Chapter Text
“You didn’t think this was pertinent information?”
“I didn’t consider it, no.”
Tony breathed in through his nose and rolled his eyes so dramatically, hoping to convey just how much more of a pain in Fury’s ass he could be if the answers weren't coughed up promptly.
“Those files weren't meant for you to snoop through in the first place,” the Director continued. “As a consultant, you were entrusted with a personalized password and voice recognition key; how did you bypass the others?”
“Irrelevant,” Tony kicked back in his recliner, unconcerned with the other man towering before him, “Now the fact that one of your consultants believes they can perform magic- I just don't understand how you can have someone so delusional on your payroll?”
Fury seemed to grow just a notch above unimpressed, “Mrs. Granger provides her services pro bono, unlike a certain billionaire I know.”
“So you take her crazy for free?”
Tony’s never seen Fury lose his temper before.
He's hopeful it'll happen someday.
***
The personal photos of Hermione Granger had been deleted before Tony could look further once the computer registered privacy was being violated by a third party.
“Mrs. Granger?”
“Uh, Mister?”
Tony cocked his head at the much taller specimen who opened the door, “Are you sure? Because I'm not sure, and I like to have my facts straight.”
“I'm Mister-,” the ginger stumbled over his words a little, but stood taller in doorway. “I'm Mister Granger, er, Ron Granger.”
“Really positive?”
Ron’s face turned an unflattering red, “Yes! I'm just used to people knowing who I am, is all.”
“Huh; I got the same problem. Mind if I come in?” Tony stepped over the doorway.
Under the rebuttals made by his new acquaintance, Tony could hear soft, but incomprehensible music playing from another room, and light footsteps from upstairs.
“The file didn't mention a Mister Granger, but a Mister Weasley.” Tony spun on his heels, right in the middle of the Granger’s yellow-painted hallway, “Brother?”
Well, Mister Ron Granger certainly cast an intimidating stance when he wasn't blushing and stuttering in a small doorway.
“What file, muggle?”
“... Was that some kind of British slang, or another language?”
The bravado eased up a bit. “That answers that then,” Ron reached into the back of his pants and-!
Tony raised his arm immediately, fearing the threat of-!
Ron was holding a stick.
Ron was staring at his hand.
“What the bloody hell is that?”
Tony squinted, unsure how both of them could be so confused in this situation; but he will admit, whipping out his gauntlet was a little premature.
And he had technically invaded this home.
“A, uhm… it's a newly developed gauntlet for my suit.” Tony slowly lowered his weaponized hand, hoping Ron would give him the same courtesy, but he wasn’t so lucky.
Fair.
“Listen, Ren-.”
“Ron!”
“Ron, I feel like we got off on the wrong foot.”
The house owner grew redder (which, honestly, Tony didn’t think was possible in the scant few minutes they had of observing each other), “Yeah, you’re just an entitled, American tourist who decided it’s a good day to come into my home and shove some muggle weapon in my face.”
“Okay, a really bad foot.”
“Now,” Ron continued, gaining confidence in his control of the situation, “mind tellin’ me what you’re doin’ in my home, uninvited, and what’s this business about my wife bein’ in your files?”
Tony lifted brow and felt his glasses slip down the bridge of his nose (it's not always purposeful, no matter what Pepper implies). “Well, as a newly hired consultant, I felt in the right to see who else was supplying intelligence to our, hmm, employer?”
“Now who's unsure?”
Tony felt like he was starting to grow on the kid, based on the quick quirk of lips, “Just about the wording.”
“And employer? Hermione doesn't work under anyone,” the wood stayed fixed without any hint of wavering. When Tony looked closer- into Ron’s eyes- a familiar glint of Rhodey shined back. “She's no apprentice, she’s the Minister of- the Minister!”
“Of Magic? Yeah, I read that bit.”
Now Ron was looking adorably confused (Adorable? Guess I'm developing a type.) but still kept that stick annoyingly firm.
“Is that supposed to be a magic wand? Care to prove your magical-ness across the pond?”
“... You're no squib, that's for sure.”
“Have you been calling me wizard-slurs this whole time?”
The wand slowly lowered, but Ron’s grip stayed tight.
“Oh, right!” Tony’s exclamation startled the airquotes-relevant-mystic-kindling right back to pointing at the center of his chest, but he wouldn't take it personally. “I'm Tony Stark.”
He held a non-gauntlet-clad hand out for an honest handshake this time (finally feeling the guilt over invading this real man’s home).
It was left in the air with a measuring glance, but the wand was lowered.
“You already know my name.”
“Ronald. Bilius. Weasley.” Tony held up a finger for all three, and his smile grew brighter with each one, “Quite a mouthful.”
“You forgot one,” Ron finally gave in to a grin that Tony knew he’d been smothering for a while. “Granger.
“Immobulus.”
Tony was about to give out a snappy, ‘that’s two,’ but an immediate, faint numbness swept over his body; almost like a cold chill. The strongest sensation tingling through his legs, but Tony was quick enough to grab ahold of the nearby side-table before the strong compulsion to give in to toppling over won out. “What the-?!”
“-Fuckin’ hell?” Ron finished off their shared, similar thought. His wand was back up, front and center, and Tony could see… wisps of fading light from the very tip of the faded wood. “It’s that muggle weapon you’ve got on you, innit? Interfering with my spell.”
“Do it again then.”
Ron’s face wrinkled, probably attempting to solve the puzzle that was the request from a non-magical and invasive stranger, asking to be inflicted by some type of immobilizing curse (because that’s a thing), but he acquiesced.
This time, keeping bewildered eye-contact, Ron pointed his wand to Tony’s leg’s, probably making the assumption that the pants weren’t hiding some type of technology, “Immobulus.”
The did it.
The newly familiar sensation spread much more quickly this time, causing his knees to buckle almost immediately. Luckily, the numbness stopped dead at his waist and reached no further; oh, and the actual-to-God wizard rushed forward and held Tony up easily to his chest.
“Well, what d'ya know?”
***
“Daddy?”
“Yes, my Rosie?”
“Why’s Iron-Man lying on the sofa?”
The two adults, currently residing in an inexplicably large living room, looked toward each other, and than back to the little girl poking her head out in the entryway. “Because, uhm, we had a little… duel?”
“There he goes again, sounding confused and highly unconvincing,” Tony tsked with his head resting on patch-work throw-pillow. He turned up his thousand-watt smile, “I asked him to show me some magic. I’ve never seen spells done before, and your dad here was just demonstrating some for me.”
“But,” Rosie bit at her bottom lip and twisted up her shirt hem, “I saw you flying on Granddad’s telly. Didn’t you use magic to fly?”
“Oh,” Ron breathed out softly, “No, Rosie. Remember what we talked about, last week at Granddad Granger’s house?”
Her little face scrunched up, strongly resembling her own father just moments ago, “That… that some people don’t have magic, and some do?”
“You got it!”
“So he’s a muggle? Like Gran and Granddad?”
Ron nodded enthusiastically.
“So… how do muggles fly?”
“Well, y’see,” Ron started to explain, but Tony didn’t have to wait long for the perplexed expression to return. “Y’see… it’s like, uh, muggles don’t have magic, but they have science.”
“What’s science?” Rosie’s interest was piqued, so she bravely stepped out from behind the entry-way wall to lean beside her father’s long legs on the armchair facing Tony.
So Tony had a beautifully un-obstructed view of Ron’s newly-inflamed face.
“We haven’t covered the primary-sciences yet in her home-schooling,” a strong voice answered from the fireplace.
That’s (not exactly frightening) nifty, Tony raised his eyebrows and craned his neck around the arm of sofa to see the embers and coals had formed an attractive woman’s face. “Finally! Mrs. Granger?”
“It’s Minister, actually, Mr. Stark. Agent Hill has informed me of my privacy being violated, and now my afternoon call to home has been relegated to reprimanding an adult man with boundary issues, laid out on my furniture.”
“Now, you’re in for it.” Ron’s embarrassment became amusement.
“And you, Ronald,” Hermione accused.
Amusement gone.
“Letting some strange American into the house while our daughter was upstairs.”
“Now you’re in for it.”