.
"Right," he said, his voice carrying new authority as he stepped back toward the assembled magical officials. "So, assuming you're who you claim to be, and assuming that..." He gestured at Moody's wand with obvious fascination. "...that actually operates according to principles I don't understand yet, then we're having a conversation about my son. Harry."
"Indeed we are, Mr. Stark," Dumbledore said with gentle gravitas, his theatrical voice carrying hints of relief that they'd moved past the skepticism phase. "There are things about Harry's origins, his remarkable abilities, and the very real dangers he may face that you absolutely must understand."
"And there are legal protocols regarding magical children residing within United States territory that must be properly observed," Picquery added with crisp professional authority. "Mr. Stark, your son is not simply a gifted child with unusual talents. He is a magical person with specific needs, capabilities, and vulnerabilities that require specialized knowledge and protection."
"Magical person," Tony repeated thoughtfully. He found himself thinking about floating paperweights, flickering lights, and the impossible heat that had radiated from Harry's small form during his emotional breakdown. "You know what? At this point, that explanation actually makes more sense than any of the alternatives I've been considering."
"Then you'll cooperate with our investigation into the boy's current situation?" Dumbledore asked hopefully, his blue eyes twinkling with what might have been genuine optimism.
"Then you'll comply with MACUSA jurisdiction and submit to proper assessment protocols?" Picquery said simultaneously, her voice carrying the expectation of compliance.
Tony looked back and forth between the two groups, noting the obvious territorial tension and jurisdictional dispute that was playing out on his front lawn like some kind of magical turf war. When he spoke, his voice carried the kind of absolute authority that had built technological empires and revolutionized entire industries.
"Here's exactly what's going to happen," he said with calm finality. "All of you distinguished magical officials are going to come inside my house, sit down like civilized adults, and explain to me in comprehensive detail exactly what my son is, what he needs, what threats he might be facing, and what your respective organizations want from him. Because as of right now, Harry Potter-Stark is under my protection, and I don't particularly care if you can turn people into amphibians or make the Pacific Ocean appear in my living room—nobody makes decisions about my family's future without consulting me first."
Both groups exchanged glances that carried volumes of unspoken diplomatic communication. Finally, Dumbledore nodded slowly with theatrical solemnity.
"Mr. Stark, I believe this conversation is going to be significantly more complex and far-reaching than any of us initially anticipated."
"Probably," Tony agreed cheerfully. "But if it helps me understand my son better and keep him safe from whatever threats you're worried about, then we're definitely going to have it. JARVIS?"
The smooth, cultured British voice that responded from concealed speakers throughout the grounds made every single magical official jump like they'd been hit with low-level stunning spells.
"Yes, Mr. Stark?"
"GHOST!" McGonagall shrieked, her usually perfect composure cracking like fine china as she spun around frantically looking for the source of the disembodied voice. "There's a ghost in the grounds! A very articulate, technologically sophisticated ghost!"
"Poltergeist, more likely," Moody growled, his magical eye spinning wildly as it searched for supernatural threats. "Bloody hell, Stark, your house is haunted by some kind of electronic spirit!"
"Not a ghost," Graves said grimly, his wand halfway out of its holster as he scanned the mansion's facade. "Ghoul, maybe? Some kind of magical creature that's learned to mimic human speech patterns?"
Picquery had gone very still, her dark eyes sharp with sudden understanding. "Gentlemen," she said quietly, "I don't think we're dealing with magical phenomena. Mr. Stark, would you care to explain the nature of the... entity that just spoke to us?"
Tony's grin was bright enough to power a small city. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like you to meet JARVIS—Just A Rather Very Intelligent System. My AI assistant, household management system, and quite possibly the most sophisticated artificial intelligence ever created. JARVIS, say hello to our distinguished guests."
"Good evening," JARVIS replied with perfect British politeness, though there was a hint of amusement in his cultured tones. "I do apologize if my introduction was somewhat startling. I was not aware that our visitors would be unfamiliar with advanced AI technology. Shall I adjust my communication protocols to be less... supernatural in nature?"
The magical officials stared at various points around the grounds, clearly trying to process the concept of a disembodied voice that was apparently technological rather than supernatural in origin.
"Artificial intelligence," Dumbledore repeated slowly, his theatrical voice carrying wonder and perhaps a touch of concern. "A thinking machine with personality and autonomous decision-making capabilities. Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating."
"Yeah, fascinating," Graves muttered, still scanning for threats he couldn't identify. "And probably recording every word we say for future reference."
"Actually, I am not currently recording this conversation," JARVIS replied helpfully. "Mr. Stark felt that might be considered somewhat inhospitable during what appears to be a diplomatic consultation. Though I must say, your ability to appear on the property without triggering any of our security systems is quite impressive from a technical standpoint."
"Technical standpoint?" Moody barked out a laugh. "We didn't use any bloody technology! We apparated here using magic, you electronic spook!"
"Apparated," JARVIS repeated thoughtfully. "Fascinating. Instantaneous translocation without technological assistance. I shall have to add that to my database of previously theoretical transportation methods. Mr. Stark, I believe our guests' arrival methodology explains the security system failures."
"Magic trumps technology," Tony mused. "Noted for future reference. JARVIS, set up the main conference room for..." He did a quick head count. "Thirteen people total. Make sure there's coffee—excellent coffee. Something tells me we're going to be here for a very long time. And JARVIS?"
"Sir?"
"Keep Harry in his room with full protection protocols active. If any of our guests make any kind of move toward that section of the house without my explicit authorization, initiate immediate lockdown and alert me instantly."
"Understood, sir. Shall I also activate the mansion's more... defensive capabilities?"
"Let's start with hospitality and see where that takes us," Tony replied, though his tone suggested he wasn't ruling out more aggressive options. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to my home. Let's go inside and figure out exactly what we're dealing with here."
As the group began moving toward the mansion's entrance, Graves leaned over to Picquery and muttered, "Boss, I got a feeling this is gonna be more complicated than we thought."
"Percival," she replied with a smile sharp enough to perform surgery, "when has anything involving the Boy Who Lived ever been simple?"
Meanwhile, Dumbledore was studying the mansion's architecture with obvious fascination. "Remarkable integration of aesthetic design and functional engineering," he murmured to McGonagall. "Though I must say, the presence of an artificial consciousness raises some rather intriguing philosophical questions about the nature of intelligence and magical interaction."
"The bloody house is talking to us, Albus," McGonagall replied tartly. "I think philosophy is the least of our concerns right now."
As they approached the front door, storm clouds continued to gather overhead with unnatural speed, and in the distance, lightning began flashing in colors that had absolutely nothing to do with conventional weather patterns.
Inside the mansion, a young boy sat in his perfect room, surrounded by all the wonderful gifts his father had given him, trying very hard not to listen to the adult voices discussing his future as if he were a particularly interesting puzzle to be solved rather than a person with his own thoughts and feelings about where he belonged.
The conversation that was about to begin would change everything—for Harry, for Tony, for both the magical and non-magical worlds, and possibly for the very understanding of what was possible when sufficiently advanced technology met genuinely advanced magic.
—
Harry Potter-Stark sat cross-legged on his impossibly comfortable bed, his small hands gripping the edge of the mattress so tightly his knuckles had gone white. The holographic display floating above his desk showed multiple camera feeds from around the property, while JARVIS's voice whispered through the room's speakers at a volume barely above a breath.
"Master Harry," JARVIS said with gentle concern, "perhaps we should discontinue this surveillance. Your father specifically requested that you remain unaware of the current... diplomatic situation."
"Please, JARVIS," Harry whispered back, his green eyes fixed on the display showing his father facing off with the strange visitors on the front lawn. "I need to know what's happening. They're here because of me, aren't they? Because of the strange things that happen around me?"
There was a pause that seemed to stretch forever before JARVIS responded, his cultured British accent carrying what might have been sympathy. "Master Harry, I believe your father would prefer to discuss this matter with you himself, once he has gathered all the relevant information from our... unusual guests."
"But they're talking about me right now," Harry said with the kind of desperate logic that only came from being six years old and having your entire world turned upside down in the space of an hour. "They know something about the floating paperweight, don't they? About the lights flickering? About why sometimes things get hot when I'm upset?"
Harry had been listening with growing amazement and terror as the adults outside threw around terms like "magical person" and "Boy Who Lived" and "dark wizards." Each revelation hit him like a physical blow, rewriting everything he thought he knew about himself and his place in the world.
"JARVIS," he said quietly, his voice barely audible, "when they said 'magical person'... they meant me, didn't they?"
Another pause. Then, with infinite gentleness: "I believe so, Master Harry."
"Magic is real." It wasn't a question. Harry stared at his hands—these small, ordinary-looking hands that apparently could make impossible things happen. "Magic is real, and I... I can do magic."
"It would appear so, young sir."
Harry was quiet for a long moment, processing this information with the same methodical thoroughness he brought to engineering problems. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a mixture of wonder and fear that made JARVIS's processors hum with something approaching concern.
"All those times at St. Margaret's when things happened that shouldn't happen... when I fixed the radios better than they were before, when the lights flickered during my nightmares, when I somehow knew exactly how to improve the heating system even though I'd never studied thermodynamics..." Harry looked up at the ceiling where JARVIS's cameras were discretely positioned. "That was magic, wasn't it?"
"I believe your technical innovations were a combination of remarkable intelligence and what appears to be intuitive magical enhancement," JARVIS replied carefully. "Though I must admit, the intersection of magic and technology is not something I was programmed to analyze."
"But you're learning about it now," Harry said with a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just like I am."
Through the speakers, they could hear Tony's voice carrying across the lawn: "...exactly what my son is, what he needs, and what threats he might be facing..."
Harry's smile faded entirely. "Threats," he repeated softly. "They said something about dark wizards who want to hurt me. And someone called Voldemort." He stumbled over the name, his voice dropping to a whisper. "JARVIS, who is Voldemort?"
"I am attempting to access relevant databases, Master Harry, but the information appears to be highly classified. What I can determine is that this individual was apparently responsible for your parents' deaths, and that you somehow survived an encounter with him when you were an infant."
"My parents." Harry's voice cracked slightly. "They died because of magic. Because someone used magic to kill them."
"Yes, Master Harry. I'm very sorry."
Harry was quiet for several minutes, staring at the holographic display that showed the adults moving toward the house. His brilliant mind—the same mind that could intuitively understand complex mechanical systems and improve electronic devices—was working through the implications of everything he'd learned with startling clarity.
"So I'm not just Tony's adopted son," he said finally. "I'm a magical person who's apparently famous in the magical world because I survived something that should have killed me. And there are people who want to finish what this Voldemort person started."
"That appears to be an accurate assessment of the situation."
"And Tony doesn't know any of this yet."
"No, Master Harry. Though he is about to learn."
Harry slid off the bed and walked to the windows that offered a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean. Storm clouds were gathering on the horizon with unnatural speed, and in the distance, lightning flashed in colors that definitely weren't normal—deep purples and brilliant golds that seemed to pulse with their own internal rhythm.
"JARVIS," he said quietly, "is that normal lightning?"
"No, Master Harry. The electromagnetic readings are... unusual. I believe the storm may be related to the magical persons currently on our property."
"Magic affects the weather too." Harry pressed his forehead against the cool glass, watching the impossible lightning dance across the sky. "Of course it does. If I can make objects float and change temperature through emotion, then stronger magic users can probably influence much larger systems."
"Your analytical approach to magical phenomena is quite remarkable, Master Harry."
"It's just another kind of science, isn't it?" Harry said with growing confidence. "A different set of principles and energy sources, but still governed by rules and patterns that can be understood and predicted. The adults outside are treating it like it's mysterious and dangerous, but really it's just... advanced physics we haven't figured out yet."
"I believe your father would be quite proud of that assessment."
Harry turned away from the window and looked around his perfect room—at the books Tony had chosen for him, the workshop area with its child-sized tools, the bed designed to look like an aircraft cockpit. All of it given to him by a father who'd thought he was adopting a brilliant but normal child.
"He's going to be worried," Harry said softly. "Tony's going to be worried about the threats and the dangers and whether he can protect me. He might even be scared that I'm not... not normal enough to be part of his family."
"Master Harry," JARVIS said with firm certainty, "I have observed Mr. Stark's behavioral patterns for many years. I can state with complete confidence that learning about your magical abilities will not diminish his affection for you in any way. If anything, I believe he will find the challenge of understanding and nurturing those abilities to be one of the most exciting projects he's ever undertaken."
"You think so?"
"I know so. Mr. Stark has never been interested in normal, Master Harry. He builds flying machines, creates artificial intelligences, and routinely challenges the fundamental assumptions of modern science. Discovering that his son can manipulate energy at the quantum level through pure intention will be, from his perspective, absolutely fascinating."
Harry felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. "When you put it like that, it does sound like something Tony would find interesting rather than frightening."
"Indeed. Though I suspect he will also become extremely protective and possibly somewhat obsessive about ensuring your safety and proper magical education."
"Proper magical education," Harry repeated. Through the speakers, he could hear the adults entering the house, their voices growing closer. "JARVIS, one of those people mentioned Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Is that where magical children go to learn?"
"According to my research, yes. It appears to be the primary magical educational institution for British children. However, given your current American citizenship and residence, I believe there may be alternative arrangements available through the American magical government."
"American magical government." Harry shook his head in wonder. "This morning I thought the most complex thing I'd have to deal with was learning how to use the workshop tools properly. Now it turns out there are entire governments I didn't know existed, schools that teach magic, and people who want to kill me because of something that happened when I was a baby."
"It is rather a lot to process," JARVIS agreed sympathetically.
"But also incredible," Harry said, his voice brightening with genuine excitement. "JARVIS, think about what this means! If magic really works the way it appears to, then the possibilities for innovation and discovery are limitless. Magic combined with technology... we could revolutionize everything. Transportation, communication, energy production, space exploration..."
"Master Harry, you sound remarkably like your father when he discovers a new area of scientific inquiry."
"Good," Harry said firmly. "Because I have a feeling that understanding magic is going to be the most important project either of us has ever worked on." He paused, listening to the voices growing closer. "JARVIS, I think it's time to turn off the surveillance. Tony's going to want to tell me about all this himself, and he should be the one to do it."
"Are you certain, Master Harry? This conversation will likely determine significant aspects of your future."
"I'm certain." Harry moved back to his bed, settling into the comfortable nest of pillows and blankets. "But JARVIS? Whatever happens in that meeting, whatever they decide about magical schools or protective measures or anything else... I want to stay here. With Tony. This is my home now, and he's my family. The magical world might have its own plans for me, but I have my own plans too."
"And what are those plans, if I may ask?"
Harry looked around his perfect room one more time, then smiled with the kind of determined confidence that would have made Tony Stark proud. "I'm going to learn everything I can about magic and technology both. I'm going to figure out how they work together. And I'm going to use that knowledge to build something better than either one could achieve alone."
"That sounds like an excellent plan, Master Harry."
"I thought so too." Harry pulled his blankets up to his chin, settling in to wait for whatever conversation was about to change his life forever. "And JARVIS? Thank you. For helping me understand what was happening, even when you probably shouldn't have."
"It was my pleasure, Master Harry. Though I do hope you won't mention our little surveillance operation to your father."
"Our secret," Harry agreed solemnly.
As the voices of adults discussing his future grew closer, Harry Potter-Stark lay in his perfect room, surrounded by all the wonderful things his father had given him, and felt a surge of excitement rather than fear. He was magical. He was part of a world he'd never imagined existed. And he had a father who would help him explore that world with the same brilliant curiosity they brought to every other impossible problem.
Outside, the storm clouds continued to gather, lightning flashing in impossible colors across the darkening sky. But inside his room, Harry felt safer and more hopeful than he ever had in his short life.
The future was going to be absolutely extraordinary.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
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