# Tony Stark's Malibu Mansion – Workshop Level – 9:23 AM PST – Four Days Later
The workshop looked less like a research space and more like someone had kidnapped NASA, Stark Industries, and Flourish & Blotts, then shaken them in a snow globe until everything landed in organized chaos. Half-built mirror frames were stacked like pizza boxes next to holographic displays that spun lazily in midair, showing diagrams that looked suspiciously like magical circuit boards designed by someone who'd had entirely too much espresso. Floating quills scratched furiously across parchment as if they were unionized workers on overtime, their ink trails weaving between levitating components and scattered coffee cups.
In the middle of it all stood Tony Stark, wearing a vintage MIT t-shirt that had seen more caffeine stains than laundry cycles and jeans that cost more than most people's cars. His hair had achieved that perfect "mad genius" look—the kind that suggested shampoo was optional but running hands through it during breakthroughs was absolutely mandatory. His dark eyes flicked between six different screens simultaneously, his brain clearly doing calculus on steroids while his mouth worked on what appeared to be his fourth espresso of the morning.
On an elevated platform nearby sat Harry—cross-legged, barefoot, and looking for all the world like a tiny zen master who'd just discovered the secrets of the universe and found them mildly disappointing. He was surrounded by Sirius's old communication mirrors, floating tomes that occasionally turned their own pages, and enough magical blueprints to make Dumbledore weep with envy. His green eyes held that particular brand of intelligence that made adults either very proud or very nervous, often simultaneously.
"Right," Harry began, with the air of a lecturer addressing an audience of overcaffeinated graduate students and one particularly handsome dog. His accent carried that distinct, posh-yet-sarcastic British crispness that made even his most cutting remarks sound like they should be delivered over tea and cucumber sandwiches. "Fundamental problem with the existing mirror communication network—and do try to keep up, because I'm only explaining this once and I refuse to use smaller words for the sake of American sensibilities."
Tony didn't look up from his holographic displays, but his fingers paused mid-gesture. "Oh, please. Enlighten us, oh tiny British overlord. What earth-shattering revelation has graced your six-year-old brain this morning? And please tell me it involves more than just complaining about my coffee."
Harry shot him a look that could have passed for aristocratic disdain if not for the fact that he still had jam on the corner of his mouth from breakfast and his hair was sticking up at an angle that defied both gravity and British grooming standards. "If you'd let me finish without your compulsive need to hear your own voice, I'd explain why your telecommunications empire is about to be overthrown by a small child with superior intellect and devastatingly good looks. Spoiler alert: I'm the small child."
Sirius Black, lounging in one of Tony's custom Italian leather chairs like he was auditioning for 'World's Sexiest Reclining Godfather,' nearly choked on his morning firewhisky. His dark hair fell across his aristocratic features as he grinned, silver eyes dancing with mischief. "That sass is pure Potter, mate. James would be so bloody proud he'd probably frame that sentence. Lily, on the other hand, would smack him senseless for encouraging it and then ground you until you're thirty."
Harry ignored him with the studied gravitas of a six-year-old who knew that ignoring Sirius only fueled his desperate need to be the center of attention. He picked up one of the mirrors, holding it with the reverence of a professor demonstrating an ancient and particularly explosive artifact. "The enchantments key to their partner mirror via what amounts to magical quantum entanglement. Don't bother Googling it, Dad—it's not on Wikipedia yet, and even if it were, you'd probably just argue with the citations."
Tony finally turned around, one eyebrow arched in that particular way that had made boardroom executives either faint or fall in love. "Excuse you, tiny British tyrant. I don't Google. Google Googles me. There's a difference, and that difference is approximately forty billion dollars and several dozen magazine covers."
Harry's smirk deepened, taking on an almost predatory quality that would have been alarming if it weren't coming from someone whose feet barely touched the floor when he sat in normal chairs. "Do they also roll their eyes at you in unison, or is that a service I'm providing exclusively? Because I'm considering charging fees. Market rates for professional sarcasm are quite reasonable these days."
"See, this is what happens when you raise a British kid in a lab," Tony muttered, stabbing at his hologram with one finger while shooting accusatory looks at everyone in the room. "You get sarcasm weaponized before puberty and delivered with an accent that makes it sound sophisticated. It's like being insulted by the BBC."
"Correction," Harry said with the sweetness of someone delivering poison in a teacup. "I was born sarcastic. You're just providing me with better equipment and a more appreciative audience. Well, mostly appreciative. Sirius laughs at everything, so he hardly counts."
"Oi!" Sirius protested, sitting up straighter in his chair with mock indignation. "I'll have you know I have very refined comedic sensibilities. I just happen to find your complete and utter destruction of Tony's ego particularly amusing."
Fawkes trilled approvingly from her golden perch—an absolutely ridiculous piece of craftsmanship that Tony had commissioned from some artisan in Florence after Harry complained that the phoenix deserved "something less tacky than American chrome and more befitting her status as an immortal magical creature with impeccable taste."
Harry leaned toward Sirius, eyes bright with curiosity and just a hint of mischief. "When you and my father made the original mirrors, how did you actually bond them? Please tell me it wasn't with spit or some other bodily fluid. I'd hate to discover that all our great magical advancements are basically glorified blood-brother rituals performed by men who thought hair gel was a food group."
Sirius chuckled, his sharp aristocratic features lighting up with rare enthusiasm as memories flickered across his face. "Not spit, you cheeky little beast. Though there was that one time with Peter—but that's neither here nor there. No, we used simultaneous casting. James and I worked one mirror, Remus and Peter the other. Four casters, one moment, all channeling into paired sets at exactly the same instant. The mirrors don't actually talk directly to each other—they create a shared magical space between them." He gestured with his hands, sketching invisible geometry in the air like he was conducting an orchestra only he could hear. "Like a... pocket dimension that exists in the space between realities. Open one mirror, you're opening a window into that space. Your partner does the same on their end."
Tony's eyebrows shot up so fast they nearly disappeared into his hairline. "So basically... this isn't point-to-point communication at all. You're describing a magical chat room. No, wait—better analogy—you're describing a magical server room. A centralized hub that multiple clients can access simultaneously."
"Server room," Harry repeated slowly, green eyes sparkling with the thrill of connection as his mind raced through possibilities. "Yes! Exactly! A central magical space, not individual communication silos. Instead of crafting bespoke mirror pairs like some sort of artisanal hipster nightmare, we build a shared magical network infrastructure. Multiple mirrors accessing one central magical operating system, with authentication protocols and connection management." He leaned back, grinning with the satisfaction of someone who'd just solved world hunger while tying his shoes. "Congratulations, gentlemen—we've just invented Magical Wi-Fi."
Tony slapped both hands against his thighs and let out a bark of laughter. "Yes! Finally! Someone under this roof who speaks fluent Stark without needing subtitles. Centralized infrastructure! Client-server architecture! Authentication protocols! User management! Forget rebuilding telecommunications—this is world domination with style, finesse, and probably a really catchy advertising jingle."
"World domination?" Sirius said dryly, though his grin betrayed his genuine amusement. "You two have really embraced the whole 'Stark family hobby' vibe, haven't you? What happened to normal father-son activities? Football in the backyard? Board games on rainy afternoons? Teaching him to ride a bicycle?"
Harry didn't miss a beat, tilting his head with mock solemnity. "Bicycles are for people who can't levitate. Also, Monopoly is fundamentally evil—it teaches children that capitalism is a game instead of a system of organized suffering. This is slightly less evil. Emphasis on slightly."
"Debatable," Sirius muttered under his breath, but his expression was fond and his eyes were dancing.
Tony clapped Harry on the shoulder with genuine pride. "Kid, when you're a billionaire genius philanthropist with a workshop full of bleeding-edge technology and a tendency toward grandiose gestures, you don't play Monopoly. You play God. And you do it with better special effects."
Harry tilted his head thoughtfully, his voice taking on that particularly solemn tone that made adults pay attention despite themselves. "Yes, but the British have much better accents for playing God. More believable. Americans always sound like they're trying too hard."
Sirius threw his head back and laughed—deep, delighted, and completely unguarded. "Merlin help the world when this one actually grows up and gets his hands on real power."
"Grows up?" Tony said with mock offense, gesturing wildly at Harry's setup. "He's already running intellectual circles around MIT graduate students and making grown men question their life choices. By seven, he'll have tenure at three universities and probably his own talk show."
Harry smirked like he'd already accepted the position and was just waiting for the paperwork to be filed. "And you'll still be trying to convince Pepper you're responsible enough to own a houseplant without killing it through benign neglect."
Fawkes gave a musical trill that sounded suspiciously like laughter, her scarlet and gold feathers catching the workshop's lighting in a way that made her look like living flame.
"JARVIS," Tony said, striding across the workshop with the kind of purposeful energy that usually preceded either breakthrough innovations or minor explosions, "run preliminary market analysis for revolutionary communication technology providing instantaneous, untraceable, unlimited-range voice and video calling with complete security, total immunity to conventional surveillance methods, and probably the ability to make really good coffee on command."
"Running comprehensive analysis now, sir," JARVIS replied, his voice as smooth as aged whiskey and twice as sophisticated. There was a pause—probably no more than three seconds, but long enough for Tony to get that look that meant he was already spending money that didn't technically exist yet. "Conservative estimates suggest revenue potential in the hundreds of billions, assuming, of course, you can successfully navigate the minor obstacle of every government on Earth experiencing collective panic attacks about losing their ability to spy on their citizens' grocery lists."
Harry, still perched cross-legged on his platform like a miniature philosopher-king holding court, snorted with decidedly unroyal amusement. "So... basically pocket money for Stark Industries. Hardly worth getting out of bed for. I mean, what's the point of revolutionizing global communications if you can't buy a small country afterward?"
Tony shot him a look of mock betrayal that would have won him an Oscar if delivered with slightly more melodrama. "Excuse you, small child with delusions of grandeur, this is not pocket money. This is legacy money. This is 'Tony Stark Saves The World Again, Part'—oh, I don't know, I've genuinely lost count. Six? Seven? Do we count that thing with the interdimensional portal as one save or two?"
"More like 'Part One: Tony Stark Accidentally Breaks the World Through Hubris and Poor Decision-Making,'" Harry deadpanned, tilting his head just enough to let the green of his eyes glint under the holographic lighting, "followed immediately by 'Part Two: Small British Child Fixes It While Sarcastically Mocking His Guardian's Life Choices and Questionable Fashion Sense.'"
Sirius barked out another laugh, nearly spilling his firewhisky across Tony's extremely expensive flooring. "Merlin's bloody beard, he's got you completely figured out already. James would be so proud he'd probably name a star after that sentence."
"Not figured out," Tony said, wagging a finger with wounded dignity, "merely... sass-adjacent. And besides, this is genuinely groundbreaking innovation we're discussing here. This is revolutionary technology that will reshape human civilization as we know it. This is—"
"—two tin cans and a piece of string, but with extra steps and a marketing budget larger than most nations' GDP," Harry cut in with devastating sweetness.
Tony clutched his chest as though he'd been shot, staggering backward with theatrical anguish. "JARVIS, did you hear that? He's comparing cutting-edge Stark engineering to primary school craft projects. This is what I get for providing him with superior education and unlimited access to magical libraries."
"I did indeed hear it, sir," JARVIS replied with what could only be described as digital amusement. "And for the record, Master Harry's analogy is both surprisingly accurate and disturbingly insightful. Perhaps there's something to be said for the British educational system."
Harry grinned triumphantly, looking insufferably pleased with himself. "Thank you, JARVIS. At least someone in this family appreciates intellectual precision and proper analogies."
"Don't encourage him, you digital traitor," Tony muttered, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his genuine amusement.
Harry suddenly shifted, his expression becoming more serious as his mind clearly switched tracks. "The point isn't just profit margins or market domination. This technology changes everything on a fundamental level. Emergency services that never lose connection during natural disasters. Doctors consulting across continents in real time, saving lives that would otherwise be lost to distance and delay. Children in remote villages having the same educational access as kids in London or New York or Tokyo. Imagine diplomatic negotiations without mistranslation, miscommunication, or technological delays. We're not just talking about a new product line—we're talking about complete global revolution."
For once in his adult life, Tony Stark didn't have a quip ready. He just looked at the boy—really looked at him—and felt his chest tighten in that way he never admitted out loud to anyone, including himself.
From her gilded perch, Fawkes stirred, her scarlet feathers catching the light like molten fire as she regarded the room with ancient, intelligent eyes. When her voice entered their minds, it was clear, resonant, and coolly thoughtful—like crystal bells with centuries of wisdom behind them.
*The concept has considerable merit,* she said, her mental voice carrying undertones of both approval and caution. *But you must also consider the ethical implications of such power. Any technology that connects so completely and intimately can also be turned toward control, surveillance, and domination. History is littered with innovations that began as tools of liberation and became instruments of oppression.*
Sirius raised his eyebrows, settling deeper into his chair with renewed interest. "Leave it to the immortal firebird to remind us about ethics and historical perspective. What's next, a detailed lecture on antitrust law and regulatory compliance?"
Harry didn't miss a beat, his expression taking on that particular blend of innocence and mischief that made adults nervous. "Would you rather she gave us a comprehensive examination on personal morality and questionable life choices, Padfoot? Because I'm fairly certain you'd fail that particular assessment rather spectacularly."
Sirius smirked, raising his glass in mock salute. "Cheeky little devil. Definitely James's boy, with Lily's razor-sharp tongue. The combination is absolutely terrifying."
"Ethics first," Harry pressed on, ignoring the byplay with the focus of someone twice his age. "Any communication system this powerful has to be designed around privacy and personal autonomy from the very beginning. No backdoors for governments. No secret access points for corporations. No hidden override codes for anyone—including us. If we want people to trust this technology with their most intimate communications, it has to be genuinely impossible for anyone, even the creators, to violate that trust."
Tony whistled low, a rare show of genuine respect crossing his features. "Kid, what you're describing isn't just advanced encryption. That's technological religion. That's building a system so fundamentally secure that not even God could hack it without permission."
"Thank you, JARVIS," Harry said with prim satisfaction. "At least one member of this household isn't chronically allergic to ethical responsibility and long-term thinking."
"First my AI turns against me, now my own adopted son," Tony groaned with theatrical despair. "Betrayed on all sides by superior intellects and British accents. This is my life now. This is what I've become."
Sirius leaned forward, his expression softening as memories flickered across his aristocratic features. "James would've absolutely loved this conversation. All of it—the innovation, the ethical framework, the terrible jokes, the way you two banter like an old married couple. He used to say that the more powerful your magical creation, the more careful you had to be with how you used it. Responsibility first, personal glory second, fun a distant third."
Harry arched an eyebrow with devastating precision. "Clearly he never had the pleasure of meeting Tony Stark in person."
"Hey!" Tony protested with wounded dignity. "I put fun first, responsibility in the middle somewhere, and consequences in very, very fine print at the bottom of the legal disclaimers. It's worked out reasonably well so far."
Harry's smirk was absolutely wicked. "Until it doesn't. Which happens with alarming frequency, if Pepper's stress levels are any indication."
Fawkes let out a trill that shimmered through the workshop like sunlight refracted through crystal. *For what it's worth,* she said, her mental voice laced with quiet amusement and ancient patience, *I prefer Harry's philosophical approach. It results in significantly fewer explosions, much less property damage, and far fewer angry phone calls from government officials.*
Tony threw up both hands in defeat. "Unbelievable. Completely unbelievable. I'm being outnumbered and out-voted by a phoenix, an AI, an exonerated wizard convict, and a sassy six-year-old with delusions of moral superiority. This is my life now. This is what I've been reduced to."
Harry patted his arm with consoling sympathy that was only about thirty percent genuine. "Think of it this way, Dad—you always said you wanted to change the world and leave a lasting legacy. You just never expected to get voted 'least responsible adult' in your own workshop by a coalition of magical creatures and artificial intelligences."
Sirius laughed so hard he nearly fell out of the expensive leather chair. "Oh, bloody hell, this is absolutely brilliant. James would be hiding under the nearest piece of furniture, trying not to laugh himself to death. Smart man."
"James would be taking notes and planning his revenge," Tony muttered, grabbing his coffee mug like it was the last solid thing in an increasingly unstable universe.
"Speaking of James, innovation, and the intersection of brilliance with bureaucratic incompetence," came a crisp, perfectly enunciated voice from the workshop entrance.
All heads turned toward the doorway, where Ted Tonks stood looking like he'd just stepped out of a particularly successful courtroom drama—the kind where he'd single-handedly out-argued ten barristers, three cabinet ministers, a confused goblin accountant, and possibly the ghost of legal precedent itself. His graying hair was perfectly styled, his robes pressed to mathematical precision, and his arms were loaded with approximately seventeen legal documents, three massive magical law tomes, and what appeared to be a bottle of very good firewhisky sticking out of the pile like a flag of victory.
The man was practically glowing with professional satisfaction—the sort of expression that suggested he'd spent the morning dancing through international bureaucracy and emerged not only alive, but smugly triumphant.
"I bring news from the legal front," Ted announced, setting his impressive stack of paperwork down on Tony's workbench with a thud that made the reinforced flooring complain audibly. "News that should be either tremendously encouraging or absolutely terrifying, depending entirely on your personal risk tolerance and appetite for groundbreaking legal precedent that will probably be studied in law schools for the next century."
Harry immediately perked up, his green eyes sparkling with anticipation. "So... encouraging for me, terrifying for him?" He jabbed a thumb in Tony's direction, then smiled with angelic innocence. "Excellent. Please continue with maximum detail and dramatic flair."
Sirius barked out a laugh, settling even deeper into his chair with obvious delight. "Definitely James's boy. Sarcasm first, actual relevant questions somewhere around fourth or fifth."
Tony held up a hand with mock formality. "Objection, Your Honor—premature sass and leading the witness."
"Overruled," Harry said with regal dignity, crossing his arms like a pint-sized magistrate who'd been personally appointed by the Crown. "The sass is always relevant, and this is my courtroom now."
Ted's smile widened appreciatively as he began sorting his papers with surgical precision. "I like him immensely. Six years old and already dismantling billionaire egos with British efficiency and superior vocabulary. The future is in excellent hands."
"Don't encourage him!" Tony exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at Ted while shooting desperate looks around the room. "He's already formed some sort of unholy alliance with JARVIS and the phoenix against my authority. I'm being systematically undermined by my own household."
*Correct,* Fawkes said with serene satisfaction, her crystalline voice cutting through Tony's protests with supernatural clarity.
"See?!" Tony gestured wildly at the phoenix, his hair becoming even more disheveled. "Even the magical fire-chicken has turned against me! This is mutiny! This is treason!"
"Phoenix," Harry corrected with patient emphasis. "She's a phoenix, not a chicken. Try to keep up with basic magical taxonomy, Dad."
Ted chuckled warmly as he continued organizing documents with the kind of methodical care that suggested each paper was worth approximately a small fortune. "Well, the genuinely encouraging news first: MACUSA—that's the Magical Congress of the United States of America—is extraordinarily interested in supporting magical-technological integration projects. Particularly anything with the potential to generate substantial tax revenue, which is to say they're practically falling over themselves in their eagerness to make this partnership a legal reality."
"Please tell me that's the encouraging part of this conversation," Tony said, already bracing himself for whatever bureaucratic nightmare was about to be unleashed upon his previously simple life.
"It absolutely is," Ted confirmed, sliding a neat folder across the workbench with the precision of someone dealing cards in a very expensive poker game. "President Picquery herself has personally fast-tracked all your patent applications, licensing requirements, research permits, and regulatory compliance documentation. Everything rubber-stamped, approved, and expedited. No red tape, no bureaucratic delays, no mysterious disappearances of critical paperwork."
Sirius whistled low, his silver eyes narrowing with suspicion. "That's... unusually efficient for any government agency, magical or otherwise. What's the catch? There's always a catch."
Harry leaned forward, his expression sharpening with curiosity and just a hint of wariness. "Translation: they want something significant in return. What's the price of their enthusiastic cooperation?"
Ted's brown eyes warmed with genuine approval as he looked at Harry. "Remarkably astute. The price is collaboration—joint research protocols with their magical engineers working alongside your technology teams. They provide magical expertise and political muscle, you provide Stark-scale innovation and access to global markets they've never been able to touch."
Harry's expression remained carefully neutral, but his voice carried the sharp edge of someone who'd learned not to trust gifts without strings attached. "Collaboration as in genuine partnership with shared decision-making, or collaboration as in they maintain veto power whenever it becomes politically convenient for their agenda?"
Ted shook his head firmly, tapping the contract with one elegantly manicured finger. "Partnership in the truest sense. The terms explicitly protect your independence on all consumer applications and ethical framework decisions. MACUSA's leadership is intelligent enough to understand that heavy-handed interference kills both innovation and public trust. They want to be passengers on this particular ride, not attempting to grab the steering wheel."
Tony snapped his fingers with obvious relief and growing excitement. "Finally! Someone who actually gets how this works! You don't drive Tony Stark's revolutionary technology car—you just hang on tight, scream appropriately, and hope there's a decent bar at whatever destination we're heading toward."
"Do you even possess a valid driver's license?" Harry asked with innocent curiosity that fooled absolutely no one.
Tony froze mid-gesture, his confident expression faltering slightly. "...I have highly qualified people for mundane tasks like that."
Sirius howled with delighted laughter, nearly spilling firewhisky across Tony's pristine workshop floor. "Oh, bloody hell, James would be so incredibly proud. The boy's already dismantling your entire carefully constructed persona one perfectly timed question at a time."
Harry ignored the chaos he'd created, turning back to Ted with laser focus. "What exactly are they asking for in return for this unprecedented level of bureaucratic cooperation?"
Ted flipped through the contract with practiced ease, his voice taking on the precise cadence of someone who'd memorized every clause and subcondition. "Standard licensing agreements for emergency services and government applications. Priority access to any security-related innovations that might affect national interests. Consultation rights on developments that could impact magical community safety or exposure. Plus—" He tapped a specific section with professional satisfaction. "Reasonable intellectual property sharing for hybrid magical-technological innovations developed through joint research."
Harry frowned thoughtfully, wearing an expression that was far too mature and calculating for someone whose feet barely reached the edge of his platform. "Reasonable... provided it doesn't compromise our ability to develop privacy-first consumer technology or establish backdoor-free communication networks. And no legal loopholes, escape clauses, or creative reinterpretations. If we establish a policy of no unauthorized access, it means exactly that—no exceptions, no justifications, no 'emergency' overrides."
Ted's professional smile turned absolutely predatory with satisfaction. "Already written into the contractual language with ironclad specificity. No backdoors, no secret administrative clauses, no sneaky override spells or technological work-arounds. I anticipated that would be a complete dealbreaker for your ethical framework."
Tony blinked at Ted with something approaching genuine shock, then turned to stare at Harry. "Hold on just a minute. My extremely expensive lawyer is siding with the six-year-old moral philosopher over the billionaire client who actually signs his paychecks."
Harry's smirk was absolutely devastating. "He's siding with the person who's demonstrably correct. Age is completely irrelevant when superior logic is involved."
"This is exactly why I never wanted children," Tony groaned, running both hands through his already disheveled hair. "They grow up to become tiny British judges who consistently rule against you in your own workshop."
"You'd better get accustomed to it, Stark," Sirius said with obvious glee, raising his glass in mock salute. "Because this particular child doesn't just have James's brilliant mind—he's got Lily's absolute moral backbone. And that combination? That's genuinely terrifying for anyone on the wrong side of an ethical argument."
Fawkes trilled with musical approval, the sound rippling through the workshop with supernatural harmony. *Terrifying, yes. But absolutely necessary for the challenges ahead.*
Ted settled back in his chair, crossing one leg elegantly over the other with the satisfaction of someone who'd just delivered excellent news. "So, gentlemen—and one remarkable young lady phoenix—encouraging or terrifying?"
Harry tilted his head with faux solemnity that didn't quite hide his excitement. "Both simultaneously. Which strongly suggests we're approaching this entire project correctly."
"Alright, alright," Tony said, slumping back in his chair with the resignation of someone who'd accepted that his life had become infinitely more complicated than it used to be. "What's the official word from our friends across the pond? And please, for the love of all that's sacred, tell me it's not another owl delivery full of passive-aggressive Ministry stationery. I'm rapidly running out of space in my recycling bin labeled 'bureaucratic whining and general incompetence.'"
Ted, maintaining his characteristic composure despite the obvious urge to smirk, flipped through his meticulously organized notes with the focused intensity of someone who'd already color-coded his professional outrage by severity and legal implications. "The British Ministry of Magic," he began with the tone of someone delivering a medical diagnosis, "has filed formal complaints with the International Confederation of Wizards. Their primary argument centers on the assertion that our magical-technological integration projects represent—and I quote directly from their official documentation—'dangerous and unprecedented violations of the International Statute of Secrecy' and pose 'unacceptable risks to the security and traditional integrity of the magical community.'"
Sirius let out a bark of laughter that contained absolutely zero humor, his silver eyes flashing with dangerous amusement. "Unacceptable risks to traditional integrity? Coming from the same Ministry that genuinely believed Dementors were an appropriate security measure for a school full of children? Tell me, Ted—did they manage to deliver that statement with completely straight faces, or did at least one of them have the decency to look embarrassed?"
"Tragically," Ted replied with bone-dry precision, "their capacity for recognizing irony appears to have atrophied sometime during the Middle Ages, along with their ability to adapt to changing circumstances or acknowledge their own spectacular failures."
Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on the workbench with the casual authority of someone chairing a board meeting, his green eyes glinting with barely contained mischief. "Translation: they're collectively terrified that someone might invent a magical toaster that can also brew proper tea, and that level of innovative sorcery would completely collapse their entire backwards economy and force them to acknowledge that progress exists."
Tony pointed at Harry with obvious pride and growing excitement. "See, this is exactly why I adore you. You translate bureaucratic nonsense into sarcasm that even I can understand and appreciate. It's like having my own personal British interpreter for administrative stupidity."
Ted continued smoothly, apparently immune to their commentary. "Their specific objections include the theoretical possibility of mass-produced magical technology falling into the hands of unauthorized non-magical persons, hybrid magical-technological devices malfunctioning in ways that could expose magical society to mundane scrutiny, and—most tellingly—the commercial exploitation of magical knowledge that should, according to their traditional worldview, remain exclusively within established magical communities."
Sirius snorted with obvious contempt, his aristocratic features twisting into an expression of elegant disdain. "Traditional magical communities. You mean those sacred bastions of innovative progress that still haven't managed to invent indoor plumbing without requiring complex charms? Absolutely marvelous. I'm certain the entire world trembles at the prospect of losing their monopoly on the candle manufacturing industry."
Harry shot him a sideways grin that was pure mischief wrapped in false sympathy. "Don't be unnecessarily cruel, Sirius. Candles represent their singular great magical innovation over the past several centuries. Imagine the collective trauma if they were suddenly forced to replace them with... oh, I don't know... electric lightbulbs. The psychological horror alone would probably require therapy."
Tony spread his hands with theatrical resignation. "So, in summary—they're fundamentally opposed to any form of progress because progress inevitably involves change, and change makes entrenched bureaucrats clutch their pearls while having panic attacks about losing their traditional authority and control mechanisms. Did I miss any crucial nuances in that analysis?"
"Not particularly," Ted said with a faint smile that suggested professional admiration. "That's actually remarkably concise and accurate. Though, to maintain some degree of fairness, they do raise certain legitimate concerns—potential cultural disruption, economic displacement of traditional industries, and the gradual erosion of established magical practices that have defined their society for centuries. Their entire civilization has been technologically isolated for generations. The fundamental shift we're proposing truly is seismic in scope."
Harry's expression immediately softened, his voice taking on a more thoughtful and mature tone. "He's absolutely right. We can't simply pretend that revolutionary change is universally harmless or that everyone will benefit equally. Technology—especially genuinely transformative technology—doesn't just improve lives; it completely rewrites the social and economic foundations of entire societies. We have a moral obligation to ensure that our innovations lift people up rather than pulling the rug out from under established communities."
There was a moment of rare silence—one of those profound pauses where everyone in the room recognized that the youngest person present had just articulated the ethical core of their entire endeavor with wisdom that transcended age.
Tony broke the contemplative quiet first, pointing at Harry with something approaching reverence. "That right there. That's the future CEO voice speaking. Ethical responsibility combined with forward-thinking vision, delivered with just enough moral authority to make old-guard bureaucrats break out in cold sweats. Kid, if you weren't already legally adopted, I'd offer you stock options and a corner office."
Harry rolled his eyes with practiced exasperation. "Brilliant. My reward for demonstrating moral clarity and ethical reasoning is accelerated capitalism and corporate responsibility. How wonderfully American."
Sirius leaned back in his chair, smirking with obvious pride. "He's British, Tony. He was born with an instinctive and culturally programmed mistrust of unchecked corporate power structures. It comes standard with the accent and the superior vocabulary."
"Which," Ted smoothly interjected, clearly relishing his moment, "brings us to the most exciting development in this entire legal saga. Pepper Potts has approved the budget for what might genuinely be the most ambitious and comprehensive legal department in the recorded history of either magical or mundane jurisprudence."
Tony immediately perked up like someone had just mentioned his favorite topic. "Ambitious? Please tell me you mean expensive. Expensive is absolutely my love language, and I speak it fluently."
Ted's professional composure cracked just enough to reveal genuine amusement and perhaps a hint of something approaching awe. "We're recruiting top-tier business lawyers, magical law specialists, international regulatory experts, intellectual property attorneys, social policy consultants, environmental impact specialists, and cross-cultural liaison professionals—on both sides of the Atlantic. The goal is airtight legal compliance, comprehensive ethical oversight, complete regulatory transparency, and absolutely no room for legal landmines that could explode in our faces."
"Translation: we're constructing a Death Star made entirely of paperwork, legal precedent, and bureaucratic compliance," Harry observed with obvious satisfaction, "but at least this one doesn't have an exhaust port."
Sirius clapped him on the back with a grin. "That's my godson. Already more dangerous with sarcasm than half the Ministry is with wands."
Tony leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at Ted. "So, how expensive are we talking? Ballpark."
Ted adjusted his glasses with deliberate care. "Let's just say the budget exceeds the GDP of several small countries. Possibly medium ones if their agricultural sector underperforms."
Tony blinked. "Okay, you can't just casually say that like it's a shopping list. Give me something relatable."
Harry smirked. "Fine. It's like buying out the Chudley Cannons, only instead of disappointment you actually get results."
Sirius howled with laughter. "Merlin's beard, you've just doomed the Cannons to another twenty years of mediocrity."
Ted chuckled softly, then regained his calm. "In all seriousness, considering the potential revenue from revolutionary communications technology—not to mention the complexity of navigating magical-mundane integration—the investment is entirely justified."
Harry's expression grew serious again. "Better to spend it now building the right framework than patch holes later when real people are already hurt. Legal foresight isn't a luxury—it's damage control before the damage."
Tony sat back, eyeing Harry with the mixture of pride and grudging respect he usually reserved for people who managed to outwit him. "You know, if this whole wizard–tech–revolution thing doesn't work out, you could make a killing in corporate law."
Harry smirked. "And deprive the world of my charm, wit, and devastatingly handsome face? Selfish, Dad. Utterly selfish."
Sirius raised his glass of firewhisky. "To progress, sarcasm, and giving the Ministry an aneurysm."
"Cheers," Tony said, clinking his coffee mug against Sirius's glass. "May our paperwork be mightier than their paranoia."
Penny appeared in the doorway, her dimensionally improbable briefcase tucked neatly under one arm, her expression a perfectly calibrated mix of professional satisfaction and diplomatic concern.
"I have updates on Remus Lupin," she announced, stepping in with the kind of authority that suggested she'd spent the morning simultaneously corralling magical bureaucracy and untangling cross-dimensional communication networks. "MACUSA's werewolf support services have located him. The good news: he's alive. The complicated news: his situation is… less than ideal."
Sirius was instantly upright, eyes flashing silver with a dangerous intensity. "Alive?" His voice cracked slightly, hope and panic twined together. "Safe? Please tell me he's safe!"
"Safe is relative," Penny said carefully. "Remus is living in a werewolf community in the Pacific Northwest that exists outside official oversight. The community protects its own, but economic opportunities are extremely limited. Most survive through subsistence farming, crafts, and temporary work that doesn't require background checks."
Tony's eyes narrowed. That calm, dangerous Stark glare that usually preceded very expensive lawsuits appeared. "Employment discrimination?" he repeated, voice low and deadly calm. "How deep does this rabbit hole go?"
"Nearly universal," Penny said grimly. "Most wizarding businesses won't hire werewolves, magical housing discrimination is largely legal, and social prejudice touches everything—from medical care to basic commerce. It's systematic. Institutional. Devastating."
Sirius's jaw tightened. His aristocratic elegance had sharpened into the kind of predator glare that made people either step back or wish they'd never been born. "Remus Lupin is a genius. Principled, brilliant, and he's been reduced to farming potatoes and making wooden trinkets because some idiot magical society can't distinguish talent from a medical condition."
"That's about to change," Tony said, voice commanding and absolute, the kind of tone that made room fall silent. "Penny, I want secure communication with Mr. Lupin immediately. Offer him employment, housing, full medical support—the works. Dignity, security, and the kind of options he deserves."
Harry perched forward on the edge of his platform, green eyes sparkling with impatience and delight. "And tell him he's not being drafted into some corporate trap. We want him on our terms, ethically, morally, and with full consent. We're not in the 'exploit genius' business. Not today, anyway."
"Senior researcher and development partner," Tony added, pacing in his trademark obsessive energy. "Full salary, benefits, equity participation, housing allowance—he's going to be part of the revolution, not a glorified temp."
"More than half as brilliant as Sirius claims," Sirius interjected, voice rich with pride. "Remus was always our theoretical backbone. James had the ideas, Peter… well, Peter had loyalty. I did strategy and risk assessment, but Remus? He's the foundation. He sees the frameworks, the math of magic, before anyone else even notices the problem exists."
Fawkes fluttered from her perch, the glint of her scarlet-and-gold plumage reflecting off holographic displays. *Wisdom born from suffering produces the deepest compassion, her crystalline voice echoed in their minds. If Remus has maintained principles despite systematic injustice, he possesses the character to create positive, transformative change.*
Harry grinned, eyes alight. "Then it's settled. Penny, arrange the communication. Offer him employment, housing, medical support, and a place in our… eccentric family project. And let him know the context: Sirius has been exonerated, Peter Pettigrew's the traitor, and he can take his time to process the news before deciding."
Penny nodded, the faintest smile crossing her face. "Understood. Werewolf communities are cautious about sudden offers, especially from outsiders. Demonstrating credibility and long-term commitment is essential."
Tony clapped his hands together, spinning toward JARVIS. "JARVIS, new project file: werewolf community support. Comprehensive legal advocacy, employment programs, medical research, community development—the works. Budget like we're buying a small country, because apparently that's what it takes to fix centuries of discrimination."
"Noted, sir," JARVIS replied with smooth approval. "These initiatives will yield both social justice outcomes and significant positive publicity, reinforcing the Stark brand as ethically innovative."
Harry's hand twitched, quills hovering in anticipation. "And this isn't just PR. We're learning from communities that understand systematic oppression. Their insight, resilience, and lived experience will inform technologies designed to serve marginalized populations—real, ethical applications, not just flashy toys."
Sirius leaned back, a grin breaking across his rugged features. "Remus is going to think we've lost it entirely. Last he saw us, we were twenty-one, fighting wars, trying to save infants. Now that infant is nearly seven, living with a billionaire genius, bonded to a phoenix, and running magical tech projects that could rewrite civilization."
Tony laughed, shaking his head. "He's going to think we're all completely insane."
Harry smirked, tipping an imaginary hat. "We are insane, but productively so. That's the sort you want when revolutionizing human civilization through interdisciplinary wizard-tech collaboration."
The workshop hummed with energy, the perfect storm of brilliance, moral clarity, and controlled chaos. Legal frameworks, ethical guidelines, and revolutionary tech initiatives swirled together in a choreography that promised to change both magical and mundane communities forever.
The revolution had begun—and everyone in that room knew the results would be extraordinary.
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