Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

(Here They Walk, in This) Land of Heroes

Kneazle

Summary: When Kingsley sent Hermione and George to the Millennium Tech Summit in Bern to suss out growing Muggle technologies and integrate them with 3W, Hermione thought the biggest challenge would be keeping George in line. Then she met Tony Stark, and everything she knew, changed.

I: First Impressions

Andrea: Unhappy the land that has no heroes!

Galileo: No. Unhappy the land where heroes are needed.

- scene 12, Life of Galileo (1939) by Bertolt Brecht

Bern, Switzerland. December 25th, 1999:

George gave a long, low whistled as he stepped into the hotel room, taking a further few long steps down the hallway and into the shared sitting room where he dropped his charmed, featherlight bag on the plush red carpet. Hermione, only a step behind him, did the same, her eyes widening as they surveyed the room.

"Shacklebolt must really like us if he's putting us up in a place like this on his own galleons," commented George, gravitating to the balcony and the view overlooking the Aare river and the Bernese mountains.

Hermione hummed her agreement, moving to poke her head into the two adjoining bedrooms, both with king beds and attached bathrooms. "Do you have a room preference?"

Please don't pick this one, she thought as she dumped her carry-on case and her extended beaded bag in the room to the right.

"The larger of the two, if you don't mind, Granger. I want to keep my displays up so I can keep an eye on them."

Alarmed, Hermione turned to look at George, who was now lounging against the doorframe, hands in his pockets. "Keep an eye on them? What did you bring?"

"Oh, nothing dangerous for the Muggles," waved an unconcerned George, glancing back at her. "Some dragon armour, Peruvian Instant Darkness powder… just some new versions of old favourites, that's all."

"George…!"

Now annoyed, George turned to face the curly haired brunette. "Oy, I'm not doing anything to break the Statute of Secrecy, here; I'm dealing with a bunch of prototypes that are Muggle friendly like Shacklebolt asked."

"I'm not accusing you-" Hermione broke off and closed her eyes. Her frustration with George made her take a deep breath. I knew saying "yes" to Kingsley was going to lead to this… "Look. I just want to make sure nothing is going to go off in the middle of the night or bring down the Swiss Reisläufer on us."

"Nothing will," he assured her with a jaunty grin, but it didn't hide the bags under his eyes or the hollow look he sported. "This is just a nice vacation away from the shop and I don't plan on ruining it."

Hermione stood silent for a few, long moments as she peered at him. George stood still under her scrutiny, but then began to fidget and finally, with a loud exhale, turned to face her fully. "Okay, alright; I had to get away, happy now?"

"I had wondered why you were fine with not being at the Burrow on Christmas," said Hermione lightly, moving to one of the couches that faced a TV in the corner, opposite where George stood by the balcony door. She dropped two blue, cloth bags at her feet, one that was handed to her and George when they booked into the room at the front desk.

George sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Too many memories. The first Christmas after - after the war, it didn't register. We didn't celebrate, you know that. But this year? It's… it's hard without - without -"

"I know," said Hermione softly, leaning forward over her knees to peer at George. "Why do you think I also agreed to get out of Britain? It wasn't just because Kingsley asked, you know."

"I still don't know what Shacklebolt thinks we'll accomplish," said George, moving to sit opposite Hermione on a single armchair. He leaned his head back over the back of the chair and closed his eyes. Weariness was etched on his face. "Wizard folk don't need to worry much about Muggles yet, do we?"

"I guess that's what we're going to find out," replied Hermione. "And, of course, Mr. inventor, you might get some awesome ideas of your own to integrate or fool Muggle tech."

George grinned.

She reached down into the cloth bag and pulled out a thick, printed book. The front of the book was also blue, with block text in white reading Millennium Tech Summit, as well as in German below it. She flipped through some pages quickly first, her eyes skimming the text before she idly began to speak.

"There's a welcome dinner and board meet and greet tomorrow in the Salon Royale," she said. "It's hosted by a Dr. Ho Yinsen."

"Dinner? Free food?"

"At conferences, food is always free," grinned Hermione at George over the conference book.

He grinned back. "Well good, because otherwise, this place was going to be too posh for my Gringotts account."

"We'd just charge it to Kingsley anyway," replied Hermione.

"Then we'd better go to town, Granger." George paused. "Anything else interesting that we should look at? After all, we were practically ordered to attend as much as we can, do the meet 'n greet small talk, and dazzle with the Wheezes prototypes."

"And," added Hermione pointedly, "Report back if there is any startling tech that could potentially oust the magical world."

"Shacklebolt's just paranoid after everything the Death Eaters did to London," argued George.

"With good reason. They destroyed an entire bridge! That can't be explained away as a gas leak."

The two were silent, staring at each other. Then, George went, "Well. Anything?"

Hermione sighed, returning to the book and flicking through the pages quickly as she listed off interesting events. "The welcome dinner with Dr. Yinsen; we present on Tuesday in Osswald; umm…" Her eyes darted back and forth. "I can see a few I'm interested in, but you won't care for the geneticists - maybe the engineering stuff? Apparently, there is someone named Justin Hammer doing a presentation on Thursday on with their grenade launcher design… or maybe Tony Stark and his sonic cannon?"

A gleam entered George's eyes. "Sonic cannon?"

Hermione groaned.

Dr. Ho Yinsen was a surgeon, and while normally he would not serve on a board for a technology conference, he had pioneered some kind of tech-integration heart surgery that revolutionized (and made obsolete) pacemakers, with his partner, Dr. Wu.

Hermione found his welcome speech - a basic rundown of his research with Wu, a cardiologist - fascinating, although by the time it was done, she had to poke George, who snorted awake and hastily wiped at the drool at the corner of his mouth.

"'S it over?" he mumbled, bleary eyes looking around while those around them thundered their applause.

"Yes," replied Hermione primly, although there was an upturn to her lips. "It's time for dinner."

"Excellent!" he grinned and cast his eyes toward the back of the room (which they were close to, having arrived nearly late to the welcome), where waiters in black-and-white uniforms and gloves began to approach with artfully arranged plates.

Halfway through the meal, George sighed. "I could get used to this if this is what people do."

"The food is one of the reasons why people attend," agreed one of their tablemates in a knowing tone, with a nod to his head. He had the making of white at his temples in his dark hair, green eyes hidden behind large square frames, and wore the staple conference uniform of a blazer, tie, and nice slacks. "Well, at least one of the reasons why I do." He grinned, and then reached across the table toward them. "Richard Parker, geneticist."

Hermione shook his hand first. "Hermione Granger."

"George Weasley."

Parker's eyes lit up. "Ah, Weasley of 3W? You have quite the abstract for your presentation. I'm interested in your Skiving Snackboxes and the bruise paste - the molecular construction on those items must be extraordinary to interact in such a way with the human body."

George grinned at the man. "Well, I wouldn't want to go around spilling my secrets…"

The other man laughed. "Nor would I expect you to!"

Then the two were speaking, back and forth; George clearly didn't have the scientific background that Parker did, but given that he and Fred had experimented on themselves first meant George was well-versed in the scientific method to explain, in sometimes gross detail, just how the puking pastilles affected the human body.

Hermione found herself turning away, toward the woman next to her instead. Finding her French, they began a conversation in the woman's native language for the majority of the dinner.

After dinner, when everyone began to leave the salon and mingle into smaller groups, Hermione joined George and Richard Parker for drinks at the hotel bar. They found a seat near a cozy corner of dark wood and a display rack of alcoholic bottles in varying colours and shapes, the soft light filtering through them.

George and Parker had hit it off, and Hermione was surprised to learn Richard, whom she pegged as maybe only a few years older than George, was actually in his thirties and had an established career at a government facility.

"It does well enough, I supposed," he was saying as Hermione inquired into the career as he took a long sip of his whiskey. "My bosses allow for free reign as long as we produce sporadic results on assigned projects. So we all have pet projects on the side. I decided to take a crack at the Super Soldier serum, myself; although I doubt I'll ever get anywhere near replicating Dr. Erksine's original - and I think only Dr. Banner has come close, recently." He paused thoughtfully.

George and Hermione shared a concerned glance. "Super Soldier Serum?" she asked.

Parker nodded. "Oh, yes, from the forties? Defected German scientists were working on it to help America during the war. Surely, you've heard of their success in Captain America? Everyone knows about him."

As George went, "Who?", Hermione hedged, "I remember something briefly about that in primary, but-"

"Ah, he probably wasn't as popular to the Brits as he was the Americans," said Parker, with a shrug. "After all, he was called Captain America, and not Captain Britain!"

He finished what was left in his tumbler, his eyes surveying the bar until they landed on someone. "Ah, apologies - there's someone I need to get to know better-" and then he left George and Hermione. Hermione turned in her chair to watch as he sidled up to a brunette with curly hair like Hermione's, and began chatting her up.

"A super soldier serum sounds like something we should be concerned about," muttered George, picking up his own drink, flicking his eyes toward Hermione.

"Agreed," she replied, turning back to face him. "It turns out Kingsley was right about this conference."

"And it's only been day one," agreed George, with a frown. "What else are we going to learn?"

George presented a variety of his Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in a small room that sat only around twenty in total. The room wasn't packed by any stretch, but Richard Parker had apparently talked George up to a few others that he knew, and there was a cluster of similarly-dressed men in slacks and blazers, with only the colour of their button-ups and the shape of their glasses to distinguish them from one another.

Whatever mischief Fred and George had gotten up to during their time at Hogwarts, it did teach them a showman's flair. Hermione watched with a smile on her lips from the side of the room, playing host and victim at the same time, as George walked the front of the tiny conference room, eschewing the two tables at the front for panelists. Instead, he lined up a few bottles and boxes and had Hermione conjure a mannequin earlier that morning to display the dragonscale armour - which was in true Weasley form, neon green.

"-has numerous applications," George was saying, holding out the bruise paste jar and scooping a portion out with two fingers so that everyone could see the white gel. Hermione handed out two open jars to people on either side of the room and winced. She knew what was coming.

"Not just in commercial application, but also for households," finished George, and with a flourish and a grin just shy of devil-may-care, allowed the very same jack-in-the-box that Hermione once played with to erupt from its container, and punch him in the face.

A few in the crowd moaned, but others jeered in good nature.

"Ouch!" commented one audience member, and Hermione glanced to see Richard Parker nudge a fellow in the ribs.

George gingerly touched his left eye, which was already swelling and turning black. "I don't think I've lost my good looks, have I?"

The audience appropriately tittered in amusement.

George used the scoop of bruise paste and rubbed it over the eye and surrounding area, talking all the while on the history of how he and Fred developed the paste - but without mentioning any of its magical properties - and everyone watched in amazement as the swelling disappeared and the blackened area slowly turned purple, then green, and then to a faint yellow tinge that made the bruise look days old instead of minutes.

Murmurs began to grow throughout the crowd, and a few of Parker's associates began to lean forward, while one scientist stuck his hand in the jar and tentatively licked a tiny bit he scooped out.

But George had moved on, pointing out the armour and its features. He and Hermione had carefully planned what they could and could not say regarding the products' ingredients or what 'fabric' the armour was made of, but again, they weren't selling the products. They wanted to see if there were Muggle equivalents, and if not, could they be replicated as such.

Once the presentation was over an hour later, because of Parker, George spent the majority of his time fielding questions from scientists, who all clustered around him, some even shaking his bruise-paste jar in his face.

Hermione however, stood to the side, cleaning up the table and shifting items into a box.

"That was very impressive."

Hermione turned to face the voice, her brows going up when she spotted the tall man in a classic black suit. He looked out of place from the other scientists and Hermione immediately pegged him as less cerebral and more - ah yes, she thought, eyes dropping to his waist. A hidden weapon - military.

"I'm guessing you are interested in the armour?" she asked baldly, turning partially toward the mannequin. One of the last things she was going to pack was the dragonscale armour.

The man raised his eyebrows, a bland expression on his face as he did so. "I didn't say I was."

"You're not a scientist," replied Hermione, eyeing the man. He was almost too unassuming in his dark hair, pale skin, and general height and pleasant demeanour. "You're carrying a concealed weapon. You're forgettable. You're military."

Something flickered in his eyes, but his smile was a bit more pleasant this time around. "Phil Coulson."

"Hermione Granger," replied Hermione, stretching her hand out for a shake. Coulson did so, and Hermione was pleased that it was firm and warm. She was less pleased when something papery slipped into her hand as well. "So. Military?"

"In a manner of speaking," he replied, withdrawing his hand and putting both in the pockets of his trousers. "But you were right; we're interested in the armour."

They both turned and she sighed. "I'd apologise about the colour…"

Coulson grinned. "Is that normal? Being… that flashy?"

"That's the Weasley brand all right," agreed Hermione with a slight moue of disappointment. "I tried to convince George that black would've been better, but…"

"It does its job."

Hermione nodded, one hand on her hip as she cocked it out. "So - with that accent, American government? What is it about the armour that you like? We aren't mass producing or selling these products, anyway - our showcase here is mainly about what we have and looking at potentially partnering up with others-"

"Oh, I know," Coulson replied. "And yes, American. I'm like you; here to look at some of the inventions and check things out. Shopping, so to speak."

"Keeping an eye on things," retorted Hermione, any feeling of goodwill leaching out of her as her eyes narrowed. "Keeping an eye on certain people."

Coulson's mouth twitched. "You're a smart one."

"So I've been told."

They stared at one another.

"Oy, Granger, you alright?" shouted George, breaking their gaze.

Hermione turned with a smile on her face and raised a hand in greeting. George was standing near Richard Parker and a few others. He was looking at her hard, his expression mild, but the way his eyes flicked back and forth between her and Coulson told Hermione that he was wary of the stranger she was with.

"Absolutely!" Hermione called back. "I'm almost done here."

"Great," he said, walking over and looking curiously at the man in the suit at her side. He reached up to scratch at where his ear used to be. "George Weasley."

"The owner and creator," greeted Coulson genially. "Nice to meet you."

"Ready to go, Granger?" George turned away from Coulson after nodding at him. "Parker's invited us to the Stark presentation - he's already got some others saving us seats - so we need to go now if we want to make it in time."

Coulson read the hint. "Oh, don't let me keep you." He nodded at George and then Hermione. "Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger."

The two watched him turn and leave, standing very still until he exited the room and disappeared with the mingling crowd outside in the hallway of the conference center. George's stiff form began to loosen.

"You okay?" he muttered.

Hermione frowned. "I think we just attracted attention from someone we didn't want to."

"We'll mention it to Shacklebolt?" muttered George.

Hermione nodded and looked down at her hand. Phil Coulson, it read, in a sharp font. Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division was on the back. There was a generic, long phone number beginning with a 1-800 hotline, and a simple email.

"Have you ever heard of them?" she asked, handing the card to George.

He read it and shook his head.

"Yeah, me either," she replied softly. "And I don't think we want to."

Thirty minutes later, George and Hermione was seated near the back of the Salon Royale presentation room - the largest at the hotel - with Richard Parker, two scientists he knew ("Bill's a professor now, can you believe that?" and "NASA employs more than just astronauts, right, Ashland?"). Hermione ended up sitting next to a young woman with thick brown hair who was more immersed in reading the conference program. Hermione left her alone.

Almost immediately upon settling into their seats, the lights dimmed and a member of the board for the Tech Summit walked on stage, introducing Stark Industries and the heir, Tony Stark.

"Have you heard of this Muggle before?" asked George in a whisper as he leaned over to her.

Hermione shook her head. "I think he produces weapons, but that's it. I never really kept up with technology."

George made a noise confirming he heard her but leaned back to his seat. After the introduction, streamers, and confetti filled the stage and music pumped through the speakers. Both Hermione and George nearly clapped their hands over their ears in surprise, but the others seemed to expect it.

Parker laughed. "That's Tony Stark, all right. He's a showman!"

"HELLO SWITZERLAND!" a man shouted as he stumbled across the stage, waving an entire arm in greeting. He wore a flashy suit in blue, shiny material, with a white shirt underneath and square-framed glasses with tinted lenses. His facial hair was neat and trimmed, and other than the pallor to his face, he seemed well put together, but then he laughed at something, tripping a bit over his feet, as he made his way to the board member.

Hermione felt her mouth drop open.

"-am I right or am I right?" the man in question asked, finishing up a tasteless joke. The audience laughed appropriately anyway, a bit uncomfortable.

"That's Tony Stark?" asked George incredulously.

Grimly, next to him, Richard Parker nodded. "Yep, that's the billionaire himself. The man in charge of the largest weapons manufacturing contract for the United States military. Parents died in a car crash in '91, around this time of the year, and he's been drunk or off on some debauched vacation since."

"Is he - is he drunk now?" asked Hermione, horrified as the young man they were speaking about slurred some of the trickier words in his presentation for the sonic cannon Stark Industries was showcasing.

"Oh, completely," the woman on Hermione's other side deadpanned.

Hermione glanced at her.

She grinned. "Maya Hansen, botanist."

"I'd imagine a bit more than that if you're here," replied Hermione, but introduced herself as well. "Hermione Granger."

"Of 3W, I remember," the brunette said. "I was at the back of the room. I was very impressed with your companion's work."

"Don't tell him that; it'll inflate his ego more," retorted Hermione, wheezing a bit as George nudged her in the side. Hermione glanced back at him with an apologetic grin. "C'mon, admit it, you were a terror in school."

"I don't know what you're talking about Granger," sniffed George, affronted, but the grin on his face took away any sting.

"Shhh," hissed the professor friend Parker introduced them to.

"Sorry," Hermione and Maya said together, stifling some grins.

Hermione turned her attention back to the conference presentation, equally disturbed, as she was horrified as Tony Stark continued to mumble his way through the PowerPoint, and then even worse, began to cajole someone off stage to bring on a sonic canon prototype for him to try on stage.

It was a memorable presentation, and not for any good reasons.

Much of the audience seemed to agree, muttering their disappointment as they left. Hermione caught snatches of their complaints as she joined George, Richard Parker, Bill, Ashland, and Maya Hansen in the crowd leaving the ballroom to the open gathering space on the floor below, near a bar.

"-Parents would be so disappointed in him-"

"-Barely able to present at all. What a waste!"

"He's very handsome though, isn't he? Takes after his father-"

"Has the genius of course, but is nowhere near Howard Stark's business acumen-"

"-Joke of a career. Born rich, inherits a multi-billion dollar company and does nothing with it but make weapons-"

Somehow, the group managed to stay together, discussing what they had seen or who they had spoken to over the past few days at the conference. However, Hermione found herself contemplating what she overheard about Tony Stark, and the man she witnessed on stage.

They were not painting a nice picture of the man for her. At least I won't have to speak to him, she thought, preparing herself to turn back to the groups' conversation. In fact, it was unlikely that she'd ever run into Tony Stark at all, given the size of the conference.

She brightened and turned to Bill, asking, "So, Professor Foster, how do you like working in San Francisco?"

New Years' Eve, 1999:

Music thumped loudly through the speakers of the ballroom, spilling over the hotel's PA system and into the bar area. Unlike how it was decorated earlier for the Tech Summit, it was now decked in silver and blue with helium balloons everywhere.

Hermione, dressed in a silvery dress with long sleeves to hide her scars from the war, walked into the large space with George in a fancy suit.

"Where are we supposed to meet Dr. Parker again?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Bar," replied George evenly. "I think he met someone and wanted to introduce us-"

Hermione groaned. "Another person…?"

"That was the job, Granger," grinned George, tugging her arm a little as they descended down a curving staircase to the crowded floor below. "Shacklebolt wanted us to make friends-"

Hermione sighed. "These are not the scientists we've been talking to all week-"

She broke off as a very inebriated man stumbled his way into the two of them on the stairs, alcohol-tinged breath wafting across their faces as he shouted, "Y-two-k, baby!" and handed Hermione and George both two different kinds of white-looking party favours.

George immediately put on cat ears, grinning and shouting back, "Thanks, mate!" while handing Hermione oversized "2000" glasses, with the zeros in the date punched through so one could see with the number perched on their nose.

Hermione glared at George. "I'm not wearing those."

"Yes, you are," he grinned.

"No-!"

"Hermione! George!" Maya bounced up to them, a cocktail in hand with an umbrella and party favour in the other. She had a fuzzy headband on that matched very nice with her splattered dress and gold beaded necklace. She eyed George's cat ears appreciatively. "Nice ears."

"Thanks," he preened. "Have you seen Parker?"

"Took off about twenty minutes about with an OsCorp scientist," replied the botanist, grinning. She pushed back her straight brown hair over her shoulder. "He's only been chatting her up all week."

"Shame," sighed George. Instead, he grinned at Maya. "What do you say, Hansen, think I can get Granger here to wear these glasses?"

Maya took one look at Hermione's stricken face and shook her head. "Not those," she laughed, turning and plucking something from a waiter passing down the stairs. "But maybe she can wear this crown?"

The white crown was a bit more delicate and beaded with silver pieces, matching Hermione's dress. "Better," she sighed, "If I must wear one at all."

"She's a real riot at parties," mock whispered George to Maya, who grinned as she cut a glance at Hermione, who crossed her arms.

"I can tell!"

The three made their way down the stairs, Maya leading them toward a small table in a corner she claimed. They were near the banister that overlooked the rest of the floor, separating it from the dance floor.

"By the way," she said, once George and Hermione had ordered drinks. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Oh?" asked George.

Maya nodded. "It's about your ear - or, what happened to it."

Instantly, George stiffened and any good mood he had disappeared. The waiter picked that time to drop off their drinks, placing George's pint in front of him and Hermione's gin and tonic by her.

Hermione warily glanced at George as he picked up the drink and began chugging.

Maya winced. "Sore subject?"

Hermione grimaced. "A bit, yes." She warily looked at the other woman. "Why do you bring it up?"

"My research," explained Maya. "I've been researching and developing a theory that, if I'm right, will allow me to access the area of the brain that governs repair of human tissue and chemically recode our genomes to, essentially, re-grow missing limbs." She nodded at George. "Or, in your case, missing ears."

Hermione blinked in shock and George sputtered into his glass, making a bit dribble down his chin as he lowered it in shock from his mouth. "I-what?"

Maya shrugged. "It's still in the early stages, of course. I'm only working with plants right now, aloe mainly and other genus from the family."

"That's - that's amazing," said Hermione, eyes wide. "We have a friend - well, I have a friend, mostly - who is into herbology. He'd be so interested in what you're doing-"

Maya grinned. "It was my baby at MIT, my grad project. I'm still developing it but once I get the funding and can sequence the genetics out a bit more, I should be able to move to human testing in, oh, about a decade."

George wilted. "Ten years?"

Hermione glanced at him. "These things take time, George. Especially here," she added, stressing without saying 'Muggle.'

"If I can get money to support my work," added Maya, frowning. "I didn't have much luck pitching it here."

"Did I hear 'pitching' and 'money' in the same sentence?"

The three turned. The man before them was a bit on the short side, around George's height but he lacked George's bulkier frame. He wore a nice suit but a ridiculous white party hat tilted at an angle just so to make him look roguish. Behind him lingered a man with slicked back hair, a single piercing in his right ear, and a black suit that was ill-fitting.

Maya recognized the man before George and Hermione did. "Tony Stark!"

"In the flesh," he grinned, although it was a bit smarmy. He leered at Maya, looking her up and down and then nearly purred, "And who might you be?"

"Dr. Maya Hansen," she said, and Tony took her hand, kissing the back of it instead of shaking it when she offered.

Still, he was polite and turned his eyes to Hermione and George after dropping Maya's hand.

George spoke first. "George Weasley."

"Of 3W?" asked Tony, eyeing George with interest now. "I admit I only heard second-hand information about your presentation but your work sounds fascinating."

George's return smile was just shy of being predatory. "In the flesh," he mimicked.

"Touché," replied Tony, grinning. He turned to Hermione. "And you are…?"

"Hermione Granger," supplied the last of the group, promptly holding her hand out, fingers together and pointed down so he had no choice but to shake instead of anything else.

He shook her hand, peering at her from behind his tinted glasses. "Hey, aren't you a bit young to be here…?"

Hermione bristled. "I'm nineteen, not like that matters any-"

"So you're here with a supervisor on some special undergrad trip, got it," the man said, assuming and dismissing her just as quickly. He turned back to Maya. "I'd love to hear more about this project of yours…"

"I was in the middle of explaining it to George and Hermione," began Maya, eyes flickering between the young, curly-haired witch practically vibrating in anger at her side and the billionaire. Opposite her, George hid a grin behind his glass.

"Well, don't let me stop you." Tony smiled, leaning to the side and against the railing, looking completely at ease as he inserted himself into the conversation.

Maya glanced at him but turned back to George and Hermione tentatively. "Like I said - it's a matter of funding -"

"Bzzt! Wrong! I can help you there," interrupted Tony. "Try again."

Hermione blinked and scowled at Tony for a moment, before turning back to Maya, who hesitated and looked around for a moment. Warily, Maya continued when Hermione nodded encouragingly.

"And then there's a tiny problem with the genetic coding that I haven't worked out yet, so I need to get that sorted and replicate the model in a few different plants for stability-"

"Easily done with the most up-to-date lab," broke in Tony. He waved his hand as if casting the words away physically.

Hermione glowered at Tony and George took a long gulp of his drink, only putting it down reluctantly when he realized he drank everything in it. He looked at it mournfully and then lifted his head to flag down a passing waiter, waving his glass in the air just a bit for the man to understand what he meant.

I'm going to need another of these, he thought, biting the inside of his cheek as he glanced between the two women he was with and the newest interloper.

"And once that's done over time," Maya continued slowly, eyeing Tony but he wriggled his eyebrows in response. She looked back at Hermione who was peering at her with studious intent. "I might be able to apply to the WHO and UN - depending on where I am, for permission to begin human testing."

"I know some people," added Tony.

"Oh, my God!" broke in Hermione, stomping her foot and turning to the American. "You can't just railroad over her like that! Do you even hear yourself?"

Tony raised his eyebrows at her. "Um, I think I just did. And yes, of course, I hear myself. Duh."

"There's such a thing called human decency," seethed Hermione. "Maya was in the middle of a conversation with us, by the way, when you rudely interrupted. There was no need to butt in the way you did-"

"I'm not sure if anyone told you, pipsqueak, but the adults were talking." Tony leaned forward over the table, flicking his eyes down at her and then up. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"

"I'm not a child, Mr. Stark-"

"Great defense, real convincing-"

"I am more than fully capable of handling myself against arrogant cockroaches like you-"

"Sticks and stones, sweetheart, sticks and stones-"

Hermione screeched something that went unheard as the song ended over the speakers.

"I think we're getting off to a poor start here," interjected Maya, looking worriedly between the two. "Mr. Stark, thank you for your… points. I was mentioning to George and Hermione that my research might help George-"

"Altruistic, nice," grinned Tony. "I can get behind that."

He leered when he said, 'behind,' and all three knew exactly what he was implying with the way Hermione's face darkened and George muttered, "Oh, boy," under his breath.

Maya blinked. "Wow. Okay. So we're going there…"

"Any time, baby." Then Tony blew on the party favour, making it toot and extend.

The music changed and a new song began playing loudly over the speakers. Yo listen up, here's the story, about a little guy that lives in a blue world -

"You wouldn't know altruistic if it bit you on the arse," bit out Hermione.

"Wanna bet?" Tony retorted.

Hermione shifted to cross her arms, leaning partially toward the man as she spoke. "I do believe you were introduced earlier as Tony Stark, weapons manufacturer. Not philanthropist."

Tony affected a nonchalant air. "Hey, we all gotta make the money somehow-"

"By making and selling weapons?!"

"I'm carrying on a legacy," snapped Tony, peering down at Hermione. "I realize you're too young to understand what a legacy means, Miss English Rose-"

"Don't patronize me, Stark-"

"You don't know me-"

"I know that your weapons may be made for the right reasons, can also just as easily be used to hurt people-"

"My weapons protect Americans! American citizens and soldiers who fight the good fight!" Tony was leaning forward too. "And I betcha they protect British soldiers, too-"

George, watching the two, slipped around Tony until he was at Maya's side. "Do you think they even remember that we're here?" he muttered to her in an aside.

Maya shook her head, eyes wide as they bounced back and forth. "Not a chance."

"So…" George glanced at her. "Wanna show me this plant? Talk me through your research? 3W isn't in the business of expanding or supplying funding, but we do well enough that I could help some… especially if your experiment proves successful…"

Maya grinned, her face lighting up. "I'd like that. I'd like to help you."

The man with slicked-back hair leaned toward Tony. "Half hour till the ball drops."

Tony ignored him. His brown eyes were fixed on Hermione as she spat, "You have a responsibility-"

"I hate that word. I like waving goodbye to it whenever someone brings it up to me-"

"-In case your weapons end up in the wrong hands!" finished Hermione, speaking over Tony.

They really do share some similar personality traits, thought George. Then, turning back to Maya, he shook his head.

"They're going to be at it for the rest of the night," he said, glancing at Hermione fondly as he spoke quietly to Maya. "He doesn't know it, but she's fixated on this now and won't let it go." He turned to the woman at his side. "So, hey, do you wanna…?"

"Hey! Tony Stark?" a man interrupted Tony's stare with Hermione, causing him to glance at the man as he was clapped on the back. The man with the slicked hair glowered and moved to intercept the man. "Great speech, man!"

"I got you, pal," said the slick-haired man, physically hauling the man away from Tony.

Tony blinked, looking around. "I gave a speech? How was it?"

"Edifying," grinned Maya.

Hermione snorted. "Unintelligible."

Tony blinked. "Really?"

Maya glanced back at George who smirked, nodding along as he audibly hummed, "Mmm-hmm."

"Well," grinned Tony, feeling back in control, "That's my favourite kind of presentation: edifying and unintelligible."

"A winning combo," added George. He had a hand at Maya's back and began to escort her around the table and Tony. "Now, if you excuse us-"

The man in question blinked and looked around. "Where are we going?"

"Erm…" George shared a glance with Maya.

Tony caught the look and his face broke into a wide smile as he leaned forward and clapped George on the shoulder. "Uh huh, to town, on each other, I bet. Probably back in her room."

"You're such a pig!"

George closed his eyes. "Annnnnd here we go, again."

The two began to snipe back and forth at each other, while George maneuvered Maya. They began walking away, but Hermione and Tony followed, still completely engrossed in their latest argument.

"-Completely demeaning to women-"

"-You love it-"

"I certainly do not, Mr. Stark!"

"Mr. Stark."

The two trailing behind George and Maya turned at the name, losing the other two in the crowd as the minutes trickled down to midnight. Hermione's eyes lit up at the familiar figure.

"Dr. Yinsen, what a pleasure!" she beamed while Tony looked back and forth. "Your opening keynote on your work with Dr. Wu was quite impressive!"

The bald man smiled gently down at her. "Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it." He looked up at Tony from behind his glasses. "Ho Yinsen, Mr. Stark."

Tony grinned. "Ah, I finally met a man called 'Ho.'"

Hermione elbowed him forcefully and he gasped out a wheeze as she muttered, "Rude."

Yinsen and the man with him chuckled, but it was from bare politeness. "I'd like to introduce you to our guest, Dr. Wu. He's head surgeon at the Laun Yu university hospital in Beijing and a cardiologist specializing in traumatic surgery recovery-"

The Asian man bowed and began speaking in Mandarin, very enthusiastically.

For a moment, Tony looked terrified; not at all like the confident man he had been all evening, and far more sober than he had been all night. Hermione narrowed her eyes as her annoyance turned to curiosity.

"Hey," replied Tony, slowly. "You're a heart doctor…"

Yinsen nodded at Wu's recognition. "I was wondering if we could bother you for a moment of your time to discuss our technology-"

Then sleazy Tony returned, and Hermione watched as he callously dismissed both men by grabbing Hermione around the waist. Being shorter than him, even in heels, Tony was able to tuck his chin on her shoulder and say, "Great meeting you - she's going to need a cardiologist after I…" He then tooted the party favour.

Hermione felt her face flush red and she shrieked, "Tony Stark!" while shoving him off and away from her.

He laughed loudly as he did so, grabbing her hand and pulling her from the two men, tossing, "Bye!" over his shoulder as they walked away.

Behind, Hermione could hear Yinsen sigh and call, "Perhaps another time?" but all she could think about was digging in her heels as Tony led her down the hallway and away from the dance floor. There was a hunted look to him, something cagey, and Hermione began to tug on his arm, trying to get him to stop.

I don't want to get my wand out - not yet at least, she thought. "Hey! Hey, stop! Stark, please!"

Tony startled, realizing he was still pulling the younger and smaller witch behind him. He stopped, dropping her hand as it burned, and bringing his hand up instead to scratch at his facial hair. "Ah, Pipsqueak - you're so tiny I forgot you were there."

Hermione glared, crossing her arms. "Mr. Stark-"

"Tony," the man interrupted.

"I-what?" Hermione stared at him, her arms slowly lowering from their crossed position.

Tony's dark brown eyes met hers for a moment and then skittered away. "Tony. 'Mr. Stark' was my father and I - uh -" he shuddered. "Anyway. If my name is too hard for you to say it, Dr. Stark works, too."

Hermione blinked. "Doctor?"

"Mmhmm," replied Tony, a smirk crawling up his face as he watched Hermione scramble to reconcile the man she had been building in her head to the man who just revealed he had a doctorate.

"In what?"

"Physics, robotics, engineering," Tony waved his hand. "I've got about three, last count - and you know universities, they love giving out honorary doctorates, too -"

"Three?" gasped Hermione, eyes wide.

Tony leaned in until his nose was nearly brushing Hermione's. His voice dropped as he taunted, "Doesn't that just bother you?"

Hermione, eyes wide, felt her breath catch as she stared up at the older man, his dark brown eyes suddenly turning the colour of chocolate. His aftershave - something spicy - wafted over her and her heart suddenly started pounding.

She dry swallowed, shallowly, and then licked her lips nervously. Tony's eyes darted down to them for a moment and then back up as she opened her mouth to speak, her voice coming out a bit more breathless than she anticipated. "Four."

He blinked in reply this time. "What?"

"I'll beat you. I'll have four degrees," she added, feeling more confident as she spoke.

Tony stared at her for a long moment, pulling back until there was a foot between them. Then, suddenly, he threw his head back and laughed, loudly.

"Okay, then," he said, his voice suddenly far more fond than it had been previously. He smiled down at her. "Okay, Pipsqueak. Four."

Unbidden, Hermione felt her own lips stretch into a smile. They were still smiling at each other when a man, slightly stooped, with long, wavy blond hair in a dark khaki blazer and trousers hobbled up to them, leaning heavily on his cane.

"Mr. Stark!" His eyes were wide behind large-frame glasses. "Oh, wow, Tony!"

Annoyance flashed in Tony's eyes as they were pulled from Hermione to look at the man speaking to him. Somehow, Tony found his arm winding across Hermione's back, tucking her neatly into his side.

She squirmed a bit, looking up at him in annoyance, but Tony's attention was on the man while his slick-haired bodyguard hovered behind him.

"A-Aldrich K-Killian," the man stuttered in excitement, as he held out a hand for Tony to shake. Tony looked down at it and then back at the man, who, undaunted, continued, "And you were with George Weasley, from 3W. Hermione Granger, right? I'm a big fan of your work."

"My work?" feigned Tony, blinking. "Who isn't?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Me. And I think he means George's work with 3W."

Killian nodded emphatically. "Right! Right, Ms. Granger. I've never heard of 3W before, and my organization tracks research and products like those Mr. Weasley designed and produced. So it's been quite the buzz to learn about 3W without knowing anything about you!"

"That's absolutely wonderful," broke in Tony, impatiently, as he looked between Killian and Hermione. "Stupendous, don't you think, sweetheart? But we have to go. We're going, see?"

Tony began to steer Hermione, tucked at his side, toward the elevators where a bunch of partygoers were congregating, wanting to get to their rooms or the outdoor terraces to see the fireworks display over the Aare river.

"Call me sweetheart again, Stark, and I'll show you stupe-ndous," muttered Hermione, changing the pronunciation of the last word halfway through. Pressed against Tony's side, he felt her fingers twitch.

"That's fine, I'll join you," Killian said, inviting himself.

Tony grimaced, arriving at the back of the group. His bodyguard pushed and shoved at some of the people, ensuring that Tony and Hermione - and himself - were on the next elevator.

Killian grinned and managed to ease his way into the elevator with them. Tony glanced down at Hermione and deadpanned, "Oh, wow, he made it. He made the cut." He glanced at Killian and a hand hovered over the floor buttons. "What floor you going to, pal?"

"Well, now, that is an appropriate question," began Killian, excitedly. The doors to the elevator shut without him giving an answer. "The ground floor, actually, of a proposal I'm putting together myself. It's a privately funded think tank called Advanced Idea Mechanics."

He pointed at his shirt, a white t-shirt underneath his blazer with a company logo of AIM in blue. He also dug his hand into his pocket and produced a small cluster of business cards that he held out to Hermione and Tony.

Confused, and a bit unnerved, Hermione said, "I beg your pardon?"

Tony's hand at Hermione's back twitched, just as he added, "She'll take both." His grin was all teeth at the other man. "One to throw away and one to not call."

Killian was undeterred and began explaining the company. "'Advanced Idea Mechanics' - or "AIM," for short. Do you get it?"

Hermione's interest in the man, and anything he wanted to say, shrunk to zero with the obviousness of his interest and the redundancy of his explanation. Her nose tilted up just the slightest amount. "Yes, I can see that. It's on your shirt."

Tony snorted into Hermione's curls as he turned his head into them.

The elevator pinged, and the bodyguard was letting people off, saying loudly, "Ladies, follow the mullet. Ladies first!"

Hermione glanced at the business cards in her hand and gave a frigidly polite, closed-lipped smile. "Thank you for this. I'll speak with George and we'll call you if we're interested in talking further."

"Oh, wow, oh," grinned Killian, his eyes lighting up. "That would be amazing!"

"I'll bet, buddy," retorted Tony sarcastically, gently pushing Hermione ahead of him as they exited the elevator.

As they passed the threshold, Tony turned, dropping his arm from her waist and placing his hand to block the doors from sliding closed. Hermione turned partially in curiosity to see what he was going to do next, even as his bodyguard resignedly tried ushering her down to a set of double doors: the penthouse suite.

Tony leaned forward. "I'm titillated by the notion of working with you."

Killian seemed to stop breathing as he looked up at a role model of his. "Yeah?"

"Give me some time to get the little woman in bed, and then I'll see you up on the roof in - say - ten minutes?" Tony's voice was sleazy but there was something cold in his eyes that Killian seemed to miss. "Just gonna try and get my beak wet real quick. You know what I'm talking about?"

"I'll see you up there," nodded Killian numerous times, excitedly.

"Damn betcha," replied Tony, that still smarmy smile on his face as he let go of the doors, allowing them to close.

When he turned, Hermione stood with her arms crossed and a displeased look on her face. "Little woman?" she echoed darkly.

"Well, you kind of are," snickered Tony, looking her up and down. "Don't worry, Granger, you'll grow into it."

Hermione sighed, glancing at the elevator display, which was now steadily moving up a few floors to roof access. "Was that necessary?"

"Don't tell me you'd actually encourage him and that behaviour!"

"No," replied Hermione as Tony came up to her side and they began walking again. "Not at all. I didn't like him and something about his eagerness… rubbed me the wrong way."

"Rubbed you wrong, huh?" the industry heir wriggled his eyebrows at her in the most ridiculous way. "Let me make it better, baby."

Hermione snorted. Loudly. "Does that ever actually work?"

"You'd be surprised," the man chuckled, recognizing its failure on the woman. "But then again, Pipsqueak, you're not like the others."

"And how about that one? Does that work, too?"

Tony's cheeks turned the slightest bit pink as he swiped his room card. His bodyguard entered first, glancing around as he turned on lights.

The room was far more spacious compared to her and George's, but there was a similar theme of red carpet, whitewashed walls, and excellent views of the Aare river. However, the penthouse seemed also to have a sitting area, two bedrooms, and a kitchenette area that made the room seem more like a small flat than hotel space.

Tony went straight to a sidecar table and poured himself a generous portion of a golden-brown liquid that Hermione couldn't identify from where she was standing, but she radiated her disapproval loudly. She moved to sit on one of the couches primly, hands clasped in her lap and back straight as she surveyed him.

He could feel her eyes on his back, and he kept it to her as he didn't even savour the alcohol, just let it gulp down his throat as he stared out at the darkness beyond the hotel, toward a more residential part of Bern, toward the museum across the river, eyes slightly hazy and ears muffled.

But Hermione's question pierced through everything. "Doesn't it ever get tiring, putting on that show?"

"Who said it's a show?" snapped Tony, defensive. He still didn't turn, but his hand did tighten around the glass.

"I refuse to believe that a man who has three doctorates, is a genius inventor and skilled, charismatic speaker, is a debauched drunk."

Tony turned, grinning, the pointer finger on the hand around his glass pointed at her. He strode towards her, getting closer with every word. "A-ha! So you do think I'm a genius. And charismatic."

He finished by looming over her, just shy of his shins touching her knees on the couch.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Like this is news to you - the sun is shining, the sky is blue, and Tony Stark is a genius."

"'Course not," the man scoffed, putting the glass down on the coffee table behind him. "But it's nice to be recognized for it."

"Somehow I think your ego would survive not being reminded of it every ten minutes," replied Hermione wryly. It gave her a moment to ogle his backside in the trousers he wore, revealing a nice ass in her face. Her eyes jumped as he faced her again and she struggled to keep the blush off her cheeks.

Nothing to be ashamed of, Granger, she told herself. It was right there… you couldn't not look.

Tony eyed her for a moment and then swiftly placed himself on the couch next to her, close enough so that they legs bumped and brushed against one another. He stretched out an arm along the back of the seat, letting his fingertips trail and gently brush against some of Hermione's curls.

"I don't usually keep judgmental people around me," he said, his voice growing softer as he focused on his hand playing with the ends of her curls. "I don't like people me I'm wrong."

Hermione turned a bit to face him, arching an eyebrow. "I don't believe I ever said you were wrong. I recollect something about being morally reprehensible…"

Tony snorted. "Yeah, like that's any better."

"And yet, here I remain."

"So you are," he said, voice dropping more. He seemed lost in his thoughts.

Hermione leaned forward slightly, looking up at him, even with his face tilted down toward his chest. "Do you ever wonder - maybe think - that it's because you like someone arguing with you? Putting you in your place every once in a while because it's different? It's a challenge compared to everyone else who says 'yes sir' to the great Tony Stark?"

"If I wanted that, I'd just have to dig through my memories and summon my father," grumbled Tony, but there was something cagey in his eyes.

"So you're a runner," sighed Hermione, understanding in her voice. Unbidden, her right hand drifted to the silvery scar left from the cursed knife by her neck even as her eyes darted to her arm, where Bellatrix's slur remained visible, not even hidden by a glamour. "I can understand that."

Tony eyed her skeptically, his voice dark when he spoke. "Can you? My life isn't the same as some light prep school porno where the teachers didn't like you, the girls bullied you, or mommy and daddy went skiing in the Alps and forgot about poor little Hermione Granger at home."

Hermione's nose twitched for a moment and then she struggled to say through trembling lips, trying not to laugh, "Prep school porno?"

Tony's cheeks went a bit pink and he looked away. "So that wasn't my best-"

"I'll say."

His eyes darted back to Hermione's face, which was lit with mirth. Her brown eyes were glittering in the light of the penthouse, and her lips were twitching upward into a smile, but she was trying to hold it back. Something about her face - young, fresh, amused - softened him. "Yeah, laugh it up."

She was polite enough to manage her amusement. "I'm not saying we should have a… a pissing contest regarding whose life was worse, but you don't have a cornerstone on tragedy. And even then… it seems like you're finding ways to alleviate that."

"'Alleviate'," mouthed Tony, shaking his head a bit. "What a nice way of saying drinking and fucking."

Hermione went pink. "Your words; definitely not mine."

"So, what Granger?" asked Tony, leaning back and running a hand through his hair, dislodging the party hat. "You gonna play doctor and fix me?"

His leer seemed to be lacking something.

Hermione shook her head, her curls bouncing as she did so. "How about just being a friend?"

"I don't have friends," said Tony flatly. He went rigid, and his jaw worked as he tensed.

"You can have one," replied Hermione, her tone upbeat as she looked at him. "C'mon Stark, take a chance. What's a little risk without some reward?"

Outside, a whizz and burst of colour and several cracks threatened to break their conversation as the New Year crept on, signalling not just a different year, but a different century and millennia as they entered 2000.

Maybe it was the atmosphere, or Hermione's words, or Tony was drunker than he thought, but the Stark heir shook his head, slowly, and his other hand reached up and wrapped gently around the side of Hermione's neck, sliding his fingers into her hair by the nape of her neck.

"I don't think this was the risk you were talking about," he murmured, "but I've always been the kind to play at high stakes."

And as they were washed by the riotous colours of the exploding fireworks outside of the hotel, over the river, Tony leaned forward and kissed Hermione, and she couldn't tell when the fireworks display ended outside because of the amount that erupted at the feel of his lips pressed against hers.

The bed Hermione woke up in was just as luxurious as hers in her room, but had a difference of there being someone behind her, sharing the king sized bed with an arm wrapped around her middle and muffled snores paired with warm puffs of breath against her neck as her hair moved with each gentle exhale.

Blinking, Hermione took in the darkened room, the warmth of the body behind her, and she gingerly began to slide toward the edge of the bed. The arm around her stomach slowly slid across her bare skin until it dropped onto the mattress.

She was sore and aching in spots she hadn't for a long time, and she moved slowly as she gathered any discarded clothing (and her wand) from where they dropped as the two had not been thinking of organization when they frantically peeled clothing from each other the previous night.

"Usually I'm the one sneaking out," came a hoarse, groggy voice from behind Hermione.

With only her clothes in a bundle, bare-assed, Hermione stiffened. "Erm…"

"Relax, sweetheart," replied Tony, sounds of the bed shifting as he moved onto his back. "No offense meant."

"Oh. Erm. Good?"

There was a pause, and then the man sniggered. "Good?" he mimicked. Then he sighed. "Granger, while your ass is glorious, I think we can have a face-to-face conversation if you need one. Otherwise, I had a great time last night-"

"You remember? Tony, you were sloshed-"

"-but you know I'm not looking for anything more," he finished, talking over her.

Hermione bristled, hastily pulled on her panties and pulled her dress over her, forgoing her bra. She turned; glaring at him as he indolently sprawled on the bed, one arm behind his head and slightly propped up on the numerous pillows.

"There she is," he said quietly, but with a hint of mirth and pride. "I hated to think this scared you off, Pipsqueak."

"I don't scare easily," replied Hermione dryly. She closed her eyes, sighed, and then rolled her shoulders. When she opened them, she appeared more centered. "How about I leave without a fight, and the fact that we could call ourselves friends?"

Tony waved a hand negligently. "Sure thing."

Hermione fought the urge to stamp her foot. "Stark," she whined.

He glanced at her and sighed as well, something tugging at him. "Yeah, okay, friends. But don't let it go to your head or go around telling everyone. I don't do… friends." He shuddered.

"Uh huh," replied Hermione, turning and looking for her shoes. She found them and sat on the edge of the bed to put them on.

Tony was silent for a long moment behind her before he asked, "Did this complicate things if I contact Weasley? About some 3W stuff?"

Hermione tossed her hair as she looked at Tony over her shoulder. There was something in her eyes as she asked, "Would it stop you from contacting him if I said yes?"

Tony grimaced. "No - I'd still contact him. But… uh… I might feel… dunno. Weird."

He shuddered. "Ugh." He glared at Hermione. "And you're not to go around telling anyone that."

"Good thing it wouldn't then," smirked Hermione. She finished with her shoes and stood, facing Tony still lying on the bed. He had moved to bring an arm over his eyes, blocking his sight. "I guess this is where I say goodbye."

"Guess so."

When he didn't move, Hermione sighed. Her footsteps were lost in the plush carpet as she went to the side of the bed, where she leaned down.

"You're more than what they see," she breathed into his ear. "I hope one day you have the courage to be that person."

She then kissed his cheek, a lingering touch of her lips to the bristle of his morning shadow, and then left the penthouse suite, quietly shutting the bedroom door behind her and ignoring the eyes of his bodyguard as she did so.

George was already up when Hermione entered their shared room, sitting at the small two-person table near the balcony, drinking coffee and reviewing a thick parchment of notes. He took in her disheveled appearance and knotted hair with raised eyebrows, and whistled, long and low.

"Granger. Good morning," he said, bringing the coffee to his mouth as he raked her from head to toe. "Had a good night?"

"Did you?" she countered, moving straight to her room to shower and change her clothes.

She heard George chuckle. "Best be quick! We're checking out once you're done and had something to eat - we got an owl from Shacklebolt requesting our return to London."

"Sounds good," she threw over her shoulder, shutting the bedroom door behind her.

Hermione quickly showered, washing her hair and lathering her body with the soap the hotel provided (due to its quality compared to her generic ASDA brand purchases). She tried to wash what happened the previous night from her mind, failing to hide the physical reminders with the love nip bruises that lingered around her hips, upper thighs, and collarbone, the red marks from Tony's bristle around her lips. A glamour would take care of most of it, but at that moment, in the shower, she was unable to run from what she had done the previous night.

No matter, she thought, rubbing a bit harder at her hip and wincing as she did so. It's not like we're going to do this again. And if George goes through with meeting Stark later, I don't need to be there.

Her thoughts bolstered her and she quickly dried off, spelling her hair dry and stepping into more casual wear for the return trip to London via Portkey.

George was waiting for her in the shared seating area when she exited her room with her bag, everything packed and ready to go.

He looked her over, nodded once, and then turned to the door. Only, he stopped, turned again and said slowly, "What happened in Switzerland stays in Switzerland?"

Hermione chuckled. "Anything that we could talk about happened in 1999. It's a new year - let's make it a clean start, too."

"Got it," he replied, nodding.

Hours later, when they were back in London and Hermione was heading to her flat after a quick debrief with Kingsley Shacklebolt at the Ministry, Hermione found herself glad that she met Tony Stark, but in the same way that one would a celebrity they knew they'd never see again. She would think fondly, if not exasperatedly, about the man and the arguments they had regarding his weapons manufacturing and moral responsibilities, and blush if she thought about the things he could do with his hands, lips, in the dark of a room.

Three months later, she was preparing to join George in his visit to Stark Industries' headquarters in California, disgruntled that she would have to find a way to explain to Stark that they were about to be tied together in a rather permanent, lifelong way thanks to their activities in Bern.

So much for that goodbye, thought Hermione sourly, looking down at the sonogram picture she held. And so much for 'what happens in Switzerland, stays in Switzerland.'

TBC...

Chapter Text

II: Expectations & Offers

George looked at Hermione askance as they sat in very plush chairs at the private, first-class lounge at Heathrow. Ever since the phone call from Stark, which had gone to the newly established Muggle liaison office (conveniently located outside of Diagon Alley with active Floos to send memos or owl post to the appropriate person about a phone call), Hermione had been in a strange sort of mood. That mood had only become worse when George asked if she wanted to come with him to California to Stark Industries.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Granger?" he asked, for the nth time. "I know you two didn't get along - despite what happened - so there's no obligation-"

Hermione's brisk tone interrupted the redhead. "I need to do this."

That was all she ever said: she needed to do this. Whatever "this" was, George didn't know, but he was a bit apprehensive about it. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes didn't need to meet with Stark Industries - in fact, George wasn't sure what SI could offer him. To George (and, by extension, Minister Shacklebolt), the purpose of the Bern Tech Summit was to see what the Muggles were up to, whether anything they were producing could threaten to expose the Magical world and break the Statute of Secrecy, and if there was anything interesting, could George replicate it on a government contract? (And, George had to admit, he wasn't producing as many joke products lately without his other half - since Fred's death, it had been hard to find ways to laugh.)

And while that sonic cannon had been pretty nice, thought George with a dopey grin, eyes glazed over as he stared out toward the tarmac, A bombarda did just the same, if not more, damage. There's no need to have a portable version of the spell.

But in the meantime, they were posing as Muggles again, eschewing Floo and Portkey travel so that the representative that Tony assigned to them would meet them at LAX in a posh car and then to their hotel, allowing them time to freshen up before meeting Tony at the SI headquarters. In addition, all on the other man's galleons, so George was quite happy to take another vacation. Besides, London was dreary in March.

Soon, Hermione and George were flying over the Atlantic, and hours later, the plan was coasting on the tarmac in a completely different time zone and weather climate. George stretched as they exited the stuffy, recycled air of the plane and docking arm, his white t-shirt riding up a bit as he did so. Beside him, Hermione looked incredibly serious, her eyebrows and mouth a matching slash across her face.

"Lighten up, would you, Granger? We're in California," enthused George, eyes darting around the bright airport, taking in the perfume and tech ads as they hauled their carry-on luggage. "Merlin, Fred would never believe this…"

"Sorry," muttered Hermione, clenching her hand tight around her next-gen beaded bag, which was now a leather side satchel. "Just something on my mind."

George shot Hermione a glance but kept his mouth shut for the remainder of their walk through to customs. When they left customs, they both cast their eyes around the waiting area for someone who would take them to their hotel.

"Oh," exclaimed Hermione softly, causing George to look at her, and then follow her line of sight. An unhappy man, with slicked-back hair, held up a card that read 'George & Pipsqueak.'

George stifled a laugh.

The two walked toward the man, who finally stopped looking around the outgoing people with a miserable expression on his face when he caught sight of them. His face morphed into relief, and then he schooled it to something resembling passive, but there was a hint of irritation in his eyes and the tense lines around his mouth and eyes.

"Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger," he greeted them when they were a few paces away.

"Hey, mate," greeted George winningly, his blue eyes sparkling and mouth wide as he grinned and held out a hand. "We never met, despite you hanging around Tony all New Years' Eve. What's your name?"

The man blinked, as if not expecting the introductions, and slowly took George's hand. "Happy. Happy Hogan."

George kept his face straight as he nodded. "Happy. Nice to meet you."

Hermione mimicked her fellow wizard, smiling up at the man.

Happy just glanced between the two for a long, befuddled moment, and then shrugged. "This way."

He led them through the crowds and off to a less busy area, and then to a side entrance where security stood. The security guard and Happy exchanged serious nods of acknowledgment, and the man ushered George and Hermione through the door, which led to a set of stairs they went down, and then to a side tarmac of the airport. A long black car - a limo - was waiting for them.

Without realizing it, Hermione's eyebrows rocketed up just as George sharply inhaled. It was one thing to know Tony Stark was insanely rich, but it was another to experience a private entrance, and a ride in a sleek car.

"Mr. Stark wanted to make sure you were comfortable," explained Happy as he ushered them into the back.

George and Hermione slid across the leather seats, eyes wide as they took in the numerous alcoholic bottles that lined one side of the car, the champagne flutes, and the little bowls of snacks.

"Uhh…"

George and Hermione shared a look, but Happy had already closed the door and was making his way around to the driver side, the privacy window between the front and back still down as he tossed over his shoulder, "We've got you booked into Waldorf Astoria in Beverly Hills for the week - Mr. Stark insisted."

"A week? But-" Hermione glanced at George. "We didn't think the meetings would take that long-"

"Plans tend to be derailed when Mr. Stark involved," answered back Happy, although the inflection in his voice made Hermione question whether he thought that was amusing or aggravating.

It took some time - LA traffic was particularly terrible, making London's winding streets and motorways seem clear and easy to navigate - but soon the limo pulled up in front of a large, white hotel with creeping vines and palm trees.

"I'll let you get checked in and freshened up," instructed Happy as he helped Hermione out of the limo, and then grabbed George's carry-on for him. George gave the man an indulgent look as he did so, given that George's carrier bag was no larger than a hiking backpack. "And I'll be waiting here, so that in an hour or so if that's enough time, we can go to SI."

"There's no set meeting time?" questioned Hermione, glancing at the taller man.

Happy shook his head. "Mr. Stark cleared his schedule for you today."

Shocked, Hermione and George shared a matching look of surprise. "That… That was nice of him," the wizard said, blinking just a bit.

Checking in was quick and painless, given that SI had booked them into the hotel, and Tony's name meant people just moved quicker to do anything. After changing their clothes into something more business-like with a blazer (for George), and business-casual of jeans and a blouse (for Hermione), they returned to the car and soon, Happy was taking them to SI.

The building Happy pulled up to was beyond large; it was also incredibly modern and very California: it looked like a giant semicolon, a large circular main headquarters with an oblong, tapered wing extension from the back that they drove along until they were at the front of Stark Industries.

There was glass everywhere, a blue-tinted frost to them to reflect the sun's UVs and keep the inside cool despite the excessive amount of windows. The lobby was a mix of marble and steel, and the secretary at the long front desk didn't look up as Happy ushered them in and to an elevator, pressing the highest number on the panel.

The room the doors opened up to was less of an office and more a formal living room, with plush leather couches, modern art, a large chrome, and glass desk, and minimal knick-knacks to denote a personal touch.

One man was standing by the large floor to ceiling windows overlooking a green parkette on the SI land, a tumbler in his hands, while the other sat behind the desk, reading a file.

The man with the tumbler looked up as they walked in, a wide smile breaking across his face as he strode toward them, hand outstretched. "George Weasley! Good to see you again!" Tony enthused.

George shook his head in return, looking amused as he did so. "No party hat this time, Mr. Stark?"

"Tony; and I save my hats for special occasions," he replied, not missing a beat. He then turned to the other man, who stood and was now walking out from behind the desk, buttoning up his suit jacket as he did so.

He was tall, a bit bulky or hefty around his middle, and bald. Unlike Tony's dark facial hair, this man had a similar design but in grey, as if attempting to hide the width of his jaw and neck. His eyes were a cool blue when he surveyed George and Hermione.

Not cool, thought Hermione with a tiny shiver. But cruel and calculating.

"George, this is Obadiah Stane, my Vice-CEO," introduced Tony with a grin and a clap on Stane's shoulder as he came to stand shoulder-to-shoulder.

"It really should be CEO with everything I do around here," joked Stane, a smile on his face as he shook George's hand.

Tony laughed, but George only summoned a weak smile and Hermione was unmoved.

"And this, Obie," continued Tony, turning to Hermione, eyes sparkling, "Is Ms. Hermione Granger."

"Enchanté, Ms. Granger," said Stane, reaching forward and shaking her hand as well. He looked her over and then dismissed her just as quickly.

On one hand, Hermione bristled at the slight; on the other, she was incredibly pleased that she wouldn't have to deal with the man. George was better at handling slimy men - all she did was confound them when they tried out for Quidditch.

"Let's talk, shall we?" asked Stane, leading both George and Hermione to one of the two couches that faced each other.

George and Hermione went to sit on one, as a united front, while Stane relaxed on the other, taking up as much space as possible with his arms outstretched along the back, and one leg crossed with the ankle on his knee. Tony was left standing but he was moving around, full of energy anyway, and did not seem to notice the slight.

George and Hermione did, though.

Stane launched straight into an interrogation. "What would you say is 3W's most popular product? What was your revenue like last quarter? What is your yearly revenue? Are your stocks private or public? How many employees do you have? Are you the primary CEO or are there others, or a board?"

Hermione's eyebrows rose higher and higher at each question.

"Oh, c'mon, Obie!" groaned Tony. "We don't need to start on this right away, do we? Or even ask these questions?" he turned to Hermione. "Back me up, here, sweetheart-"

"Um…"

A glance at George had Hermione relaxing in her seat. The redhead seemed comfortable with the questions, even amused, if the twitch of his mouth was any indication.

"Let me interrupt you for a moment, Mr. Stane-"

"Obadiah, please," the other man broke in with a grin, "Or, Obie, to my friends."

George barely hesitated. "Obadiah, then. Tony is right; I'm curious about what this meeting is actually about? We were invited here to discuss 3W products, not my company's financial history."

"Financial history is important to SI, especially if we're going to merge," began Stane.

George's mouth turned down quickly and his tone was frosty. "Merge?"

Stane quickly backpedaled. "Partner, excuse me. There are products and ideas SI is interested in potentially leasing from 3W-"

"These are my intellectual property and I don't plan on leasing them out," retorted George coolly, leaning back into his seat.

Stane and George eyed each other warily.

"Perhaps Mr. Stane could begin instead on which products SI might be interested in?" asked Hermione carefully. "And then we can discuss things further? Or - maybe even we could see SI products to know what you're interested in instead?"

"A better idea," agreed George grudgingly. "I don't know much about SI."

"Well, a tour of the place is much easier," agreed Stane, his voice kind, and his body language open despite the hardness in his eyes. He stood. "Shall we?"

George nodded and stood as well, Hermione joining them, but as she walked past the couch, Tony caught her arm and began directing her away from the other two. She sighed. This was becoming a reoccurring thing with him.

"Excuse us, gentlemen, but Granger and I have a previous engagement," grinned Tony.

Stane's eyebrows rose as he glanced at Hermione again, but shrugged. George glanced at her and Hermione nodded in reply; she'd be fine. This was what she needed to do anyway.

"Later, Granger," he said, as Stane directed him to the elevator and they left.

"So!" Tony clapped his hands together. "What do you say, Pipsqueak? We don't need to see the SI labs - I bet you're the kind of girl who is dazzled by good music. Huh? Whadya say - join me for a matinee performance of Madame Butterfly?"

Hermione levelled a hard look at Tony.

"No? Hmm, tricky," the man continued, as they entered the elevator and went to ground level. "Maybe - a drive in a fancy car to Napa Valley for a wine tasting tour? Just name a place and I'll call ahead and we'll close it down so we have it all to ourselves."

Hermione shook her head. "No, thank you, Tony, besides; I'm not interested-"

"-In wine? Okay," he continued, undaunted as they reached the lobby. "Private yacht, you and me, a five-course dinner washed in the sunset on the Pacific ocean?"

"You have a private yacht?" asked Hermione incredulously, and then she shook her head. "Never mind, of course you do."

"So is that a yes?"

"That's a no," replied Hermione with a sigh.

Tony frowned. "Well, what about seeing the genius behind the man?"

Hermione tilted her head to the side. "What?"

"Come to my place, in Malibu," he said, glancing down at her. "I have exquisite taste in art - you can see my art collection. Or my vintage cars."

"Is it private?" she asked, one hand fluttering to her stomach area before dropping.

Tony grinned. "Very."

"That sounds like a good plan, then," she said with a decisive nod.

"I like the way you think, Pipsqueak." Tony steered her out of the lobby and through the doors, where a hot red, convertible was waiting. The driver - or valet, which was crazy to think that SI had one - left the keys in the ignition and Tony gallantly held open the door on Hermione's passenger side (which she was not used to, thinking it was the driver's), helping her slide in.

Tony then jogged around to the driver's side, slid in, and gunned the engine before pulling out with a loud peal of the tires. He whooped and laughed loudly as Hermione shrieked and reached for the door handle, clutching it tightly.

"How far is it to your place?" she called over the noise of the engine, tense.

"Usually an hour in traffic," he replied with a grin and a flash of eye from behind his glasses. "But with me driving like this? Let's say twenty-five minutes."

Hermione paled. Oh, Merlin. I'm going to die.

Tony's Malibu mansion was exactly what Hermione thought it would be: white, modern, and very Californian. There were straight lines, and large windows, and a long drive and gate with a simple landscaped yard and greenery that didn't require any or little maintenance.

"What do you think?"

Hermione glanced from the passenger seat, finally relaxed enough from Tony's reckless driving, and caught Tony's eyes just as they darted forward again, behind his tinted glasses.

Amused, Hermione felt her mouth lift. Are you trying to gauge whether or not I like your home, Mr. Stark?

"It's very nice," she said instead, thinking back to her tiny flat overlooking another building block back in London. "A much nicer view than my place currently is."

"Oh, well, you know London," began Tony airily, just shy of being patronizing, "Rain, and more rain. Lots of people in too tiny a place." He shuddered.

The car pulled itself up alongside the front and around the side, where the drive sloped into an underground parking garage. Hermione's eyes grew wide at the sight of numerous vehicles, ranging in colour and design, all nicely parked with their fronts facing the garage door.

"Impressive, isn't it?" preened the billionaire, exiting the car and coming around to open Hermione's door.

Hermione took the time to look around. "Um, it's certainly a lot."

With a hand at her back, Tony led Hermione around the garage, and then through a door that blended in with the contemporary design of the bright lights and pale grey walls. It was an elevator, and as they entered, a male British voice said, "Welcome back, sir."

Hermione stiffened, casting her eyes around. Hearing voices isn't a good sign for witches and wizards...

"Thanks, J.A.R.V.I.S.," replied Tony, nonchalantly despite eyeing the petite witch at his side.

"Who was that?" demanded Hermione as the doors slid open and revealed a short side hallway filled with natural light. Tony steered her down the hallway that opened up to a large, partially sunken living space with views of the sparkling Pacific Ocean. Hermione felt her breath catch and she dropped her bag on the floor carelessly.

"That," began an amused Tony as Hermione practically floated to the large floor-to-ceiling window, her eyes on the calm sea, "was J.A.R.V.I.S.. My AI. He stands for Just Another Rather Very Intelligent System. J - Say hello."

Hermione spun. Her uneasiness of a disembodied voice warred with her appreciation for Tony's creative genius. "You have a working AI?"

At the same time, the voice said, "Welcome, Ms. Granger."

Her mouth dropped open and Hermione looked around the room with wonder. "Tony - that's - that's amazing - J.A.R.V.I.S. - I - oh!"

Tony smirked, striding forward and flinging himself down on his comfortable white leather couch. "Yeah, he gets that a lot."

Hermione migrated from the windows to the couch, sitting near, but not close enough to touch. She laced her fingers together and turned partially to face Tony. "How long have you had J.A.R.V.I.S. integrated?"

Tony tilted his head back. "How many years is it, J?"

"Two years, three months, and nineteen days, sir," replied the AI. "And counting."

"And still learning," added Tony. "He's incredibly intelligent and self-sustaining to the point of continuous advancement. He learns the longer he's aware, and he's connected to everything I can connect him to."

"Which is?"

"Right now?" Tony made a tiny face. "Not much. The house, mostly. I'm hoping to integrate him with more as it becomes easier. The internet? It's going but dependent on domains and hosts and users - and how much information is put on it."

Hermione leaned forward, impressed. "But eventually?"

"Oh, eventually? J.A.R.V.I.S. will be in everything," replied Tony, grinning. "My personal, artificial intelligence butler." He paused. "Not available for commercial or private use."

Hermione laughed.

"So, Pipsqueak; what do you do when you're not working with Weasley?" asked Tony.

"Work with George? Are you kidding?" Hermione shook her head. "That's his company. I don't work for him at all."

Tony frowned. "Then what were you doing at the Summit?"

"I was asked to go by a friend and high-ranking government member," explained Hermione, avoiding calling Kingsley 'Minister.' "George was kind enough to allow me to tag along."

"Huh." There was a furrow between Tony's brows. "So what is it that you actually do? Are you in school?"

"I've applied - Oxford, for quantum mechanics and matter physics for September," said Hermione. "With additional degrees in higher maths and archeology."

Tony looked dumbstruck for a moment and then whistled, his expression morphing to keen and impressed. "That would be four."

Hermione laughed, with a tiny feline grin on her face. "Well, like I said, I plan to beat your three doctorates by gaining four."

Tony snickered. "Although I was at MIT when I was sixteen, Granger - you'll be hard pressed to keep up with me."

"We'll see," she replied, eyes sparkling. "Anyway, I couldn't decide what I wanted to do when I graduated, so I kind of… do a little of everything. Consider me a freelance contractor. I dabble in things I like, here and there, sometimes government contract, sometimes private commissions. It depends on what captures my interest."

"Captures your interest, huh?" Tony's eyes darkened and he went from being laidback to smoldering in a moment. He shifted across the couch, a hand reaching out and capturing a strand of her hair.

Hermione fought back a shiver. "Um, Tony-"

"Mmm?" but the man had leaned forward, his nose running along her neck as his body turned to hers. He was warm, his aftershave was spicy, and Hermione felt her eyes flutter shut.

"Really, Tony, I-"

Whatever she wanted to say was cut off as the billionaire's mouth trailed along her cheek to her lips. Hermione found herself responding to his kiss, pressing back and letting him crowd her into the back of the couch. For a few, long, breathless moments, all Hermione could think about was the feel of Tony's mouth on hers, the bristle from his scruff, the heat from his body.

Then she remembered. I'm not here as some booty call… "Tony. Tony - mm - stop."

"Hmm?" he asked, drawing back. His pupils were blown wide, his mouth redder than normal and there was a flush to his cheeks.

"I do actually want to say something to you-"

"Bedroom? Great idea," interrupted Tony with a grin, standing up and pulling Hermione to him, where she overbalanced and caught herself by clutching at his arms.

"What? No-"

But Tony was dragging her down the hallway, reminiscent of their first meeting in Bern. Hermione tried to dig her heels in, tugging a bit ineffectually on Tony's arm. Frustrated, she yanked and went, "Tony, please listen to me! It's important!"

"What? What is it?" he asked, spinning around. The flush of pleasure was slowly draining from his cheeks, and his need to get Hermione to his bedroom was fading, quickly.

Hermione's mouth went dry and suddenly, she couldn't speak. She began to wring her hands in front of her, and she swallowed thickly but her throat was dry.

Impatiently, Tony frowned and demanded, "What is it?" His eyes narrowed on her.

Buck it up with that Gryffindor courage, thought Hermione, who let her hands fall to her side. She clenched them and Tony's eyes dropped to look at them before up at her face. Something wary shifted in them.

"I - I - bother! How do I start this?" she muttered, glancing away.

"At the beginning is good," retorted Tony, much of his jovial tone shifting to something more neutral. "Or just spit it out."

Hermione tilted her chin up, jutting it out, and blurted, "I'm pregnant."

Tony stared at her for a minute, and then went, "Excuse me?"

"Three months," continued Hermione, her voice going shrill as she spoke quicker. "Look - I'm not expecting anything from you - really, I'm not - that is to say, I didn't expect this - at all - but… well, I'd like to keep it. Really, I would. I - I had this health scare - a traumatic experience when I was sixteen - and I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to have children since - not like I'm using you, like a - a sperm donor or anything, Tony, really - but I do want this child. And whether you want to be part of their life or not is up to you?"

She winced at the question. "I know they're half yours, and that's fine, but honestly - I'd like you to be involved." She paused, took in his wide-eyed look, and rushed to add, "But you don't have to if you don't want!" She laughed nervously, eyes darting away. "At all. No pressure. None."

A high-pitched noise came from Tony's throat. He then cleared his throat and opened his mouth to try to speak, again, but then closed it and shook his head the tiniest bit.

Finally, he said, his voice strained and tight, "Granger? Lab. Now. J - Prep."

"On it, sir," replied J.A.R.V.I.S..

"Lab?" Hermione's voice rose sharply and warbled in nervousness.

Despite her concerns, Hermione followed behind him as Tony practically stalked through his shiny concrete walls, a deep frown set on his face. They were silent until they reached the glass doors that separated his lab from the rest of the house, on the same level as his underground parking garage.

There were large, thin Stark-standard display screens on several walls, almost as large as chalkboards, and a parallel console with embedded screens that Tony stopped at. He rolled up his sleeves and reached out to touch one screen that mirrored the larger walled ones, where files, folders, and flashes of information passed by too quickly for Hermione to read.

Off to the side, where a lab was set up, a few clunky looking robots wheeled forward with rubber gloves, swabs, and test tubes. Tony glanced at the robot, muttered something about "dummy," and then tersely pointed at a rolling stool for Hermione to sit on with a sharp jerk.

Doing so, Hermione watched as Tony prepped by putting on the gloves, thoroughly washing his hands first and then readying the vials. He sat on his own stool and wheeled over to her, instructing her with a sharp, "Your arm."

Perplexed, Hermione extended it and watched in fascination and utter worry as Tony tapped her arm, found a vein, and efficiently inserted a clean needle to withdraw blood into a vial.

"What's that going to do?" asked Hermione quietly, respecting Tony's tense frame and the fact that he worked in silence other than to issue orders.

"Just… going to check your hormone levels," he said, haltingly. He turned away from her on the stool and did some fiddling with the lab material on his side, his body blocking her vision.

Hermione frowned, and ire rose. "To make sure I'm telling the truth?"

Tony refused to meet her eyes.

"I'm not some kind of - of scarlet woman, Tony Stark!"

This time, Tony did turn around, mirth on his face. "Scarlet woman?"

Hermione blushed a furious red.

"Yes, well," she said, pulling on her shirt and tugging it down in embarrassment. "It wouldn't be the first time someone's called me that."

"Sleep with a lot of men, Granger?" there was something cruel in Tony's voice.

Hermione's eyes shot up from where she was looking at the floor, hurt creeping into her voice as she responded, "No. Mer-God, no. I… I was fifteen, and there was a school dance… and my best friend is famous…"

Tony cleared his throat. "Right. Um - right."

Hermione stared. "You don't say 'sorry' often, do you?"

In reply, Tony reached up and scratched at his cheek, looking everywhere in his lab but at the witch sitting on the stool in front of him.

Hermione sighed. "Look… Tony… this baby isn't going to appear overnight like some horror-movie parasite-"

The man in question to her conversation looked horrified at the comparison; eyes wide as they darted down to stare at her relatively flat stomach. "That was not a visual that I needed in my life, Granger."

"I-" Hermione cut herself off, staring at the American for a moment, before attempting to stifle a chuckle. "Sorry. That wasn't my best comparison. What I'm trying to say here, is that it's going to be at least six more months to go. You don't have to decide right now if you want to be involved - I'm not forcing you to make any decisions. I want you to think about it."

"Six months?" Tony frowned and he finally met her eyes. "That's September. What about school?"

"My friends and extended family is enough to help me with baby care and babysitting-"

Tony's heart clenched something hard and anger quickly rose in him, bubbling out with a snappish, "I don't want any child of mine abandoned into someone else's care while you go off and do your own thing-!"

"I did not say that," snapped back Hermione, rising from the stool to stand, although in doing so with her short stature, she merely gained an inch from her seated form. This put her level at Tony's chest, so she tilted her chin back and poked at him. "I said that they would help. I plan on being this baby's primary caregiver, Mr. Stark, so don't you dare assume differently!"

Tony quickly swallowed back anything else he was going to say. Watch it, buddy, he thought, glancing away. She's not Dad. Her own interests do not lie in presumed dead soldiers lying at the bottom of the Arctic.

"Right. Got it."

Hermione sighed and stepped back, sending the stool rolling away. She ran a hand through her hair. "I'll be back in the UK, once George is done with his meetings here. You can… you can let me know what your answer is at any time."

Tony nodded, keeping silent. The two stared at each other for a few long moments, before Hermione asked, "J.A.R.V.I.S.? Can you direct me back upstairs? It's probably best if I return to the hotel."

"Of course, Ms. Granger," the AI replied, and then used a series of blinking hall lights in addition to a verbal set of instructions to return to the living space upstairs. Tony followed Hermione silently, a ghost to her back as she left the lab.

Topside, Hermione went straight to her leather bag, reaching in and doing her best not to sink her arm all the way down with the undetectable extension charm in play. Instead, she wandlessly summoned the business card she had Kingsley approve before their trip out, and handed it to Tony as she clutched at the strap of her bag.

"What's this?" asked Tony, looking down at it and not taking the card.

"It's… it's my business card," replied Hermione, looking down at it as well and then at Tony. She shook it a bit in her hand. "It has my contact information on it."

Tony looked at a bit more and then told her, plainly, "I don't like being handed things."

Hermione's eyes narrowed and she took two loud steps toward him. Tony, refusing to be intimidated by a tiny slip of a woman, stood his ground.

"Tough," retorted Hermione, grabbing his hand, palm open and facing up, as she slapped the business card onto it. As she was still holding onto his hand, her fingers wrapped tight around his wrist, she felt his full-bodied shiver.

Tony's fingers curled up instinctively and covered the card, crumpling the edges a bit as Hermione stepped back and let go. There was a strange expression on her face that Tony couldn't quite read, with her head tilted to the side.

"I'll - I'll go wait outside if you could be kind enough to fetch me a taxi," she said, her voice quiet and soft.

Tony cleared his throat. "J? Contact Happy and have him pick up Pips- uh, Granger. He can drop her off at her hotel."

Hermione nodded and walked past Tony as he remained rooted in spot, his back to her as she headed to the main door. Just before she opened it though, she called, "Tony?"

He turned.

The large door framed the witch, with warm California air wafting into the climate-controlled space. Tony, already stressed, felt the warm air brush over his sweaty skin. There was something earnest in her expression, something open and hopeful when she spoke. "I really do mean it, you know. I'd love to have you involved in our lives, but I also won't ever pressure you. I'll me know what you decide when you do. Think it over."

Tony nodded, his mouth dry. "I will, Granger."

She gave him a tiny smile and then shut the door.

In response, Tony's shaky legs took him to his white couch where he collapsed. His eyes looked unseeingly out toward the sparkling ocean for several long moments until he exhaled loudly.

"J.A.R.V.I.S.?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Call Rhodey."

"Yes, sir."

He had a lot to tell his best friend and steadfast companion.

The time after Hermione and George's visit to the States went quick; Hermione announced to the extended Weasley clan about her pregnancy, which overall went well except for some choice words from Mrs. Weasley about having a child out of wedlock. Fleur, on the other hand, was ecstatic for another pregnant witch in the family and soon was sending weekly owls to Hermione with tips and helpful advice that Hermione would never admit to desperately and anxiously needing.

Ginny helped baby proof her flat with Harry one weekend, casting spell after spell after spell - almost an excessive amount that Hermione had found in numerous texts she bought (even to the point of contradiction), but Hermione was nothing if not thorough.

Then, in May, about two weeks before Fleur's due date, Maya Hansen knocked on Hermione's door.

The woman looked down at Hermione's stomach and the first words out of her mouth were, "Oh wow," and then, "Holy shit, am I glad it's you and not me."

"Thanks," replied Hermione dryly, opening the door wider for the woman to enter. Maya, on the other hand, was blushing a furious red, slinking in with embarrassment as she did so.

"I didn't quite mean it the way it sounded," she replied, meekly.

"No, but you're definitely happy you're not having Tony Stark's lovechild," replied Hermione, her voice caustic but the grin on her face took out the sting. The two walked from the front to the living space, Hermione gratefully sinking into her cushions.

"So it is Stark's," sighed Maya, sitting down too. "I often wondered where you two disappeared on New Years' Eve, but George never said anything and I didn't want to ask-"

"It's fine," sighed Hermione. "It certainly wasn't planned."

Maya stared at Hermione. "Well, of course not. I'd imagine Stark Industries has a whole disaster contingency plan for when women come forward claiming they're carrying Stark's baby."

"I wouldn't know." Hermione turned partially from Maya, "Do you want tea?"

Maya blinked. "What? Um. Yes, please." She then shook her head. "What do you mean, you wouldn't know? Doesn't Stark know?"

"Oh, Tony knows," replied Hermione, standing again and moving to her kitchen, in plain sight of the living space. She began fiddling with her teapot and gathering cups as the water boiled. "But since I told him directly, I don't think he told anyone else at SI."

"Oh. Um. Wow?"

Hermione grinned at Maya. "Yeah, well, it's been two months and I haven't heard from him so… I wouldn't hold my breath now."

"I'm sorry," grimaced Maya. "But, if you ever want help or a babysitter, I'll be here."

Hermione turned fully to the other woman. "What do you mean, you'll be here?"

Maya grinned. "I just had lunch with George and your friend, Harry Potter. I'm not sure if you know, but since Bern, George and I kept in contact. I've been working a bit more on my research but haven't had luck with funding. George really wants me to continue with it, and well, it seems that Potter has some extra cash lying around…"

Hermione squealed. "Maya, that's wonderful! Harry has always been generous to friends and family with their dreams - did George tell you he gave him and his brother the funds to start their business? And now he'll do so for you?"

"Oh, more than that," replied Maya, leaning back, looking like a satisfied cat. "They're going to start a new branch to 3W, one based solely for scientific research, with my research at the heart of the company. They even want me to meet with another friend you know - a professor? Longbottom?"

Hermione felt her mouth drop open just as a teapot shrilled.

"So I'll be permanently moving here to the UK," finished the scientist, her smile wide and her eyes sparkling with pride and pleasure. "And with George and Potter as my bosses, I don't think they'll care about results the same way another organization might. They seem pretty relaxed."

"They are," enthused Hermione, turning with a tray in her hands filled with their teacups, a teapot, cream and sugar, and some nibbles. "That is amazing, I'm so happy for you! Your work is brilliant, and you'll do brilliant things with 3W."

Maya jumped up and took the tray from her, carefully setting it down on the coffee table in front of the couch as Hermione shifted from baby books to the side, stacking them.

"Thanks," the other woman said, blushing a bit. "George is taking a chance, and I'm really grateful for him and Potter-"

"I think George needed this too," interrupted Hermione. "He needs to get into projects he's excited about. He's been stagnant with the joke shop since…"

"Since his brother passed away," finished Maya knowingly.

Hermione glanced at her curiously. "George told you about Fred?"

"A bit," admitted Maya, "But not much. That they were twins; that he died not even two years ago, violently. That they were business partners."

Hermione was slowly nodding along. "I'm surprised. George doesn't mention a lot about Fred anymore."

"We didn't really have anything to do New Years' Eve but talk," laughed Maya. "Once we realized that we lost you and Stark, we ended up in my room and I spent a few hours going over my project with George. And then we blew up a small part of the room when he snapped a twig off-"

"Of course he did," Hermione sighed just as Maya giggled.

"-and then we went back to your suite where he showed me some of the 3W designs he brought along. Remember how I said I was at the back of the room?" Maya asked, causing Hermione to nod in remembrance. "I never got a chance to come up and ask about some of the products since Dr. Parker was monopolizing your time. So George walked me through a lot after."

Hermione took a moment to look at her shrewdly, but Maya interpreted it correctly and shook her head.

"No offense to George, but he's not my type," she replied, a wicked grin on her face. "Now, you, had you not disappeared with Stark…"

Hermione blushed a furious red. "And then George offered you a job?"

Maya allowed for Hermione's diversion. "No, we just became pen pals. I was expecting an email, but I have to admit I'm kind of charmed by writing old fashioned letters…"

The two lapsed into silence as they drank their tea.

"Do you think Stark will call?" asked Maya, eventually.

Hermione sighed. "I hope so. I don't need his help - I'm fine on my own and as you well know, now, I have a large group of friends to support me as well. But…" she bit her lip and looked down into the brownish liquid in her cup, swirling it around a bit. "I think there's something… strong and good in him under all that bluster he puts on."

Maya made a disbelieving noise but didn't say anything.

Hermione sighed again. "Yeah. I guess we'll see and find out if I'm wrong."

"Are you usually wrong?"

Hermione looked up from her tea, a smirk on her face. "Rarely."

"Here's hoping that streak continues," finished Maya as the two women clinked their teacups together gently in a toast to Hermione.

Victoire Weasley was born at home, at Shell Cottage, on May 20 in the wee hours of the morning with all ten fingers and ten toes and a very loud, healthy set of lungs, Bill proudly announced to the family. Molly, who rushed over to the cottage with cooked meals, several knitted items, and numerous cards and well wishes, immediately spoilt the first Weasley grandchild.

"Just think, soon that will be you," grinned Harry, seated next to Hermione when he and Ron stopped by to visit her a week later.

"Soon," snorted Hermione. "Try another four months. That's ages away."

"Dunno," replied Ron, leaning forward to reach for the cookies Molly gave him to bring to Hermione's, "Four months tend to go by fast. We'll be done our Auror training in three, and Gin's off to training with the Holyhead Harpies in two."

The three caught up for a bit longer, passing gossip of what everyone they knew was doing ("Hannah's taken over the Leaky, now that Tom's retired," "Nev's just finished his apprenticeship with Sprout, I heard McGonagall is going to offer him a full-time position next year," and "Mum's pissed Charlie won't be coming home this summer."). Then, it got late and Harry apologized, saying he needs to pick up Teddy; and Ron was off for a date with Susan Bones (who ever saw that coming? wondered Hermione), leaving her alone in her flat.

She went around, flicking on lights with her wand instead of the switches, and then curled up on her sofa, pulling out a book that she was reading on magical archeology. As she settled, a knock on her door had her groan.

Who could it be at this time of the night? She wondered, slowly rising and moving to open it.

Tony stood on the other side, in a light jacket, his hair wind-tousled and his cheeks pink from the spring evening chill. He hastily shoved a bouquet of flowers at her. "These are for you. Imagine I said something flowery if anyone asks."

"Um, thanks?" replied Hermione, staring down at them as she took them. Her nose wrinkled at the roses.

"Not a fan?" guessed Tony, catching her expression as he stepped into the flat.

"Not… really," Hermione paused and looked up. "Not that I'm upset - really, just confused, but um - what are you doing here?"

Tony tilted his chin up a bit defensively. "You said we could talk when I made my decision." He stopped, eyeing her.

"Your decision?" repeated Hermione, and then it dawned on her. "Oh! Oh, your decision."

She quickly placed the flowers in the sink and turned back to him, wiping her wet hands on her jeans.

Tony nodded, looking around and then scratching at his chin. "Can I uh… sit?"

Hermione nodded and Tony walked to her couch, sinking on it. He looked lost in her living room, all designer wear, and male in ways that her space, books, throws, and plush fabrics, weren't.

"Do you… um… have anything to drink?"

Hermione stared at him. "I'm pregnant, Tony, I can't drink."

"Doesn't mean you don't have anything else here for others," the man retorted, and Hermione sighed, admitting to herself that yes, she had Firewhiskey for George and Ron, and butterbeer for Harry, as well as a regular Muggle brand for Maya when she came by.

She turned and got a can out for the billionaire, passing it to him and sitting at the other end of the couch primly, watching him carefully as he snapped the tab and took a few swigs. His hand was shaking as he brought the can down from his mouth, and despite having said he made a decision, he looked terrified at admitting it aloud.

"You don't have to do this if you're not ready," said Hermione quietly.

Tony shook his head, putting the beer down on the coffee table, on top of a potions journal. Hermione cringed and hoped he also didn't glance down at the title. That'll be hard to explain.

"So," he cleared his throat and tried again. "So. I - uh - my dad and I - well, we didn't get along. At all." He grimaced. "He wasn't around; shipped me off to boarding school. Out of sight and out of mind and all that."

Bitterness seeped into his voice. "Howard was a real jerk. Angry all the time, didn't have a moment for me. Did you know I built my first robot when I was in elementary school? Won a prize and everything. And he never even offered a 'great job, son,' once."

Tony's eyes glazed over a bit as he became lost in his memories, lines around his mouth deepening and making him appear older than he was as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Finally, he looked up at Hermione.

"I don't know how to be a dad, Hermione," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I still don't know if I really want to be one, either."

Hermione felt her breath catch, so sure and ready to hear the words: thanks and so long, all the best - wish you well - her eyes drifted down to her hands in her lap.

"But…"

Brown eyes darted up and caught another set of brown eyes, these deeper and darker in colour than hers.

"But… well, I'll support you if you want," he finished, shifting uncomfortably. "I'll… I'll be there when you want me to be." His mouth twisted. "Like, for checkups and whatever… It'll be a bit hard to explain why I'm in England so much to Obie and SI, but I'll do it-"

"Tony, you don't have to," interrupted Hermione, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. She was sure he could hear it. "Just be here for the birth - I know you're busy with SI."

He looked at her skeptically. "You sure? I thought women wanted their baby daddies around for everything-"

Hermione laughed. "I think we both know where you'll stand on that."

"I'll set up a trust," continued Tony, hesitantly.

"I don't need the money, but I appreciate it. I'm sure the baby will too, once they grow up and want to attend university," replied Hermione. "Maybe Oxford."

Tony scoffed. "MIT, sweetheart. Maybe Stanford or Berkeley, or nothing at all."

Hermione resisted rolling her eyes. "And if they want to go to a Liberal Arts college?"

The stare Tony levelled at her spoke volumes of his thoughts on that idea. Hermione sighed but let the matter drop. They had eighteen years before it came to that.

Instead, Hermione took a moment to ask hesitantly, "What about the name situation?"

"Name?" Tony frowned. "You can pick - I don't really care for picking their name out."

"I meant the last name. Will they be Stark or Granger?"

"What about Granger-Stark?" asked a cheeky Tony, beginning to relax.

"Mouthful, that," replied Hermione. "But I'm more concerned with them potentially being a Stark and being accosted by paparazzi-"

"Won't happen." Tony's mouth turned down into a flat line. "I grew up in the spotlight and I don't want that for our kid. Call them Granger, then - that's fine by me."

Hermione stared at Tony as he spoke with vehemence on the topic. Maybe I'll ask him about this again another time, she thought, or at least, pick for myself at a later date.

"Okay…" she said instead.

Tony raised his eyebrows. "Anything else?"

Hermione slowly shook her head. I'll need to ask Kingsley's permission to have Tony brought into the magical world, though. I'll ease him into it - no Seamus Finnegan, "it was a nasty surprise to me dad!" situation for me.

"Okay," sighed Tony, closing his eyes in relief. "Uh, if there's more… we'll uh… we'll talk?"

Hermione nodded. "Of course." She reached over to her coffee table, ripped off some spare parchment she was using for notes, and scribbled her rarely used landline phone number on it. She knew he had it from her business card, but it was likely he tossed that.

"This is a good way to get a hold of me," she said, using a pen instead of a quill. The shape felt odd in her hands after a decade or so in the magical world. "I won't always answer, especially if I'm caught up in my work - but you can leave a message."

She didn't hand the paper to Tony, knowing he didn't like it. Instead, she slid it across the table to him and he picked it up after her. He placed it in his jacket interior pocket, patting it when he was done.

"I'll make sure that when you call, JARVIS will send your call directly to me," he replied.

Hermione grinned. "I'd need your number for that."

Tony closed his eyes in mortification - I can't believe I forgot that he thought - and used the same parchment she did to write his number on. When he finished, he frowned, rubbing his fingers between the thick, rough paper.

"This is-" he looked up at her.

"Parchment," replied Hermione, trying to sound nonchalant. "I'm exploring different paper-making techniques for a pre-university course in archeology."

"Huh," the American replied, still rubbing it for a moment longer. "Sounds neat. Wish my undergrad had interactive courses like that." He glanced at her. "Are you still committed to doing school even with the -" he choked a bit "-baby?"

Hermione nodded. "September 29th is my due date, apparently. We'll see if they're early or not." She paused. "Will you - you'll be there?"

Tony looked at Hermione carefully. She was so terribly young, and it took him a few seconds to remember that she was only twenty, and he felt like a lecher, an old man taking advantage of her despite turning thirty in a few days. She was tiny, pale with the toll of the pregnancy on her, and despite having friends to support her, Tony found himself desperately wanting, at that moment, to reach out, hold her hand, and tell her he'd do anything she'd ask to make her happy.

Instead, he bit the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from speaking. He nodded weakly, and said, hoarsely as reality slammed into him, "Sure, Hermione. I'll be there."

When James Rhodes got the phone call, a part of him could honestly say that he wasn't expecting it. He really wasn't - Tony was Tony, and there would be a part of him that messed up, at the worst possible time. Only, he had hoped it wouldn't have been in September, and certainly not that week, and not the days around Hermione's due date.

So, with a resigned sigh, Rhodey found himself walking into the Las Vegas casino, casting his eyes around the dim interior and wincing at the jarring, garish lights and the smell of cigar smoke as he looked for his distinctive friend.

It took a few minutes, but eventually, he found Tony, hanging off of two leggy models, one a redhead and the other blonde, both of whom were teetering on their heels as well. Tony's shirt was wrinkled and stained, his hair was a mess, and there was a lipstick kiss smudged onto one cheek.

As soon as Tony saw him, he cheered, loudly, "RHODEY!"

Unfortunately for Tony, Rhodey kept his face solemn. "Tony."

Tony began gesturing to the two women at his side, wavering in his spot, clutching tightly at the women's shoulders from his place between them. "Ladies, have you - have you met Rhodey? He's my Rhodey. My Rhodey."

As he spoke, he leaned forward and his breath wafted near Rhodey, who grimaced. "Jesus, Tones, you're wasted. What have you been drinking?"

"This and that," grinned the billionaire, burping. His eyes went comically wide and he brought a hand up to cover his mouth. The two models at his side laughed, but it was grating and Rhodey felt his teeth clench, grinding down on his molars.

"Tony," his friend began, trying to be patient, "Don't you remember the date?"

Tony blinked. "No… why should I? I have people for that."

"Yeah, man, you do. But you also promised to stick around-"

"Pssh, stick around for what?"

Rhodey stared. Without warning, he reached forward and yanked Tony away from between the two models, and began frog marching him through the aisle.

"Ow, ow, hey, Rhodes-!"

"Jesus Christ, Tony," muttered Rhodey, his face dark as he tightened his grip. "Of all the days you had to go on a fucking bender, you had to pick this week, didn't you?"

"What's so important-"

"What's so important?" echoed Rhodey, incredulously. He abruptly came to a stop in the middle of the casino floor, staring down at his best friend in muted horror. "How about the phone call I got when you didn't answer your phone two days ago? From George Weasley? That Hermione went into labour?"

Apparently, the remembrance of impending fatherhood was enough to sober Tony, enough so that he blanched milk white. His swaying grew more violent until he darted out of Rhodey's grip and leaned over into a cigarette trash stand, vomiting into the sandy top.

Rhodey, used to Tony's behaviour, was unmoved but did shift a bit in embarrassment as a few people glanced over. Clearing his throat, he called, "Nothing to see here, folks. Nothing to see. Just a guy who drank too much."

"Rhodey," moaned Tony, looking up and over his shoulder. "How long? How many days have I-"

"I'm sorry, Tones. Two, at least, but with the time difference? Three now," replied his best friend, wincing in empathy. "What do you want to do?"

"I need to - I need to get to London," muttered Tony, staring at the wall in front of him as he continued to lean over the trash. "Now. Can you - can you call Happy? And get the jet started?"

"If you take the jet, Stane is going to find out," cautioned Rhodey. "I thought you wanted this kept quiet from everyone? That's why you had the ticket-"

Tony's hand reached out and smacked the wall, hard. "Fuck!"

Morosely, he straightened and turned to face his friend. New lines were etched on the thirty-year-old's face. "Rhodey, what do I do?"

Rhodes leaned forward, wrapping an arm around Tony's shoulders. He began leading him from the casino, this time, gently. "C'mon, Tones. I'll see if there's a military transport heading that way - we might be able to catch a flight and then we'll come up with something to get you home after, okay?"

Tony nodded, but Rhodey could tell that he was lost in his thoughts, the stricken look on his face slowly sinking into permanence. "Rhodey, I already fucked up. What if she doesn't want me to see the kid? Not even a few days old and I'm already doing worse than my dad-"

"Don't say that!" snapped Rhodey, glaring at his friend. "Don't. You're nothing like your dad, you know that. And it's been a few days, so what? What about all those babies born to soldiers deployed overseas? Some of them don't see their kids until they months old and no one gets upset."

"That's different."

Rhodey grimaced. "Okay, a bit, yeah, but still. Tones. It'll be okay."

There was an unconvinced look on Tony's face, though. "You don't know Hermione," he muttered in reply.

Rhodey - who had never yet met the mother of Tony's child - couldn't disagree, but wanted to argue. The expression of utter defeat, was like the world was about to end and nothing Tony could do could stop it from happening. It was only when seeing that expression that Rhodey privately admitted to himself that yeah, Tony may have really screwed the pooch on this one.

Hermione settled into motherhood the same way she took to anything else, with books and excessive planning. As such, her flat in London was completely baby proofed with Muggle and Magical means; her fridge was filled with leftovers courtesy of Mrs. Weasley, colour-coded and dated with enough for the next month or so; and Harry had been by with Bill and Fleur earlier to clean the place from top to bottom. There was nothing left for Hermione to do as a new mum-to-be but sit on her couch, catalogue every finger, toe, and eyelash in her daughter's face, and relax.

Until Harry walked in, pinched lips and wide eyes, carrying a Muggle newspaper in one hand and a large box of sugar quills.

Hermione's eyes darted from the sugary bribe to the newspaper, and resignedly, she asked, "Do I want to know?"
"It'll explain why he didn't show up," replied Harry.

Hermione's shoulders dropped, but she reached out and took the newspaper regardless. It was a gossip rag - the Daily Mail - and splashed across the front was the image of a very drunk Tony against a roulette table with two very attractive women on his arms. The caption noted that it was from yesterday and that a hotel staff member confirmed the Stark heir had been checked in for five days at the time of the photograph.

"I had hoped…" her voice was small, almost whispery.

Harry quickly sat on the couch, careful to avoid upsetting the newest baby to the extended Granger-Potter-Weasley family in her carrier on the couch cushion nearest Hermione. Hermione's oldest friend wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in for a hug, kissing the top of her thick, wild hair. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

Hermione quickly blinked away the wetness in her eyes. "Me too."

"D'you want me to kick his arse?"

With a wet laugh, Hermione pulled back and wiped under her eyes with a finger and then the heels of her hands, shaking her head. "It's fine. We knew that this might happen - it's why I gave him time to think about if he wanted to be in our lives-"

Harry glared. "He said he would! He's going back on his word-!"

"I kind of expected it, Harry," admitted Hermione quietly, turning to look at her daughter. She took in the already dark brown hair - her father's - and the natural curl from the tiny mop on her head - all Hermione's - and prayed that perhaps her hair colouring and round eyes were all that she inherited from Tony Stark.

"... Would you tell him about the magical world?" asked Harry, quietly.

Hermione shook her head. "I got permission from Kingsley, you know? Back when I learned I was pregnant. I thought if he was going to be in her life - in our lives - then he should know…"

"But?"

"But when Tony missed the birth… I realized it might be for the best that he isn't read into the magical world," finished Hermione, wringing her hands a bit. "Could you imagine? A genius like him? With his weapons manufacturing?" She shook her head. "It would be like putting Mr. Weasley in an electronics store. Too much temptation for evil."

Harry laughed. "Fair enough." He then paused. "But you would have him still in your lives?"

Hermione nodded. "Of course. Just… maybe not as involved as I originally planned."

Hours later, after Harry had left via Floo, Hermione was sitting in her PJs and reading out loud to her daughter from Hogwarts: A History. She had just finished reading the first chapter on the Founders when her landline phone began to ring.

Curious, she looked up from the thick text, staring at the rotary style phone she used only for keeping in contact with the Muggle world - on Kingsley's suggestion, given her freelance nature. It never rang, except on rare occasions of some Muggle Minister or reporter trying to get a hold of her.

Putting the book down, she peered at her sleeping daughter and then made her way to the phone, picking the receiver up from the cradle and asking into it, "Hello?"
"... Hey, Pipsqueak."

"Tony," breathed Hermione in shock, pulling the receiver away to look at it for a moment before returning it to her ear. She hardened her heart and continued, coolly, "It's nice to finally hear from you."

Although she couldn't see it, she could almost hear Tony's wince. She definitely heard the regret in his voice. "I - I didn't mean to -"

She sighed. "Still can't say 'sorry.'"

There was nothing but silence and breathing for a few moments.

"Are you well? Is… is the baby…?"

"We're fine. The labour went well," replied Hermione quietly. She began twisting the phone cord around her finger. "Less than eight hours, so I've been told that's quite good."

"Good, good." He paused, and then asked, "Can I… can I see you and…?"

Hermione winced herself as she realized that he didn't even know if he had a son or daughter, or what their name was. But Hermione never wanted to keep him from her, so… "Of course, Tony. You can come by at any time."

"Good," he said with a relieved sigh. "Because I'm kind of outside your door now…?"

Hermione's eyes darted up and toward her front door in shock. She put down the receiver, walked across the length of her living room and into the short hallway. Unlocking the door with wandless magic, she opened it with a sharp yank.

On the other side, in a t-shirt and jeans, wearing his tinted glasses and a sheepish expression on his face, stood Tony. He had a clunky cell phone pressed against the side of his face, which he lowered. "Um, hi?"

Well, this is familiar, she thought, rolling her eyes and backing up, allowing him entry. She turned and returned to the phone, replacing the receiver and taking the time to collect herself. Her hands were shaking and she realized, that she was not prepared.

Tony was standing awkwardly in the middle of her living room, looking around with his hands stuffed into his jean pockets as he took in the framed photos on her walls - all frozen once they realized a Muggle was amongst them - her overflowing shelves with books, disguised so he couldn't read their titles, and the plethora of baby items scattered around: toys, blankets, stuffed animals, bottles, shopping bags with diapers and formula.

And then his eyes rested on the baby carrier on the couch, tucked into the corner by the cushions and the precious cargo wrapped in Gryffindor colours.

"Is that…?" his breath caught and he took an aborted step forward, only to seemingly hold himself back.

Hermione nodded, stepping forward and scooping her daughter up from the carrier and into her arms.

Tony stared. "It's so tiny."

"Babies usually are, Tony," replied Hermione, stifling a laugh. "But she's perfectly sized for her age and weight."

Emboldened, Tony stepped forward until he nearly brushed up against Hermione's arms, staring down at the button nose and long, thick eyelashes, and head full of curly dark brown hair.

"Tony Stark," began Hermione quietly, as they both spent some time listening to the baby breathing, "Meet your daughter, Morgan Charlotte Granger-Stark."

Gingerly, and carefully, Hermione stretched out her arms and passed the baby to Tony, guiding him to hold her properly and then gently pushing him to sit on the couch. The man was terrified, his entire frame stiff and locked as he stared down at his daughter with wide eyes.

Gradually he relaxed, as the baby did nothing but sleep peacefully in his arms.

Hermione sat next to him on the couch, both parents staring down at the surprised bundle that brought them together.

"Why-" Tony cleared his throat. "Why did you name her Morgan?"

Hermione glanced up. "Was it not your grandmother's maiden name? I thought to honour your family in some way -"

Tony blinked quickly, and asked through a tight throat, "How did you know?"

"I did some research," said Hermione, stifling a smile to a private joke. "I figured if I was going to have your child, then I should know about your family."

"Why not name her after your mom or grandmother?" asked Tony curiously.

Hermione glanced away. "My mum… well, I think at the end, my parents were probably unhappy with the decisions I took in my life and it wouldn't have been fair for me to honour them that way. And I never knew my grandparents, on either side, so…" She shrugged. "Can't blame me if your family history is more readily available."
Tony snorted, and then stiffened, looking down in terror at the baby. Morgan snuffled in her sleep and shifted a bit, curling a bit more into Tony's chest.

Something warm blossomed deep in him the longer he stared at the baby. Something protective and loving, and when he glanced at Hermione, regret spilled, including words he never thought he'd say. "I'm sorry."

Hermione froze. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm sorry," he said, a second time, the words still struggling to push past his lips, but he managed. He didn't want to say them again, though. "I should've been there. And I wasn't. I said I'd be part of your lives-"

Hermione sighed.

"Hermione, sweetheart, please, listen," implored Tony, shifting to face Hermione so that their knees touched. He clutched Morgan to him a bit, and she made a huff. "I want to be here. I want to be part of her life, and yours, too. I wasn't sure before, but now I do."

"How can I trust that, Tony?" asked Hermione, patiently and cautiously. Her eyes caught his. "You said something like that before and then missed Morgan's birth-"

"I know," he grit out.

Hermione stared. "If you know, then you know why it's hard for me to trust that you will be there for her going forward."

"What do you want me to say? Huh? Or do? I can make it up to you both!" Tony passed Morgan back to Hermione, who took her and watched as Tony ran his hands through his hair, making it messy. "I can - I can buy a place for you. Here, in London, if you want to stay in the city. I can move SI here so I can do my work instead of at Malibu-"

Hermione broke into loud laughter. "Tony, you were made for the sun and America. You'd hate it here."

He scowled. "You don't know that-"

"I have a pretty good idea," replied Hermione, looking at him knowingly. "And I think you do, too."

The two fell silent, Tony looking down at Morgan in Hermione's arms and Hermione watching Tony carefully.

Eventually, Hermione sighed. "I want you to be better, Tony. I want you to be the man I know is in there. I'm not saying you can't be here, can't be in Morgan's life. But I think you need to figure yourself out first."

With a sigh, Tony agreed. "Okay." He hesitated and then asked, "But I can be part of her life?"

Hermione reached forward, curling an arm around his, and slid up next to Tony, cuddling against him. "I'd be disappointed if you weren't. And I don't mean just a card at Christmas or her birthday, Tony."

"Visits, too?" he asked, his mind whirling forward, thinking of escape plans and excuses to make to Obadiah and the SI board. "I know you named her as a Stark, but I don't want her exposed-"

"Agreed!" Hermione emphatically nodded against his shoulder. "She'll be given privacy here, as long as we don't make it obvious."

"My - I have this friend-"

"I thought you don't do friends?" there was a light mock to Hermione's voice.

Tony scowled and tapped her on the nose. "Excuse me, rude! As I was saying, my best friend, James Rhodes, he knows about - well, he knows. As does Happy."

"No one else?"

Tony shook his head. "I don't want anyone else to know. I- I grew up in the spotlight. I don't want that for Morgan."

"So no one else from your side?"

"No one else," confirmed Tony.

Hermione snuggled a bit further into his side, and Tony tentatively pulled free the arm she was cuddling to wrap it around her shoulder, pulling her in closer when she sighed contentedly.

And for a long time, the two adults sat in silence, staring down at the little girl in Hermione's arms. It was the first time in a long while that Tony felt utterly relaxed.

Almost eleven months later…

This shouldn't be this hard, thought Tony with a deep scowl, clicking through item after item on Amazon. There weren't many baby items to pick from, and Tony was loathed to physically visit a Babies 'R Us store for Morgan's first birthday present.

"Is there something you need help with, Mister Stark?"

Jumping, Tony swiped at the screens he was looking at, and muttered, "Thanks for the warning, J."

"Apologies, sir," the AI replied dryly, as Tony spun to look at his new personal assistant. "But you did say that Ms. Potts had full access to SI and your personal home."

The lithe, strawberry-blond in a pencil skirt and cream silk blouse kept a placid look on her face, one hand clutching at her folio with Tony's ever-growing day planner and a Blackberry in the other.

The woman repeated, "Do you need help with something, Mister Stark?"

Tony shook his head. "Nope. Nada, nein - whatever. I'm good. Totally good." He paused. "You good, Pep?"

The woman scowled. "I prefer Ms. Potts, Mister Stark. Or, if you must use my first name, Pepper."

"'Cause you're so hot, gotcha," replied Tony with an exaggerated wink and leer.

Pepper's expression did not change, and Tony admired that. She spent a few moments staring at him, and Tony could easily tell she did not believe a thing he was saying. He strode forward, a hand at her back and began leading her from his workshop.

"Say, Pep, are you a fan of steak? 'Cuz there's this great place down in Beverly Hills that I think you'd really like… No? What about Thai?"

Tony kept talking, about anything and everything that came to mind, letting the thoughts skip from one to another - anything he could do to keep Pepper from looking back into his lab or to question why he was looking at stuffed platypus toys and baby build sets.

It wasn't just his promise to Hermione about keeping Morgan safe - it was his own promise to his daughter.

And while Howard might not have kept his promises to his son, and while Tony knew he was going to fuck up eventually, there was one thing he could do for his daughter, and that kept her safe by any means necessary.

Any means.

TBC...

Chapter Text

An Interlude

1: Morgan's second birthday

Tony was able to invent a reason to attend Morgan's birthday in London, with Rhodey and Happy accompanying him, on rather short notice: a stuffy board member from SI refused to leave his ancestral home in some high-and-fancy to-do locale to conduct the signing of a new patent, so Tony offered to fly out to him personally.

Obadiah was skeptical, but when Tony mentioned something about "parties" and "pretty girls" in the same sentence (no lie there), the older man waved him off.

Morgan's first birthday was a bit of a disaster. Tony was suddenly called to a meeting in Beijing at SI there, and then on to India where there were a significant issue and backlog regarding some SI products, missing the event.

He had been devastated, Hermione understanding, but Morgan hadn't even realised.

Instead, he arrived a few days later, eyes bloodshot from several red-eye flights, and presented a very amused Hermione with a plastic bag and a few wooden brain-teaser toys he had managed to pick up in China, and then promptly collapsed on her bed and slept for fourteen hours.

Tony was adamant that Morgan's second birthday would go off better, even arriving in London early by two days to avoid his bad luck at seeing his daughter. Happy and Rhodey were covering for him back in Malibu, Rhodey running interference that Tony was working on a military contract in an undisclosed location while Happy said he was at a private retreat in Costa Rica with some models, confusing everyone who spoke to both men.

Their plans were to join Tony for Morgan's birthday as soon as possible, along with Hermione's friends, and despite the opportunity of seeing his daughter and ex-lover, Tony was a bit worried to meet Hermione's friends. After all, they had a significant place in her and Morgan's lives.

The morning of September 23rd had Tony sitting on the floor, playing with Morgan. She was drawing, and Tony was helping her. She has the wildest imagination, he thought as she babbled on about "hiffogryffs, dwagons, pheenixes and giant squiffs," with a tiny lisp.

Tony was passing Morgan a bright green crayon for her dragon when the first guests arrived: George and Maya. Then it was a flurry of people arriving, and Tony began to lose track of who was who: Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna, Susan, Andromeda, Teddy, Bill, Fleur, Teddy, Molly, Arthur, Percy, Penelope…

Eventually, Rhodey arrived, Happy sulking somewhere near the kitchen; Rhodey found Tony with him, retreating from the screaming children (there were only three! THREE, how did they make that much noise? wondered Tony with wide eyes) to grab at a beer Rhodey amusedly handed him.

"Too much?" his best friend asked with a grin.

"Teddy is crazy," muttered Tony, cracking the tab. "And Victoire goes everywhere he does. Thank God Morg's completely content with her Jenga."

Rhodey's grin turned into a wide smile. "Aww, look at the little architect, already taking after her old man."

"I'm not that old!" protested Tony.

"You're going a bit grey at the temples," supplied Happy helpfully, in a dry voice.

"Who's going grey?" asked Hermione as she walked into the kitchen with Morgan on her hip. "Is it Tony?"

The man in question glared at her while Rhodey and Happy laughed.

The little girl on Hermione's hip wore a pink party dress with a frilly skirt and a plastic tiara. Her curly brown hair was down to her shoulders, expanding out and fluffing up in flyaway pieces. Her intelligent brown eyes surveyed the men standing around. She had Tony's present in her arms, a stuffed platypus he had found while on a trip to Australia months earlier.

"C'mere, Pipsqueak," said Tony, reaching out for his daughter and scooping her from Hermione's arms into his, where Morgan cuddled against him. Her head rested on his shoulder, tucking her head under his chin.

"I think she's flagging," sighed Hermione. "Too much excitement for her."

Aghast, Tony glanced at Morgan. "We haven't even cut the cake yet!"

"Guess she doesn't take after you, Tones," snickered Rhodey, but his eyes were soft as he watched Tony carefully cuddle Morgan, his body absently moving to sway her to sleep. The girl's eyes began to flutter shut.

"Oh, I don't know," began Hermione, reaching forward and smoothing down a piece of Morgan's hair. "She's quite possessive of her things. She bit Teddy when he was over a few months ago when he tried to take some of her toys to play with."

Tony bit off a laugh, but it still rumbled in his chest and Morgan made a small noise of protest. "That's my girl!"

The group fell into a tiny lull, as laughs and conversations from the other room washed over them.

"She got the best parts of you," said Rhodey, quietly as he peered down at Morgan. He took in the image of Tony holding his daughter securely and lovingly in his arms, enough so that the little girl was beginning a light doze, and Hermione standing beside him. Both parents were staring adoringly at their girl, the perfect genetic mix of the two.

"Of both of you," he amended. "Although, mostly Hermione. Yeah, she's mostly Hermione."

"Thank you, Honeybear," replied Tony sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"It would explain why she's been carrying that thing around," commented Happy, using his can of beer to point at the toy in her arms. "What is it, anyway? It looks like a demented otter."

"Happy!" gasped Tony, moving one hand to cover Morgan's ear not pressed to his shoulder. "How could you?"

Happy grimaced.

"I'm pretty sure it's a platypus," answered Hermione, peering at the squished grey/brown toy. "Although I'm guessing you went to an aquarium or zoo to find a toy like that."

"I'll never tell," sang Tony, a secret smile on his lips and he continued to sway with Morgan.

"Hey Morgan," began Rhodey, leaning forward a bit as the girl turned her round brown eyes - Tony's eyes - on him. He pointed at her platypus. "What's that?"

"Patapus," she replied with her lisp. "Daddy gave him to me."

"What's his name?" continued Rhodey gently.

Morgan glanced around and said, "Honeybear."

Tony burst into hysterical laughter, making Hermione take Morgan back quickly. Rhodey cringed a bit, only to send a glare to his best friend and say, dryly, "Thanks a lot, Tony. You call me by that ridiculous nickname in front of your impressionable daughter, and she names her toy after me. Thanks. Thanks a lot."

"Maybe more of you than we thought," sighed Hermione.

"Maybe," agreed Tony, looking at Morgan with pride. "Just maybe."

2: The Toaster Incident

It was lucky that when Hermione called, that morning, after failing to take the time difference between Greenwich Mean Time and Pacific, Tony was still awake, having been in his lab working on a new missile.

"Sir, Ms. Granger is calling," spoke J.A.R.V.I.S., muting the loud AC/DC that was blaring through the lab speakers.

"Patch her through, J," instructed Tony, pushing the heavy welding mask up as he turned his blowtorch off.

"Tony!"

The sheer panic in Hermione's voice shot through the speakers and Tony immediately straightened, tossing the welding mask away. It clattered across his table. "Hermione? What is it?"

"It's Morgan-"

Panic shot through Tony's heart, and his hand slipped from his worktop, making his overshoot his balance. "What's wrong? What's wrong with Morg?"

"Tony you need to get here now-"

"J, call the jet," snapped Tony, glancing at the ceiling as he strode quickly out of the lab. "Where's Pepper? Send her a message and tell her to cancel my meetings-"

"Certainly, sir."

In the background of the call, piped through all the speakers so Tony could remain on the line with Hermione, he heard Hermione's shrill voice. "Morgan, no! Don't - don't touch that! Put that down, little miss, put that down - right this instant!"

Blinking, Tony paused. What? Is this… is this not an emergency?

"Hermione, what's going on?"

There was a muffled curse, a terse, "Don't repeat that Morgan!", and then Hermione sighed. "It's Morgan, Tony. She's your daughter and you need to speak to her."

"Um, sweetheart…" Tony looked around his hallway as if searching for an answer. "What's Morg done?"

"Your daughter," stressed Hermione, crossly, "Took apart my toaster, Tony. There are pieces everywhere and she's refusing to put it back together because she said, and I quote, 'can make it better, mummy' and now wants me to go to B&Q and pick her up an adjustable spanner! A spanner, Tony! She's five!"

Tony laughed so hard he had to prop himself up against the hallway wall, tears trailing down his cheeks.

"Tony!" whined Hermione from the other end of the line. "It's not funny! I have screws and bolts and wiring everywhere in my kitchen!"

Wheezing, Tony stood up and headed back into his lab. "Put Morg on the phone, sweetheart, I'll talk her through putting it back together."

Hermione sighed. "Thank you, Tony."

"And Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"You'd best get her a toaster to play with," the inventor commented with a grin that she couldn't see but could definitely hear in his voice. "She's a Stark. She's going to want to get her grease monkey paws on things."

"Very well," the mother of his child grudgingly acknowledged. There was some shuffling and Hermione could be heard speaking quietly to Morgan.

Before she could pass off the phone, however, Tony looked up at his ceiling and asked, "J?"

"Yes, sir?"

"How much trouble do you think I'd be in if I sent a bunch of appliances to Hermione's apartment?"

J.A.R.V.I.S.'s voice was skeptical. "Appliances, sir?"

"Yeah, like toasters, microwaves, phones, music players?" Tony's thoughts were racing ahead of all the things Morgan could play with, to explore and tear apart.

"Knowing Ms. Granger, sir," interjected J.A.R.V.I.S., his voice dry, "I would say, an extreme amount of trouble."

Tony sighed. "Yeah, thought so." He paused, then said, wickedly, "Let's do it."

J.A.R.V.I.S., if he could sigh, would have. "Very well sir. But don't say I didn't warn you."

"Yeah, yeah…"

Two weeks later, Tony received another phone call from Hermione, which began with her voice shouting very loudly, "TONY STARK-!"

3: Pepper Potts, Meet Morgan Granger-Stark

By the time Morgan was six, Hermione was deep in dissertation writing mode, and both Harry and Ron's wives had given birth within two months of one another. With newborns at home and the rest of the extended Weasley clan busy, Hermione was forced to capitulate and ask Tony if he could watch Morgan for the summer.

They were both hesitant. Hermione, because it would be the first time that Tony would have Morgan for an extended period (and not due to his actions, he had significantly changed and when it came to his daughter, he always made sure she was put first). For Tony, he wasn't sure he could hide Morgan's presence from not just the press, but also Obadiah and the rest of Stark Industries.

They had managed for the past six years, since Morgan's birth, by hiding her in England (and to that day, Tony still wasn't sure how Hermione managed to avoid the press so well - she would never admit it was a simple Notice-Me-Not charm). Rhodey and Happy knew of Morgan, by virtue of oldest best friend/uncle and Happy's bodyguard status which extended to Morgan as well, but Tony always felt a bit… unsure about including anyone else in to his small, close circle.

Eventually, there was nothing to it, but Morgan arriving with Happy to his Malibu home, bubbling about everything she was going to do and see in California for the next two or three months until Hermione felt she had finished her research and had most of her dissertation written.

Tony, of course, was ecstatic to have undivided time with his daughter – and he never begrudged Hermione for living in the UK – but it was a rare treat. So he may have spoiled her a bit, blowing off several important meetings:

They went to Disneyland; Tony avoided going to an SI board meeting.

They visited the Living Desert and Zoo Garden; Tony ignored Pepper's phone calls all afternoon.

There was the Aquarium, and Morgan got another new stuffed toy; Tony forgot about a meeting with the military.

After visiting Lassen Volcanic National Park, Tony and Morgan made their own volcano in the kitchen and ended up laughing themselves silly, covered in baking powder and sludge. Tony missed a meeting with Obadiah, who left a message saying "everything's fine, not to worry, take your time," which Tony promptly had J.A.R.V.I.S. delete.

They went to Universal Studios, with Tony wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses as a disguise. He told Pepper he had taken the yacht out and was going to be entertaining – so not to contact him.

Tony ignored Hermione's strict bedtime rule one night, and he and Morgan visited the Griffith Observatory – and Tony paid for it the next day with an incredibly irate six-year-old, whose sleepy demeanor took precedence over the blown light bulbs in the hallway and bedrooms after he woke her too early.

They got lost in Winchester House, terrifying Tony when he couldn't find Morgan for all of twenty minutes. He was close to calling the police, the coast guard, the military, anyone. His fingers were hovering over Pepper's name in his Blackberry, moments away from calling her and frantically admitting he lied, no, he wasn't at a spa – when his laughing daughter appeared from behind what must have been a trick wall (surprising even the guide with him, who exclaimed they never knew it was there). Tony knew he had far more grey hairs than he started with that morning, and kept Morgan close to him for the rest of the day.

Morgan wanted to see the Santa Monica Pier, and they both ate too much ice cream and threw up over the side of the Ferris wheel. They recovered in the arcade, where Tony discovered Morgan was better than he was at Galaga.

Tony wanted Morgan to be outdoorsy and not just mechanically inclined, so they went to Sequoia National Park for an entire week; that was the last straw for Pepper.

She stormed into the Malibu house five weeks into Morgan's ten-week stay, J.A.R.V.I.S. letting her in as programmed and heading straight to the lab. Her face was flushed and her heels made very sharp click-click-clicks on the floor as she strode down the hallway and down the stairs, until she pushed open the door to his lab. She inhaled, ready to let loose a barrage when she froze.

"Tony," said Pepper, staring at Morgan, who stared back at her. Pepper's voice was that of forced calm.

"Hmm?"

"Why is there a child on a stool in your lab?"

Tony froze and then whipped around to stare at Morgan.

She giggled a bit and waved.

"I – You're – you're supposed to be sleeping," sputtered Tony, blinking. He then frowned. "J – I thought you were keeping an eye on Morgan?"

"I was sir," replied J.A.R.V.I.S., "And I did inform you that Miss Morgan had woken up an hour ago, asking for you."

Tony goggled at that, Pepper forgotten. "You did?"

"Yes, sir. And then you instructed me to tell Miss Morgan that you were in your lab and she could join you, due to, and I quote, 'her excellent job on the toaster,'" finished J.A.R.V.I.S. dryly.

Pepper turned her eyes on Tony. "The toaster?" she repeated, voice low.

"Mummy wasn't very happy with me, either," the tiny girl piped up, swinging her pajama-clad legs back and forth from her seat on the stool. She had Honeybear clutched in her arms as her wide brown eyes glanced back and forth between Tony and Pepper.

"Traitor!" hissed Tony, narrowing his eyes at his daughter.

She shrugged.

"Tony, who is this?" asked Pepper, before turning wide eyes on him. She gasped and hissed, "Oh, my God, you can't just kidnap someone's child!"

"What?" Tony reeled back; hurt blossoming across his face for a moment before he wiped it. "Jesus Christ, Pepper, I didn't kidnap Morgan!"

Pepper eyes his distrustfully, just as Morgan nodded and added, "Daddy doesn't 'nap people."

This time, Pepper's pale eyes went wide, and she began to catalog the young girl on the stool: her thick, curly brown hair, her brown eyes, and pert nose; the way she arched her eyebrows, just so –

She let out a shocked bubble of laughter. "You have a daughter."

"I do." Tony shifted uncomfortably, closer to Morgan and so that he was between the two. There was wariness in his eyes, and Pepper watched his every move, calculated and slow, his eyes never moving from her.

"How – How does no one know?" she blurted. Immediately, heat spread across her cheeks and she quickly added, "No – No, it's not my business – don't mind me –"

Tony sighed, glancing down at Morgan. "She's six. Morgan spends most of her time in the UK with her mom."

"Mummy's going to be a professor," piped up Morgan, unhelpfully. "She's very busy right now."

"Oh," blinked Pepper.

Tony's next sigh was heavier. "J – Close everything down and secure all the lines. Let's go DEFCON-2 here if I'm going to let Ms. Potts in on the secret."

"Very good, sir."

Tony gently led a shell-shocked Pepper out of his lab and toward the living room, Morgan following behind and dragging Honeybear along the floor, still clad in her pajamas.

Once there, Pepper sat on the edge of the couch, sure that Tony was going to fire her and ensure she signed her very life away with ironclad NDAs, far more than she signed when she received the position of his personal assistant.

Instead, Tony moved to the modern and spacious kitchen opposite the living room; Morgan followed and climbed up on an island seat, her toy in the free seat next to her.

"You hungry, Morg?"

"Uh huh, Daddy."

"Do you want eggs?"

"Scrambled, please, Daddy."

"Coming right up."

It was bizarre for Pepper to watch this man – who was only known as a womanizer, a drunk, and an embarrassment to Stark Industries – play househusband for his daughter, expertly whipping up a scrambled egg and toast breakfast for his daughter with ease and confidence that suggested experience.

Morgan herself was polite and completely comfortable in her father's presence, so Pepper could only assume he'd known about her from the beginning and had been in her life from the start.

Frowning, Pepper thought back over the past six years.

Tony's nefarious womanizing ways had slowly trickled, although he was still known to be a serial dater – but he wasn't photographed naked or doing the walk of shame recently.

The last time he had been black-out drunk was three Decembers ago, photographed coming out of a club in New York with Rhodey, but it wasn't anywhere near the infamous peeing on the cop car incident of 1998. In fact, December, in general, was a bad month for Tony.

There were numerous missed meetings, and the strange always blacked out entry in his personal planner that signified him being off for the entire month of September. Even if something was planned for that month, Tony would never show up.

Colonel Rhodes and Mr. Hogan must be aware, thought Pepper as things began to fall into place. Else they wouldn't be covering for him as much as they have in the past.

Pepper came to herself slowly. While Pepper sorted that out, Tony had finished making Morgan's breakfast and was watching her carefully from the kitchen island, leaning against it with a cup of coffee.

He looked at her from over the rim and asked, coolly, "So now what, Ms. Potts?"

Pepper winced. Ever since she mentioned 'kidnapped,' Tony had reverted from playfully calling her Pepper – her nickname – to Ms. Potts. Clearly, she had offended him.

"I'm sorry," she began. It didn't hurt, to begin with an apology. "Learning you are a father was a shock I didn't anticipate, and I let my biases and prejudices against you overwhelm me."

He stared at her long enough that she began to squirm. "Well, at least you're honest."

"Do you," she stopped and bit her lip, a nervous habit she hadn't done in years. "Do you want me to go? Should I pack up my things at the office and not return to SI?"

Tony scoffed. "What good would that do? You've already met Morgan. Nothing's stopping you from going to the sketchiest tabloid and telling them everything."

"I would never do that!" protested Pepper, standing in shock.

"But you could," retorted Tony, his mouth a tight line.

"I wouldn't!" argued back Pepper. She shook her head. "That's – that's wrong."

"The tabloids would love it," continued Tony, a dark tone to him as he stared at her from below shaded eyes. There was something mocking and cruel in his voice. "Think about it; Tony Stark's secret love child? A little girl no older than six? Who is the mother? What kind of woman would sleep with Tony Stark? What kind of life does Morgan Stark have? She'd be followed everywhere, every minute of every day. No more privacy and think of the money you'd make for revealing it all."

Horror stole Pepper's voice.

"Don't tell me there isn't a tiny part of you that thought it," purred Tony, stepping away from the counter to place himself in front of Morgan. "The figure would be more than we pay you. It would be worth it."

Pepper took a deep breath, holding it in for a long moment before exhaling. Her voice was trembling in her anger.

"Mr. Stark," she began, her voice hard. Her hands fluttering to her hips in a power pose. "How dare you. Not only would that be incredibly stupid, given that no other company would ever hire me again – but it would be completely amoral to do such a thing to an innocent little girl. It would be more than devastating for her, it would be an invasion of your privacy, and hers, and her mother's. I would never do such a thing."

Tony stared at her a bit longer. Then, his entire body relaxed and he grinned. "I had to be sure," he laughed. "Good work, Potts."

"I – what?"

Tony winked. "Had to make sure Morguna was protected. I had to make sure I could trust you."

"I – oh," Pepper blinked, and then looking around in confusion. Her hands hovered at her side, unsure of where to go.

From behind Tony, Morgan leaned out and waved. There was a bit of egg stuck to the corner of her mouth. "Hi, Ms. Potts!"

Bewildered, Pepper glanced from Morgan to Tony, and then back to Morgan to avoid Tony's smirking face. "Hello?"

"It's nice to finally meet you!" continued Morgan, her voice chirpy. Then she frowned. "Mummy says I should say that every one new I meet, even if I don't like them. But I like you. Mummy says it's good Daddy has you to keep him in line, or else Mummy would have to do it, and she told Uncle Harry once that she was sure she'd kill him if she did."

Morgan's frown deepened and she turned to Tony, who was hiding a grin behind his coffee mug. "Mummy wasn't very nice about you, Daddy."

"No, no Pipsqueak, your mom wasn't," he grinned. "But that's okay because your mom is right; she'd be driven mad by me pretty quick."

"Mummy works with people she doesn't like all the time and she doesn't kill them," continued Morgan, confused. "So why would she kill you?"

"Ah, Morguna, one day I'll tell you about the night your mom and I met," chuckled Tony, putting his mug down and ruffling his daughter's hair. She scowled and patted it straight again, although both actions just made her hair fluffier. "I'm pretty sure if your mom and I spend more than a day together, we'd both drive each other insane."

"Uncle Rhodey says you're already insane, Daddy," sniffed Morgan.

Tony gasped. "He did? Traitor."

Morgan shrugged. "Can I go play Legos now, Daddy?"

"Yeah, go on, Pipsqueak."

Tony and Pepper watched Morgan slide from the island chair and leave, dragging her toy with her until she was out of their sights. Then, Pepper turned to Tony, a bit of an embarrassed, but curious flush to her face.

"Her mother-?"

"Like Morg said, Hermione's working on her doctorate at the moment, which is why she's staying with me while she finishes her dissertations," answered Tony, putting the mug in the sink. There was a shrewd look on his face when he glanced over his shoulder at Pepper. "Hermione and I are a good team, Potts – so whatever you think, know that. Morgan's our priority and we work well together. We might not be together, that way, but I love my daughter and will do anything for her and Hermione."

Pepper read the message loud and clear: the world could burn before anything happened to them.

"Got it," she said. Then, taking a deep breath, she put on her most professional voice and asked, "What day would you like to reschedule the meeting with Justin Hammer and the board from Hammer Industries, Mr. Stark?"

Tony groaned.

4: Cheeseburgers

"Oatmeal?"

"No."

"Cereal?"

"No."

"Um - what about toast?"

"No.

"Fruit?!"

"No!"

"C'mon, Pipsqueak, you gotta give me something here. Grilled cheese?"

Pause. Then: "No."

Tony groaned.

"Pizza?"

"No."

"No pizza? Sheesh. Um. Can four-year-olds' have sushi? J?"

"Sir, according to my research, so long as children have their hepatitis A shot, toddlers as young as two and a half can eat sushi without any dietary or health concerns."

"Okay, okay, good. So, Morg, waddya say? Sushi? Hmm? You, me?"

"No."

"Morgan, you have to eat! You can't have snacks all day - your mom is going to kill me if you don't eat something soon, and you don't want your daddy to die, do you? Hmm?"

"... No?"

"That's right, baby girl, your daddy is much too handsome and brilliant and amazing to die-"

"No?"

Tony sputtered. "I - what? No, what?"

But Morgan was suspiciously silent.

"Sir, if I may? Perhaps if you go for a drive and then order something to eat, she will want to eat whatever it is you choose to eat."

"Fantastic idea, J.A.R.V.I.S.. Great work."

"Thank you, sir."

"C'mon, Morguna, we're going to get daddy's favourite food: cheeseburgers."

"Cheeseburgers?"

"Yeah, Morg, cheeseburgers. Hot, juicy, delicious bits of meat with lettuce and ketchup and mustard and onion and pickles with melted cheese all over it."

"Cheeseburgers?!"

Twenty minutes later…

"That good, Morg?"

"'S good, daddy."

"Uh huh. Knew you took after me, kid. Cheeseburgers it is."

5: Temper Tantrum (aka, "Tony gets suspicious")

At first, Tony didn't think about the number of light bulbs that J.A.R.V.I.S. had to order whenever Morgan stayed with him in Malibu. So they blew? No big deal.

Tony didn't think much about when the television shorted out during a vicious thunderstorm that left Morgan crying in fear one night. After all, he'd blown up his fair share of TVs too, and it was just lightning – nothing at all.

But when Hermione and Morgan were visiting, and Hermione stepped out with George to discuss some 3W work with Hammer Industries (ugh), Tony was left watching Morgan with Rhodey. And instead of settling down for a nap, as her mother wanted, the four-year-old scrunched up her face, her tiny body quivering as her face went red and her hair poofed out further, resembling a fluffy brown cloud around her face.

"Morgan, you need to take a nap now."

"No, Daddy!"

"Morgan, your mother said you need to take a nap at exactly two o'clock because you will get grumpy if you don't. It's now two-thirty. You need to sleep."

"No!"

Tony sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He glanced at Rhodey, sitting on his couch.

Rhodey grinned and shook his head while stretching his arms out. "Oh, no, Tones, you're on your own."

"Morgan," tried Tony again, turning back to his daughter. She stared up at him, her brown eyes filling with tears and her lower lip quivered. "You need to sleep. Look, where's Honeybear? Hmm? He's already in bed—"

"No!" She stomped her socked foot. "No, no, no, no, no—"

Tony groaned. "Morgan, c'mon, this is getting insane—"

"NO!" she screamed in Tony's face.

Tony, outwardly unfazed, replied, "Yes," very calmly to his daughter. Inwardly, he was screaming at himself, how did this thing come from me?!

Morgan let out an unholy screech and threw herself to the carpeted floor, fat tears rolling down her cheeks as she writhed back and forth, wordless sounds erupting from her mouth as she pounded her tiny fists on the plush carpet and kicked her feet.

Tony froze in terror and stole a glance at Rhodey, who also looked entirely spooked.

"Holy shit, Tones, is your child possessed?" the other man whispered, eyes wide. He was half-perched on the couch, unsure if he should stay to help or flee in terror.

From his spot, Tony remained frozen standing in front of Morgan, watching as she let herself wail and cry and screech wordless insults and threats. Tony couldn't remember a time when he was a child, young enough to throw such a temper tantrum.

He reached up and pulled at the neck of his t-shirt, cringing at the noise Morgan made as sweat beaded and rolled down from his temple to his neckline. Was it just him or was it getting warm in here?

"Morgan—" he began, cringing some more as her wails reached a new pitch.

Somewhere, on a neighbour's property half an acre away, their dog began barking.

The air around him grew heavy with humid, and the sweat gathered at the neckline of Tony's t-shirt began to stain it a bit and rolled down his spine to pool at the waistband of his jeans. Tony glanced around, looking to see if he had an open window somewhere. "J.A.R.V.I.S., is there a window op—"

BOOM.

Rhodey threw himself off the back of the couch, behind it; Tony flew forward and on top of Morgan, covering her with his chest as he curled around her and scooped her into his arms. She stopped wailing, although her face was still red and she had snot running down from her nose, but she was stunned to silence, clutching at him.

Tentatively, Tony uncurled around her and sat up, Morgan in his lap with her fists pulling tight at his shirt. From behind the couch, Rhodey poked his head up.

"Is it all clear?" he asked.

Tony glanced around the living room. "Yeah, I think so."

"What was that?"

As he stood, Tony glanced down at Morgan, whose eyes were dropping and her head was beginning to list into his chest. She had worn herself out from the temper tantrum, it seemed.

"I'll just go put this one to bed," muttered Tony. "J – what was that? What's the status?"

Silence.

Tony paused and Rhodey frowned. Looking up, although his AI butler was hardly in the ceiling, Tony frowned and asked, "J. Status update?"

More silence.

"J.A.R.V.I.S.?" barked Tony.

"Maybe it was an EMP?" asked Rhodey, moving forward to check the clocks in the kitchen.

Tony shook his head, juggling Morgan in his arms and pulled his cell phone from his back pocket. "My phone's still working."

Rhodey, from the other end of the room, called back, "So's mine. And the microwave and stove clocks are still working." He then flipped the nearest light switch, and the kitchen island lights turned on. "No problem with the electricity, then."

"Let me put Morgan down," repeated Tony, shaking his head a bit. "I think I've got an old baby monitor somewhere in her room. We can go down to the lab and check on J.A.R.V.I.S. then."

"Sure man."

Morgan was completely out of it, snuffling a little when Tony put her to bed. He smoothed her sheets and ran a hand down her curls before kissing her forehead and straightening. He found the baby monitoring Hermione insisted he buy and turned it in, taking its partner with him.

Rhodey was waiting by his lab doors, and Tony didn't pause from walking in. He put the baby monitor on his worktable and called, "J.A.R.V.I.S.. Speak to me!"

The resulting silence was unnerving, if not frustrating.

"I'm going to have to do a full reboot," he muttered and began directing Rhodey to the main breaker while he went to the computers. "Flip 'em!"

Rhodey did as instructed and Tony began typing into the command box, and then the lights flickered once, twice, and then a smooth British voice spoke, "My apologies, sir. Something shorted my system out."

"Yeah, we saw that, J," groused Tony, a deep frown pulling at him as he pulled the AI's code up and began to skim through it quickly, looking for anomalies. Rhodey came to stand beside him.

"Anything?" he asked quietly.

Tony shook his head. "Nothing." He looked up and forward, staring hard at the wall screens that were becoming obsolete. He was going to have to change that soon – maybe a holographic interface? "When did this start, J? What happened right before you went offline?"

"Miss Morgan was in the middle of her tantrum," the AI reported. "One moment she was crying, and then, nothing."

Tony frowned. "Has anything like this happened before when you're around Morgan?"

"Not to my knowledge sir," replied JARVIS.

Rhodey looked askance at his friend. "You don't think Morgan did this, do you? I mean, Tones, I get it, she's your kid and she can be brilliant, but – Tony. She's four. She couldn't hack into J.A.R.V.I.S. and rewrite his code to mess with you man."

He paused. "Give her about ten years—"

"Shut it, you. I'm thinking." But there was no heat in Tony's voice. "JARVIS, pull up the surveillance for the last five minutes before you lost power."

Rhodey threw his hands up and shook his head, mumbling something under his breath and he left the lab, knowing Tony would be preoccupied for the next while. He shouted something about pizza, but Tony was lost to his thoughts.

Tony's eyes narrowed as he reviewed the security footage of his living room, minutes before the entire system went down. There was nothing in any of the bedrooms, or outside by the pool or garage, and nothing in the lab or hallways. That left the living room.

He watched Morgan's meltdown until the screen flickered and went black.

Then he watched it again.

And again.

And again.

His frown pulled deeper and deeper until there was a deep line between his eyebrows. "J?"

"Yes, sir?"

"... keep an eye on Morgan when she's here, will you? Any time she's about to get angry. I want to know if you glitch around those instances," he said shortly, eyes on the fuzzy image of his daughter rolling on the floor.

"Certainly, sir."

"And J?"

"Yes, sir?"

The blue light from the video reflected off Tony's face. "Don't tell Hermione."

"... Yes, sir."

6: Four Doctorates & a Child

Tony was a genius, and Hermione was brilliant (but scary). When Tony was fourteen, he finished high school and by sixteen, was enrolled as a first-year undergrad at MIT. Hermione didn't have that opportunity with saving the world from Voldemort, but that didn't mean she wasn't an academic slouch, either.

However, it still took her seven years to complete her PhDs - all four of them, concurrently.

(Tony thought that was quite amazing, and told Hermione once, but only once; he didn't want her to get the idea that she should go for a fifth doctorate, or heaven forbid, find a way to take over the world. She was already determined enough.)

But when it came to her graduation from Oxford, she and Tony were at a bit of a loss.

"But I really want to support you," whined Tony over the phone - projected through J.A.R.V.I.S.'s speakers from his house in Malibu - to Hermione, who was back in London.

"And can you imagine the media circus that would be, Tony Stark showing up to a random Oxford graduation?" replied Hermione evenly.

Tony paused, walking around his bedroom back in Malibu, getting ready for his day. Pepper had a long series of meetings set up, and then two facility tours for the military, which Tony would do anything to get out of.

She continued talking about how George was planning on attending and Maya as well, but Tony tuned her out.

Could you imagine Tony Stark showing up to an Oxford graduation? She joked.

Well, let's find out, thought Tony with a grin that would've frightened her had Hermione been there in person to see it.

On the day of her graduation, Tony slipped through the crowd on the grounds of the old historic campus, trying his hardest to mingle and appear like a regular, average man with his baseball cap and sunglasses. He had traded in his business suits for a nice blazer over a non-descript t-shirt and wore jeans instead of something tailored, in hopes that no one would look at him and think, oh, that's Tony Stark.

He followed the crowd to the commencement ceremony space, spotting George's dark red hair with Maya's long brown as the two walked forward to their seats, Morgan between them, arm in arm. His little girl was wearing a very nice dress and kept swishing the fabric back and forth, as she skipped, tugging on George's arm or pointing at something for Maya to answer.

Tony felt his heart lighten just at the sight of Morgan, watching her face light up in excitement and awe. He and Hermione had a brief, if not immature, discussion about where Morgan would be attending her postsecondary education, and while he was still pushing for MIT, just by watching her on the ancient grounds of Oxford's campus, the grey of the buildings a stark contrast between her dark hair, well... maybe Oxford wasn't outside the realm of possibilities.

He was so caught up in watching his daughter and (although he used the term loosely here) his friends that he didn't notice when someone bumped into him, making his sunglasses go flying.

"Sorry about that," the crisp accented voice apologized.

Tony waved him off. "It's fine—"

The man helped him up and Tony leaned forward to pick his sunglasses up and place them back on the bridge of his nose. However, not before the man caught sight of his face.

"Blimey – you're – you're –!" he stuttered, eyes wide.

Tony frowned. "Now, let's keep this real quiet—"

"—Tony Stark!"

Tony cringed as the man's voice carried and he frantically looked around; George, Maya, and Morgan were long gone, already inside, and Tony was now the center of attention as several other eyes lingered on him. The man who bumped into him was excitedly babbling about something or the other, but Tony brushed him off just as soon as the murmurs began, and Tony felt sweat trickle down his back.

This is exactly what Hermione said would happen, he thought, slightly panicked. He hated her being proven correct.

"J, can you find me a way out of this?" muttered Tony, and the tiny microphone and camera built into his sunglasses, connected back to his main system in California, activated.

"I'm afraid not, sir," replied J.A.R.V.I.S. coolly, "And might I add that the gentlemen in the black suit coming toward you from four o'clock is a Lord Hugh Ashtonbury, the current Master of Ceremonies?"

"Shit," cursed Tony, just as quietly.

Ashtonbury raced up toward Tony and reached forward to grab the man's hand. Tony grimaced but allowed it, weakly shaking the Lord's hand in greeting.

"My word, Tony Stark as I live and breathe!" the elderly man with white hair and wobbly chin enthused. "What brings you to Oxford today, Mr. Stark?"

That's the question, isn't it? groused Tony in his mind. I can't exactly say I'm here to watch my ex receive her doctorate.

"I heard that there were several promising graduates who were maturing today," he improvised instead, a winning smile – a fake one – appear on his face as he whipped his sunglasses off. He oozed charm and the older man fell for it. "I thought I'd come and see and maybe even poach some for SI."

"Of course, of course," the other man agreed with eyes wide. "Why – you must be here for the science graduations. The graduates and postdocs, surely, not the undergrads – perhaps you heard of Mr. Li's work on bio-robotics or Ms. Granger's radical work on the multiverse—"

Tony allowed the man who continue to speak as he was ushered away until he was inside the main auditorium, placed in the front row just below were the doctorate students would sit when they entered.

Luckily, he was not announced. Instead, he tried to settle in as best as he could as the doctoral students' names were read, along with their dissertation title. Tony watched and felt pride swell in him when Hermione's name came up on their screen and was announced.

Hermione looked confident and collected, her normally curly hair tied back in a low bun and mostly hidden underneath the square cap. The purple and red of Oxford's colours on their black gown popped and the red looked especially good against Hermione's complexion.

"—and Dr. Hermione Granger, whose work, titled An Analysis of the Multiverse through the Lens of Quantum Entanglement has been unanimously accepted by the UKCGE as this years' recipient for higher specialization. Dr. Granger, therefore, is awarded not just the distinction of a Doctorate in Philosophy in Quantum Mechanics, Maths, Matter Physics, and Archeology – all received concurrently, a new record here at Oxford – but also the rare and impressive title of Doctor of Science."

Tony did his best not to leap to his feet and cheer loudly, as he heard George whistle from somewhere in the room, but he knew he was a bit more enthusiastic in his appreciation as, once Hermione shook hands with the Chancellor, she turned to the audience and caught sight of him.

First, she seemed confused, her eyes sliding past him and to the crowd, no doubt searching for George, Maya, and Morgan; then she did a double take, focused on him, and her eyes went wide even as she continued walking back to her seat.

Tony grinned sheepishly, waving a little.

"I'm going to murder you," she mouthed at him, as subtly as she could once she sat.

He shrugged. It was well worth it to see her graduation, something he didn't want to miss, and while it didn't go to plan, he was still there to witness her receive her acknowledgments and accolades – and a DSc! Tony wanted to cheer his appreciation. Even he didn't have one of those – although most State-side universities didn't award the same kind of distinction for higher specializations.

Later, once the undergrads – a long, long list of them – had been cycled through and family and friends were invited to mingle in the grounds, Tony found himself being hustled from one group of promising graduates to the next by Ashtonbury, until finally, he stood in front of Hermione, George, Maya, and Morgan, whose brown eyes went round.

"Ah, Mr. Stark, allow me to introduce you to Dr. Granger," Ashtonbury said, eyes squinting in pleasure as he beamed at the young woman. "Dr. Granger is very accomplished, completing a record amount of dissertations and requirements in such a short time, but is also a single mother."

"I couldn't have done it without the help of my friends and family," replied Hermione, but there was something dry in her voice when she looked at Tony.

Tony grinned and stuck out a hand. "Tony Stark. I'm a big fan of your work—"

George rolled his eyes. "Seems a bit impossible if you never met until this moment."

Maya politely hid a smile behind her hand, but her eyes were dancing in amusement while Tony scoffed.

Ashtonbury seemed to want to keep the group from dissolving into an argument, so he quickly added, "Dr. Granger will be looking for monetary funding, I'm sure, Mr. Stark for her project. Hermione, would you are to pitch—"

Tony grinned. "Did I hear 'pitching' and 'money' in the same sentence?"

Hermione groaned.

Ashtonbury looked around the group in dismay. "My apologies, but am I missing something here?"

"Daddy's being silly," piped up Morgan, and this time George groaned, just as Hermione burst, "Morgan, shush!" and Tony grinned, rocking back on his heels as he preened, "That's right, Morguna, Daddy's being silly."

Ashtonbury looked at the last member of the group, Maya, who sighed and said, "Lord Ashtonbury, meet Morgan Stark. Tony and Hermione's daughter."

"Oh," the older man said, looking back and forth between Tony and Hermione a few times. "Oh. Erm – Mr. Stark – why didn't you-? Why wasn't something said-?"

Hermione answered for him. "We tend to keep our history quiet; as I'm sure you can understand the knowledge of a daughter would be a media circus, Lord Ashtonbury –"

"Yes, yes, of course—"

"And I'm sure we can trust your discretion, hmm?" asked Tony, letting his sunglasses slide down his nose a bit as he peered at the now profusely-sweating Lord. "At, say, the tune of a nice donation to Oxford's Mathematical, Physical and Life Sciences Division?"

Ashtonbury's eyes were wide as he stared at the billionaire, stuttering, "Yes – of course – that sounds – why, sounds – lovely." He gasped. "Absolutely lovely."

Tony grinned, smugly, just as Hermione buried her face in her hands. He turned to Morgan, watching him with wide eyes, and said, "And that Morg, is how you do it."

7: Afghanistan (aka, "Missing")

Morgan was ten when her father went missing.

She didn't realize what was going on, but she knew it was something scary because her mother's face was pale, and Uncle Harry and Uncle George, and even the Minister of Magic himself, Kinglsey Shacklebolt, was over at their flat often, speaking with her mother.

"Where's Daddy?" she asked.

Her mum's face fell and her eyes, red-rimmed, filled with tears. "We don't know, darling - your daddy is missing - something went wrong on a business trip-"

"Is Uncle Rhodey looking for him?"

Mum nodded. "Him and the rest of the United States military."

"What about Uncle Harry? Can Uncle Harry and the Aurors help?"

Mum blinked, looking a bit startled. Then, the next thing, she leapt to her feet and was heading to the fireplace, shoving a handful of Floo powder into the fire and shouting, "Harry Potter, Head Auror's office!"

Morgan refused to roll her eyes. Adults, honestly.

**

"Colonel Rhodes."

Rhodey turned at the British voice calling his name. He was about to head out for another long day of searching for Tony - hopefully not another fruitless one as they headed into month three -, exasperated and in a rush.

He partially turned, barking out, "What?"

"Harry Potter," the man said, not even extending a hand as he jogged up to Rhodey and then kept pace with him as the Colonel continued to stride toward the helicopter waiting. "I'm not sure if you remember me, but I've been assigned as attaché from the British government to aid in the search for Tony Stark."

Rhodey cut him some side-eye. "The Brits? Why?"

Potter's green eyes glimmered as he replied, shortly, "Hermione's my best friend. We both happen to have connections and pull in the government, and well, I'll be honest. Hermione's not doing well, and Morgan sure as hell isn't. And I'd do anything for my best friend and niece."

Rhodey paused in his walk, taking in Potter. The man's messy hair, short stature, and piercing eyes suddenly pushed past all of Rhodey's worry. He suddenly recognized Potter from Morgan's birthdays. "Potter - God, man, sorry - I didn't recognize you-"

Potter smiled. "No worries mate. I understand. Now - can you update me on the situation? Fresh eyes might help."

Rhodey exhaled in relief and nodded. He was very tired, having fought so hard and taken a leave of absence from the military but he knew he wasn't going to be able to continue searching for Tony without extra help or a miracle. "Yeah, yeah, that'll be good."

Potter clapped him on the shoulder. "It'll be okay, Colonel Rhodes. I promise we'll find Stark and bring him home."

There was something about Potter's expression, the conviction in his voice, that had Rhodey relax even more. It was scary how, if Potter said it, Rhodey believed it, but well, Hermione had the same ability and Rhodey knew Hermione was never wrong.

He needed that belief. If Potter said Tony was coming home, well, Rhodey believed him. Maybe not ninety-nine percent, but a decent amount; say, seventy-five percent.

Four days later, following the trajectory of an unidentified object seen after an explosion in the Hindu Kush Mountains, Rhodey directed the helicopter toward the black speck in the distance, soon frantically waving its arms as the aircraft drew closer.

"It's him!" said Potter loudly over the headsets, against the noise of the chopper and the blades slicing through the air.

At that moment, Rhodey was a believer, and if Harry Potter said pigs could fly, he'd believe him one-hundred percent.

8: Boarding School (aka, "Better be Gryffindor!")

It was their first real fight, and Morgan was utterly fascinated while equal parts disturbed.

She knew her parents didn't live together - or for that matter, were married or "together" - but dad was always in her life in some form or another when he could get away from his company, and mum was always there for her, even when she went on research trips, taking Morgan with her (wizarding Constantinople was by far her favourite place in all their travels so far).

But her mum and dad had always got along, between scheduling her summer vacations with dad in California, or spending Christmas in London, or even once stopping by a Scottish military base on a random Thursday to see Uncle Rhodey when he was in the area.

They would speak cordially, they would joke and even have pet names for each other ("sweetheart" and "Pipsqueak"), but this? Morgan huddled deeper into the blanket she drew from her bed as she crept down the hall, keeping away from the light that spilled from the living room.

"-CAN'T BELIEVE YOU-"

"-SHE'S A LEGACY, TONY-"

"-BOARDING SCHOOL IS TERRIBLE-"

"-IT WAS FINE FOR ME-"

Here, Morgan snorted. Despite what her mother thought, she had read Hogwarts: A History, and she knew that her mother's time at Hogwarts was not as safe as she was trying to explain it away as to Tony.

"-WHY DOES SHE HAVE TO BE SENT AWAY? HUH?"

"-IT'S A GREAT SCHOOL-"

"-THEN WHY HAVEN'T I HEARD OF IT?"

There was some murmuring, a de-escalation of the fight. Morgan tiptoed closer, clutching Honeybear to her chest.

"I don't like this, Hermione," her father said, his voice low and gravelly.

Mum sighed. "If she doesn't go, Tony, it would be dangerous for her. It's a birthright."

In other words, thought Morgan, I'll explode and turn into an Obscurus if I don't control my magic. Hogwarts, or bust. Literally.

"Dangerous?" Dad repeated the word incredulously. "Why? What's going on, Hermione? If she's in danger, I'll take Morgan back with me to New York. I'm Iron Man, I can protect her."

There was arrogance in his words, a certainty to them, but both Morgan and her mother knew that Iron Man couldn't do anything against magic. Morgan had to go to Hogwarts; what would the wizarding world say, if Hermione Granger's daughter didn't attend alongside her 'cousin' Teddy? If she didn't demonstrate the same genius as her mother?

(As if, Morgan scoffed; between her mother and father, she was so ahead of the curve it wasn't funny.)

"Tony," said Mum, her voice low and pleading. Morgan peeked around the corner of the hall and saw her mother step forward, closer to her dad, who had his arms crossed and was scowling. "I know you don't like the idea of Morgan going away to a boarding school. I know - and I know why, I honestly do. But if Morgan doesn't go, she'll be a danger to herself. Just… speak to her. Ask her what she wants. Please."

Dad uncrossed his arms, his eyes hard as he stared down at Mum. "And if she doesn't want to go to this boarding school?"

"Then she doesn't go," sighed Mum. "We'll figure something else out."

There was something in her dad's eyes, but eventually, he sighed, his entire body loosening from its tight frame. He kind of collapsed in on himself, and then he was hugging mum, gathering her in his arms and tucking his face against her curls.

"I already miss so much of her time," he said, his voice low, but Morgan could hear it. "I don't want to lose more with her in boarding school."

"Oh, Tony…"

Morgan felt like she was intruding in a private moment, but then again, this was about her and without realizing it, she was up on her feet and in the living room. She wrapped her arms around her father's side, still clutching Honeybear as she pressed against him.

He made a noise of surprise, pulling a bit away from Mum to look down. His arm spasmed and he knelt, drawing Morgan into a tight hug. "Hey, Morg. Did we wake you?"

"I was already up," she mumbled into his shoulder.

He sighed. "Sorry, Pipsqueak."

"I heard you fighting," she said, her voice low.

"Oh, darling," Mum said, dropping to her knees in the living room so that she and Dad could both encase Morgan between them, squishing her in the middle of a sandwich hug. "I'm sorry-"

"It's okay," broke in Morgan, inhaling deeply her father's scent of spicy aftershave, motor oil, and something that reminded her of the crispness of a fall day when riding Teddy's broomstick. "Daddy, I need to go."

Morgan felt her father frown against her forehead, the bristles of his facial hair scratching as he did so. "Morgan, you don't-"

"I do," she insisted, pulling back and staring at her father. With her staring at him solemnly, and her father's own stoic face staring back at her, she could easily see their resemblance: they both had the dark brown Stark hair, round brown eyes, and even had a similar nose and scowl. "I want to go, Daddy. I know you won't see much that much, but Mum won't either. And there are holidays. We could trade off. I could spend the summer with you and Christmas with Mum in London. Like we always do."

Something shifted in her dad's eyes, the corners crinkling and lines spreading from them as he did so. He tapped her on the nose. "When did you get so smart?"

Morgan giggled. "Daddy! I've always been smart. I'm probably smarter than you!"

"That you have been, Pipsqueak," he agreed. "And you definitely are."

There were tears in Mum's eyes, but she wasn't looking at Morgan, snuggling up to Dad, but rather she was looking at her father, something soft in her expression. Morgan's dad looked back at her mum, something equally soft in his face.

Lulled by her father's scent, the pulse of his heart, and the soft glow of his arc reactor in his chest, Morgan felt herself drift off, completely at ease in her father's arms.

"How did I get so lucky?" she heard him murmur, just as she was dropping off, feeling a phantom kiss pressed into her curly hair. "How did I get so lucky with you both?"

Morgan felt someone run their hands through her hair and she made a soft noise of contentment. She drifted off before hearing anything else...

… A month later, just before her eleventh birthday, she sat on an old, unsteady stool in front of four hundred other students in varying colours, and let an old, ratty hat be placed on her curls by her mum's friend and her new Herbology professor, Neville Longbottom.

A thirst to prove yourself, yes; but there is confidence and arrogance in you as well. You definitely inherited your parents' stubbornness and confidence, Miss Stark. A voice in her head murmured. Hmm, plenty of courage though, and my - what spirit! What drive and ambition! You'd do well in Slytherin, Miss Stark, but I think the best place for you is-

"GRYFFINDOR!"

9: Magic, Indistinguishable to Science (With the Right Mind)

And then there came a day when Tony found Morgan's Hogwarts books.

No longer living in London, but a tiny cottage in a remote English town, Morgan had a front yard to play in as well as a farmer's field behind the house. As such, that Christmas break, Morgan rushed out to join Teddy and Victoire - her two closest 'cousins' - in an impromptu snowball fight with recent heavy snowfall.

Tony and Hermione, who were babysitting the three children, were lounging on Hermione's couch. Hermione had her legs curled up under her, her hands being warmed by her mug of hot chocolate. Tony was at the other end of the couch, stretched out comfortably, his fingers playing with the ends of her hair.

He was watching the three play out of the large window, a small smile on his face as Morgan expertly packed her snow together to create a perfect snow-to-hand ratio snowball, which she launched at Teddy and hit square in the face, making the older boy sputter.

"Ha!" cheered Tony from inside, despite knowing Morgan couldn't hear him. "Good one, Morg."

"Encouraging her to be violent?" asked Hermione dryly, taking a sip of her drink.

"Encouraging her to be successful," countered Tony.

"Mmhmm."

Tony sighed, leaning back against the couch. He felt his eyes slip closed, relaxing in ways he normally couldn't do; there was a certain image he had to maintain as Tony Stark, SI heir, which included glamorous parties and late night events, and then hours spent in his lab or meeting with the R&D teams and his engineers, or board meetings–

He sank further into the couch, letting his hand drop from playing with Hermione's hair as he slowly slid until his head was in her lap.

"You okay there, Stark?" his ex asked, amusement lacing her voice. "Catching up on some sleep?"

"It's been crazy," he moaned, eyes still closed. This time, he tossed his arm up over to cover his eyes, stretched so one leg was flat on the floor, and the other was hanging just off the arm of the couch. "Rhodey wants me to focus more on the military contract so that we can present it in the New Year to investors, and that doesn't even take into account all the meetings Pepper's been setting up—"

"My, poor, tired genius," crooned Hermione, mockingly, "Who has to work so hard for his billions."

"Don't mock those billions, Granger," replied Tony, a frown on his face despite their playful banter, "It's helping to pay for this house."

"Actually, it's helping to pay for the interest in Morgan's trust fund, since I don't use any of your child support money on myself," replied Hermione with a tiny laugh.

"You don't?"

"Don't what? Use the money?" Hermione shook her head even if Tony couldn't see it. "Of course not. I have my own that I use, Tony. Anything I get from you goes straight to Morg."

"Oh." Tony frowned, opening his eyes and lowering his arm. He glanced up and caught Hermione's brown eyes. "You know you could use it, right?"

"I know," she replied, carding her fingers through his hair.

"Mmm." His eyes fluttered closed and he turned his head so his cheek rested against Hermione's warm thighs, and for several long moments, he let himself just breathe and relax, enjoying the feel of being pampered.

Eventually, after what must have been a light doze, he opened his eyes and focused on the coffee table in front of him, reading the titles on the books left haphazardly across it.

Then he blinked.

Then frowned.

After that, he sat up sharply, ignoring Hermione's, "Tony – what—" as he leaned forward and picked up a thick text with Hogwarts: A History scrawled across the cover in gold. He began flipping through it, eyes wide at the moving pictures inside, skimming the words that popped out to him: magic, trolls, spells, dragons, Dumbledore, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Second Wizarding War, Hermione Granger, Golden Trio...

"What is this?" he asked, his voice hard as he turned to Hermione and shook the book in his hand.

Hermione's face went blank as her eyes moved from the book to Tony's face. "A book."

Tony's eyes narrowed. "I can see that, Granger, but maybe you could explain to me why you are specifically mentioned in a book that talks about magic. About spells. About witches and wizards."

"It's not mum's!"

The two turned to look at Morgan, breathing heavy and flushed in the face from the cold. She was still in her winter gear, a thick jacket, red mittens, and a woolly, ill-fitting hat that Tony knew Hermione knitted for her, despite how atrocious it looked. Her brown eyes were wide and kept flitting back and forth between her parents, and her pale complexion was paler than normal.

Behind her, Victoire and Teddy stood as silent sentries, nervously hovering.

"It's mine!" Morgan continued, stepping forward while absently toeing off her boots. She anxiously wrung her mittened hands in front of her.

Tony frowned. "Morg—"

Hermione sighed. "Ted, best go get Harry. Victoire—"

"I will go get papa," the willowy strawberry blonde girl said, "And maybe maman."

"Is your Floo open, Aunt Hermione?" asked Teddy.

"Floo – what?!" Tony's mouth tightened into a straight line.

Hermione nodded, "Hurry, you two."

Tony turned to Hermione, anger on his face. "Granger, what is this—"

But Hermione had a pleading look on her face, one that was mimicked in his daughters', as they both turned to look at him. His eyes moved from one female to the next, cataloging the similar features and the wide, imploring eyes.

Despite being angry, and slightly fearful, Tony found himself softening and capitulating to the two women in his life. He found himself slowly nodding, Hermione gently pushing him to sit back on the couch.

Morgan cuddled up next to him immediately, and he automatically raised an arm so she could snuggle under it. Hermione began to pace, muttering to herself under her breath, taking deeps breaths. Then, from the other room, he heard a whoosh, like a gasping inhale of smoke after a large fire spontaneously ignited.

Moments later, two men, Tony knew well, were walking into Hermione's sitting room: Bill Weasley and Harry Potter.

Bill was dressed like Tony expected of a man who worked on archeological digs and with artifacts: jeans and a nice sweater with a collared shirt underneath; it was only his longer-than-normal hair, his strange bone earring, and the slashed scars across his face that made him look different to any other middling position manager that Tony knew.

Harry, however, made Tony do a double look.

He was wearing a blood-red rode of some kind over dress pants and a button-up shirt. The robes buttoned closed and functioned as a long blazer of some sort, with narrow lapels and a trim cut to Harry's tapered chest and waist. Over the breast pocket – or where there should be one – was "Potter, Head Auror," written in golden cursive.

Tony blinked.

"Hey, mate," greeted Bill, smiling easily as he moved a ball of yarn from an armchair to sit down. Being only a few years younger than him, Tony felt fairly comfortable around Bill – out of the entire extended Weasley clan he had met over the years at Morgan's birthdays – compared to Harry and Ron, who were Hermione's best friends and incredibly protective of her. There was also some sort of barrier between Harry, Ron, Hermione that kept the rest of the world out, as if something had happened to them and only to them, and no one else could quite breech that space.

On the other hand, Harry leaned against the doorframe, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets, flipping the robes partially open as he did so. He focused his emerald eyes on Tony with laser-like intensity and said, "Stark."

The last time Tony had seen that kind of intense look, Harry had rescued him in Afghanistan with Rhodey. He shivered at the memory and, feeling very uncomfortable, pushed past it with his usual defense: sass.

"Gentlemen," he drawled, leaning back a bit even as his heart thundered. "Why do I get the feeling that I need to ask us to step outside for a minute?"

"Oh, honestly, Tony," sighed Hermione, "No one is going to rough anyone up today."

"Maybe," muttered Harry, "It all depends on how he takes—"

"His tea? His whiskey? His eggs?" asked Tony sarcastically. "Coffee instead; neat; and scrambled, if you want to know."

Harry and Tony scowled at each other from across the room.

"Enough!" snapped Hermione, glaring at both. She made a frustrated noise and blurted, "Tony – Morgan and I are witches. We can do magic. Bill and Harry are wizards."

Tony stared at her for a long, long moment, and then said, dryly, "Pull the other one."

"It's true," said Bill, his voice quiet. He withdrew his wand and began a series of transfigurations and charms: one of the books on the coffee table was levitated.

Tony waved his hands above, below, and to the side of it, trying to find some mechanism or strings. Finally, he scoffed and said, "Easily explained. Magnets."

Bill then charmed the book to cartwheel through the air.

"Still magnets. Strong ones."

The book was transfigured into a paper crane, Hermione making a distressed noise as it did so while Harry chuckled.

Tony swallowed thickly. "Hallucinogen in my food, earlier."

"Do you really think that Hermione would drug you?" countered Harry darkly. "In front of your daughter and two other minors?"

The book reverted to its original form, and Bill floated it to the pile. A tap on it sent that book and the others on the coffee table into neat piles, sorted by size and subject.

Everyone was silent as they waited on Tony's comment – but it was not forthcoming.

Finally, he looked up. Morgan and Hermione were pleading, begging him to believe them with their eyes; Bill watched him carefully, and Harry – well, Harry's expression was that of someone just waiting for a man to make a mistake to shout "I told you so!"

Tony was certain that while Harry and Ron did not outright hate him, they were rather indifferent and wouldn't be sorry to see him out of Hermione and Morgan's lives. It was because of that, that Tony turned to look at Hermione and said, "Explain."

So Hermione opened her mouth and began: "When I turned eleven, a woman came to our house. She was dressed oddly, in green robes and a pointed hat, and with the sternest expression I've ever seen since, she told me, 'you're a witch,' and that when September rolled around, I would be going to an exclusive boarding school for other witches and wizards to learn magic..."

It took several hours, and even a sip of firewhiskey – which Tony was going to find a way to invest in to keep ordering the good stuff – until Hermione finished her story, explained why Morgan needed to attend Hogwarts (their fight regarding her schooling made so much sense now, thought Tony); Bill explained what he actually did (GOBLINS! Tony was very surprised); and what Harry did, and a bit of his history as the Boy-Who-Lived.

Finally, Hermione bit her lip and leaned forward on the couch, Morgan still seated between them. "Tony? Do you – do you believe us?" She took a deep breath and then exhaled, quickly, "It's only – well, Muggles aren't supposed to know – you can know because you're Morgan's dad – but, well, that is to say, if you don't react well, Harry here will – ooh, how do I put this?"

"I get to erase his memories of you," answered Harry, his face blank and his tone equally neutral.

Fear shot through Tony, then.

"No you will not," snapped Hermione, an angry glare at her friend. "You'd just erase the memory of him learning about magic, not everything."

Harry shrugged.

"I –" Tony struggled to find something to say. His mind whirled, launching forward and making connections so quickly that he failed to grasp at a single thought. Did he believe that this was magic? Well... sort of. If they believed it, then who was he to tell them otherwise? After all...

"Clarke's Third Law."

"What?" Harry made a face and Bill frowned in confusion. "What's Clarke's Third Law and who is Clarke?"

But Hermione's mouth dropped open into a tiny little 'o.'

"Clarke's Third Law," she breathlessly repeated, eyes shining as she turned to stare at Tony, who looked back at her.

Tony nodded back slowly. "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic."

"It's not technology—" angrily huffed Harry, with an expressive eye roll.

"Shut up, Harry," both Hermione and Bill said, as one.

"I believe that you believe it's magic," said Tony carefully, glancing at Hermione, Morgan, and Bill – the rational ones in the room – as he spoke. "As a scientist, I can't fully state that something is magic because I believe that there is an explanation – a rational, scientifically proven – one for everything. Maybe it has to do with DNA and genetics; maybe it has something to do with energy and black matter – I don't know yet."

He took a moment to pause, and then say: "All I know is that you just did a whole lot of impossible things. And I don't like the word, 'impossible.' It's not in my vocabulary and I reject that anything is impossible – anything is possible with enough research and testing."

"And any sufficiently analyzed magic is indistinguishable from science," agreed Hermione with a tiny smile on her face.

Tony grinned and Morgan sighed happily into his side. Tony reached down and tickled her side, making her gasp and giggle loudly. Hermione's smile stretched wider and Tony suddenly felt that everything was right between them – this was just something in addition to what made Hermione and Morgan different and special.

It appeared that Harry and Bill were no longer needed; Hermione turned to them and said, "I think I can handle telling Tony the rest from here, boys."

Bill nodded genially, murmuring about Weasley lunches and taking Victoire home. Hermione stood, Morgan pushing up from the couch to bounce after them as they walked to the other room where the fireplace was, leaving Tony alone with Harry.

Harry levelled a hard look at Tony, which the billionaire returned.

"I get that you're a scientist, Stark," began Harry, "But a word of warning, before you start turning your daughter and my best friend into a science experiment."

Tony's eyes narrowed.

"Any technology, no matter how primitive, is magic to those who don't understand it," the Boy-Who-Lived stated. "And no matter what you do, what tests you conduct, or what conclusions you arrive at; you will never understand magic."

"We'll see," replied Tony.

The two men were silent a bit longer, and then Harry withdrew his hands from his pockets and turned on his heel, leaving the room abruptly. Tony figured he had said what he wanted, and that the conversation was done.

Alone, Tony let out a long exhale, his mind taking in the new information. It didn't matter to him that Morgan and Hermione were witches; all it did was open up a new avenue of information to him that was previously denied. And he couldn't wait to get started on learning about their world.

After all, what's the impossible to the man with the right mind to understand it?

10: Scotland to New York (Owls)

Daddy,

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU SO SO SO MUCH FOR THE STARK EXPO TICKETS! I CAN'T WAIT TO GO THIS SUMMER! Teddy is so jealous and has been BEGGING Uncle Harry to talk to you to get him tickets too, but don't okay? It's much cooler this way that I'm the only one with Stark Expo tickets. No one else here at Hogwarts is going and all the Muggleborns are in awe. Of course, they now all think that you know somebody at SI or are an SI employee... sometimes I wish we could just tell everyone that the 'Stark' in my last name is because I'm your daughter... but I also understand how bad that could be for you and mum.

Anyway - I can't wait to see you! Mum's taking me straight to Heathrow after the Hogwarts Express gets to London, so make sure you have the jet ready for me, okay? Tell Uncle Rhodey and Happy I say "hi" and can't wait to see them!

Love, Morgan

Daddy,

Are you okay? Are you safe? Uncle Harry sent me a clipping from the Muggle newspaper and you were on the front page! There was that fight in Monaco - I can't believe you had to fight that Iron Man wannabe. Your racecar was totalled... were you, Happy, and Pepper okay? You look super fierce in the picture, though. Always my hero! Please write back and let me know you're fine.

Are you still coming by for Easter? Mum's cooking, so please make sure you ask Pepper to have a replacement ham on order from M&S.

Much love, Morgan

Daddy,

It's been two months since I heard anything from you. I know you're busy with SI, and dealing with the Expo and Vanko, but why haven't you wrote me back? Mum said you're ignoring her calls, too. Are you okay? Don't make me ask Uncle Rhodey and JARVIS to check in on you…!

Love, Morgan

Dad,

I missed you at Easter. Mum's cooking wasn't too terrible, but I think that had to do with the books Pepper sent over… (And Mrs. Weasley's treacle tart for dessert). One of my classmates had a Muggle newspaper and it seems like some guy named Justin Hammer is all over the Expo… who is he? I think I've heard you mention him before as a joke, but I don't remember now. I think it was something to do with coming up with their own version of Iron Man and making a mess of things. Can you write back and remind me? You have the best descriptions of idiots, and anyone named "Justin Hammer" must be an idiot.

Love, Morgan

Dad,

Why aren't you writing me back?

I miss you-

I got an O in my Transfiguration test last week-

I think I have the schematics down to reverse engineer the wizarding wireless Uncle George sent-

Dad,

Don't worry about me coming to New York this summer. I understand that you're busy. I'll stay in London with Mum.

Morgan

TBC...

in Chapter 3: The 10 Rings

Chapter Text

III: The 10 Rings

Caesar's Palace, Las Vegas

"... Until, at age twenty-one, the prodigal son returns, and is anointed the new CEO of Stark Industries. With the keys to the kingdom, Tony ushers in a new era for his father's legacy, creating smarter weapons, advanced robotics, satellite targeting. Today, Tony Stark has changed the face of the weapons industry, by ensuring freedom and protecting America and her interests around the globe."

Loud applause burst through the room as the PowerPoint on the screen behind the podium finished by lingering on a photoshopped image of Tony Stark looking seriously off in the distance while jets flew behind him in opposite directions. A bald eagle, the very symbol of the United States and freedom, was superimposed behind Tony to link his image, and Stark Industries, to the same concepts.

Caesar's Palace was hosting a prestigious awards ceremony, with top military brass in attendance as well as important tech and weapons companies. There were several round tables throughout the large banquet hall, decorated with fine white linen and flowering centerpieces while discrete waiters topped up wines and champagne.

Behind the podium, highlighted by the blinding spotlight, a man in uniform applauded with the rest. "As liaison to Stark Industries, I've had the unique privilege of serving with a real patriot. He is my friend and he is my great mentor. Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to present this year's Apogee Award to Mr. Tony Stark!"

There was more applause, and a swinging spotlight lingered on the Stark Industries table in the reception hall, predominantly the empty seat next to a slightly bulky, bald man, who made a what can you do? face.

"Tony?" asked the man at the podium again, looking around the room.

The bald man sighed, shaking his head a bit but plastered a smile on his face and rose, weaving around the tables as the applause continued until he stood next to the man holding the award at the podium.

"Thank you, Colonel Rhodes," the man said, nodding at the man, who stepped back and let him speak. "This is beautiful. Thank you. Thank you all very much. This is wonderful."

He paused, looking out around the crowd in the room as they stopped applauding. He held the award aloft, peering at it in rapture, before turning back.

He glanced down, hiding his satisfied smile. "Well, I'm not Tony Stark -"

The room burst into laughter and the man - Obadiah Stane - grinned back.

"But if I were Tony… I would tell you how honored I feel, and what a joy it is to receive this very prestigious award." He paused for effect, even sighing into the microphone on the podium. "Tony, you know, the best thing about Tony… is also the worst thing - he's always working. He's working even now, on the latest and most impressive weaponry Stark Industries has to offer the American government. Tony is a genius - and it's alright, I can admit it."

Stane held his hands up and the crowd laughed again. "I know I'm not the smartest man in the room; that's Tony. Tony gets it. He just does. And I know, because I know him, just how much this visionary award means - to him as a person, and to Stark Industries and the work we do. So, thank you. Thank you all very much."

Stane waved, bringing the award up to shake it in the air, just once. He was smiling widely to the crowd, who began applauding loudly. He then turned from the podium, as far from the microphone as possible. The smile slipping off his face as he hissed, "Where's Tony?"

Rhodey sighed. "I have a good idea."

"Woo - c'mon!"

A pair of red dice flew and landed hard on the felt green of the roulette table, bouncing a few times before landing still as the people around Tony anxiously held their breaths.

"Congratulations, Mr. Stark," the handler said as the crowd around the billionaire burst into cheers.

Tony smiled, something tight and satisfied, turning back to clap Happy on the shoulder as he did so.

"Another great job, Boss," agreed Happy, his own smirk echoing Tony's as Tony turned back around to face the table.

On either side were two scantily clad women - a redhead and a brunette - who had been trying to catch his attention all evening as he played the various tables at Caesar's Palace. The brunette leaned close.

"You're very talented at this," she breathed at him. "I bet you're... talented at other things, too."

"Mmm, you betcha," he replied absently, reaching to take the die to roll again, this time considering placing a higher wager on black-forty-two instead. The brunette then pressed against him and Tony fought back a shiver as she invaded his personal space.

A figure, radiating disapproval, pushed through the crowd and made a scoffing laugh. "You are unbelievable!"

Tony, taking advantage of the familiar voice to shake the brunette off, turned and dryly exclaimed, "Oh, no. They roped you into this?"

Rhodey's mouth turned down into a frown. "Nobody roped me into anything. But they told me… that if I presented you with an award, you'd be deeply honored."

Tony looked shocked, pressing a hand to his chest. "Of course, I'd be deeply honored. And it's you! That's great. So, when do we do it?" He turned back to the dealer, holding up a single finger. "One more round."

"There you go." Rhodey was pushing something into Tony's hands and he flinched, looking down at the heavy glass award.

"There it is. That was easy," his eyes were wide with panic and Happy sighed, coming to take the award off him. Tony turned back to Rhodey. "You know I don't like being handed things."

Rhodey levelled a disappointed look at Tony, and Tony flinched a bit in return. "I'm so sorry-"

"Yeah," sighed Rhodey. "I know. It's okay. I get you, man."

They looked at each other for a long moment before Tony turned back to the roulette table and exclaimed, "All right, ride! Give me a hand, will you?"

Rhodey glared. "I don't blow on man's hands-"

"Oh, c'mon, Honeybear-" protested Tony, then casting the die onto the table.

The die flew and began to roll just as Tony was loudly saying, "There it is! It's the Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes' roll, and…" The die flipped the wrong way and Tony lost his bet of several thousands of dollars.

Rhodey shrugged, unapologetic. "That's what happens."

Tony gave a tiny shrug himself, adding in concession, "Worse things have happened,

I think we're gonna be fine." He turned to the dealer and ordered, "Colour me up, will you?"

The man nodded and handed Tony his slip, denoting his winnings. Rhodey glanced at it and whistled. "What're you going to do with another eighty thousand?"

"Hermione's been on my case about kittens without legs or homeless dogs in India or something else recently and spamming my email with charities for the last few months," replied Tony, turning and walking from the table. The brunette pouted at his brusque brush-off, completely ignoring her as he motioned for Happy to join him. His head of security walked a single pace behind, able to hear the conversation while maintaining some distance with the other four members of Tony's security.

"Not books? I thought that was more her thing," commented Rhodey, quietly, glancing around to ensure no one overheard their conversation.

Tony barked out a quick, loud "Ha!" before continuing. "You'd think, given she's a professor at Oxford, but noooo - she's a bleeding heart for animals. Morg's the same way. Totally her mother's daughter."

Rhodey sent Tony a look. "Tones. The girl carries Honeybear around to this day. Did you honestly think she wasn't an animal lover?"

Tony made a face.

"Look, man, this is where I exit," Rhodey said, pointing a finger at his friend. "Tomorrow - don't be late."

Tony nodded. "Yeah, you can count on it."

"I'm serious!"

"I know, I know." Tony rolled his eyes. "And if you don't let me forget it, do you think J or Hermione would? I swear he loves her more than I do. She has a copy of my calendar, Rhodey - my calendar. She and Pepper team up against me all the time! They won't let me forget."

"They did a good job today," retorted Rhodey, raising his eyebrows.

"Hermione said, and I quote, that I didn't need any more validation to inflate my ego and she was okay with me skipping." Tony stared at Rhodey.

Rhodey stared back. "Fine. Valid point." He shrugged. "But tomorrow, Tones!"

Rhodey stalked off in the opposite direction while Happy directed Tony out through the main lobby and to where his car was waiting outside the hotel casino. In a v-formation behind him, Happy and Tony were able to walk side-by-side, unmolested.

"Does Ms. Granger really have a copy of your calendar?" Happy asked in an undertone.

Tony groaned. "My God, yes. And she adds all of Morgan's events to it."

Happy smirked just as Tony glanced to the side and saw, slowing down as they neared his black limo.

"What?"

Happy's smirk grew, and he opened the car door for Tony. "Nothing."

"No, seriously, what? Happy, what?"

"Nothing, Boss."

Tony whipped off his sunglasses and mock glared at the man. "I can fire you, you know."

"Uh-huh."

"Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark!" a feminine voice called from behind them.

Tony paused, glancing at Happy, who glanced back at the woman, an expression of quick distaste falling over his face as he recognized her, even as she breathlessly approached the limo, blocked by two large security guards.

"Christine Everhart, Vanity Fair magazine," she said, eyes intent on the back of Tony's head. "Can I ask you a couple of questions?"

Tony glanced at Happy, who shrugged. "She's cute."

"Is that so?" Tony rolled his eyes, turning around with a smile on his face. "Hi."

"Hi," she replied, and the guards let her through. She smoothed a hand down her blouse.

Tony glanced at his watch, checking the time. Eleven at night in Vegas; that was seven in the morning in London. "Yeah. Okay, go; I have some time for you."

Everhart's eyes brightened, and she held out her recorder so that she could capture his voice. "You've been called the Da Vinci of our time. What do you say to that?"

Tony scoffed. "Absolutely ridiculous. I don't paint."

Everhart's eyes then hardened. "And what do you say to your other nickname, The Merchant of Death?"

So that was a soft lead-in, thought Tony, mentally shaking his head. "That's not bad. Let me guess... Berkeley?"

"Brown, actually," replied Everhart proudly, tossing her blonde hair a bit.

"Well, Ms. Brown. It's an imperfect world, but it's the only one we've got. I guarantee you the day weapons are no longer needed to keep the peace; we'll start making bricks and beams for baby hospitals," answered Tony shortly, turning away from her to go back to the car.

"Rehearse that much?" she called after him.

Tony spun back around. "Every night in front of the mirror before bedtime."

"I can see that, but I want is a serious answer."

Tony frowned, annoyed. "Okay, here is serious. My old man had a philosophy: 'Peace means having a bigger stick than the other guy.'"

"That's a great line, coming from a guy selling the sticks," snapped back Everhart, eyes narrowed.

Tony's mouth settled into a thin, tight line. "My father helped defeat Nazis. He worked on the Manhattan Project; on Project Rebirth helping make good ol' Captain America. A lot of people, including your professors at Brown, would call that being a hero."

A wry twist of her full lips had Everhart replying, "And a lot of people would also call that war-profiteering."

Tony's eyes narrowed in response. "Tell me, do you plan to report on the millions we've saved by advancing medical technology? Or kept from starvation with our intelli-crops? All those breakthroughs: military funding, honey."

Everhart stared at him, slowly lowering her handheld recorder. "Wow, did you ever lose an hour of sleep your whole life?"

"More than you'd think unless you've ever dealt with a colicky baby."

Everhart stared at him. "What?"

"Nothing, Ms. Brown," sighed Tony, shaking his head and turning away. He called over his shoulder, "Take your soundbite and do what you will with it. Merchant of Death? I've been called worse. Now, if you excuse me, I have a phone call I need to make. Goodnight."

He slid into the limo, Happy slamming the door shut and then moving to sit in the front seat. Tony let his head drop back against the headrest, bringing a hand up to rub at his temples.

He hadn't had a drop of alcohol all evening, but he had a massive headache. He blindly fumbled toward the center console of his seat for aspirin, popping the lid off and taking two tablets without water. That would ease some of the headache, but the best way to rid himself of it was…

"J.A.R.V.I.S., call Hermione."

"Yes, sir," his AI's disembodied voice, hooked up through his car's system as well as watch and sunglasses, replied.

There were a few seconds of silence, the privacy wall up between the front and back, and with the soundproofing in the car, Tony was completely at ease.

"Tony?"

Tony's mouth turned up at the corners at the sound of Hermione's voice - clear, smooth and very British - came through the speakers. "Hey, Pipsqueak. How's Morguna? How did that dance recital go last week?"

"She was brilliant, of course," Tony could hear the pride in Hermione's voice, and his own heart tightened in response. "And school is going well for her; perfect grades."

His smile widened and he slid down a bit in the leather seat. He brought an arm up to cover his eyes as he relaxed. "As if she'd do anything else. I can't believe it's her last year of primary school!"

"She is growing up quickly, isn't she?" agreed Hermione with a hum.

Tony nodded, despite Hermione not seeing him. He then asked, "Are we still on for the fourteenth?"

There was a pause.

"Oh? What's that?" asked Hermione, her voice confused.

"Don't be coy - that's what I'm supposed to do," chided Tony.

Amusement filtered through Hermione's voice. "Yeah, Tony, we're still good for Valentine's. Although I still don't know why you want to come to England to spend it with me. Don't you have some vapid blonde or busty brunette you could call up that's a bit more local?"

"But they're not you, Pipsqueak!" countered Tony. He lowered his arm and grinned at the roof of the car. "They don't have your shining qualities."

"You mean intelligence? Poor Tony, how ever do you manage to spend your time around such Neanderthals."

"Well…" Tony trailed off, laughing as Hermione spat, "Oh, gross, Tony, I don't want to hear about that!"

There was some silence on the line afterward, but Hermione broke it by asking, "Are you still doing that military presentation soon?"

"Tomorrow, actually, my time," he replied. "Then I'm flying out to do a live test of the Jericho."

He could practically hear Hermione nibble on her lower lip in nervousness. "A live test? Isn't that dangerous? You will be careful, won't you?"

"'Course I will," he replied, glancing out of the car window to see the passing lights of the Vegas strip as they headed toward the airport. "When am I not?"

Hermione paused, and Tony quickly replied, "Don't answer that, Hermione."

"You said it," she replied. Hermione sighed. "I've got a nine o'clock class, Tony, so I'm going to have to go. But - take care of yourself okay?"

"Aw, would you miss me, Pipsqueak?" Tony felt his heart pound a bit faster as he waited for her response.

"Goodbye, Tony," laughed Hermione.

"What? Don't leave me hanging! C'mon, Hermion-"

"She's hung up, sir," broke in J.A.R.V.I.S., amusement in his smooth tone, so like Hermione's British accent.

"She hung up on me? Who hangs up on me?" Tony let his mouth drop open and looked around the interior of the back of the limo for an answer. Tony huffed and crossed his arms. "Well, we both know that Morgan would miss me, don't we, J?"

"Indeed, we do, sir."

Tony glared. "Now you're just humouring me, J."

"Always, sir. Always."

Kunar Province, Afghanistan

The presentation of the Jericho missile went incredibly well for the brass who came out to watch the live demo, along with Rhodey standing off to the side, fighting a tiny grin off his face as Tony threw his Pepper Potts-prepared speech to the wind and instead waxed on about what "good ol' dad used to do."

It was rather inspiring, thought Tony, although he absolutely wanted to gag at the idea of his father being impressed with anything he stamped his name to; if it didn't bring Howard Stark more prestige, or helped him get one step closer to finding Captain America, Howard didn't have time for him. What did Tony know what Howard Stark wanted or said?

Despite how well the presentation went, and his phone call with Obie, Tony was in a bit of a mood on the drive back to Bagram Air Base, watching the amber liquid of his scotch slosh back and forth as the hum-vee hit nearly every pothole in the dirt road.

The soldier to Tony's left was young and clearly starstruck, with the way he kept glancing at him until finally, Tony's patience left him, and he spoke over AC/DC and got the kid to loosen up.

"Sir, I have a question to ask," the soldier in the front passenger seat began, turning around to face him.

Relieved, after getting the three in the vehicle with him to laugh, Tony said, "Yes, please."

"It is true you went 12-for-12 with last year's Maxim cover models?" the man finished.

Tony toasted the soldier with his drink and removed his sunglasses. "That is an excellent question. Yes and no. March and I had a scheduling conflict, but fortunately, the Christmas cover was twins. Anything else?"

A part of Tony scoffed. Lies, it shouted in his mind. Last Christmas, he was in Oxford, as Hermione received an associate position and had moved into a cottage outside the town.

He briefly dated July, but certainly never interacted with the rest of the models despite seeing them at the Victoria's Secrets afterparty. Although the Christmas cover did include two Sokovian twins that he ended up talking to at the party; what he didn't say was that he was encouraging the one sister to apply to SI with her degree and the other to school, as they were both rather smart and using modelling to earn tuition money.

Perhaps his previous reputation was beginning to spin his non-existent social life out of control. Hmm, he thought; might have to get Pep on that…

The three soldiers laughed.

"Anything else?" asked Tony, looking around and catching sight of the young soldier to his left, Forest, inching his hand up like he was in school. "You're kidding me with a hand up, right?"

"Is it cool if I take a picture with you?" he asked instead.

"Yes, it's very cool," replied Tony, feeling a bit amused at the energy and enthusiasm the young soldier spotted as he beamed at Tony and then began to pull out his camera. Is this what Morgan might be like?

The camera was handed off to the soldier in the passenger seat, and Forest slid near Tony, who leaned in for the photo. Without looking, Tony said, in a straightforward manner, "I don't wanna see this on your MySpace page." He glanced at Forest, who nodded quickly and then saw his peace sign. "Please, no gang signs."

Forest's face fell and he dropped his hand quickly.

"No, throw it up, I'm kidding. Yeah, peace! I love peace," babbled Tony instead, and Forest grinned widely, his two fingers up in the universal peace symbol as the other soldier went to snap a picture. "I'd be outta job with peace."

But the other soldier was fumbling with the camera, due to the potholes, and his larger fingers on the tiny device, enough so that Forest was becoming annoyed at perhaps missing a chance for a photo with his hero.

"C'mon! Just click it, don't change the settings, just click it!"

Tony mentally sighed, ready to turn away, his attention gone from the publicity stunt when the car in front of them exploded in bright orange flames. The shock shook their car, and Tony's eyes widened.

"What's going on?"

The driver swerved a flying piece of metal - the bumper? - of the car and slammed the brakes. Tony slid forward and braced his hands on the back of the passenger seat, dropping his drink as he looked around in a panic.

The driver - the female soldier - shouted something, but over the roar of his own heartbeat, Tony didn't hear what she said. Instead, she pushed open her door after parking the car, her gun in her hand, only to fall face-first the moment she stepped out.

The other soldier, who was taking their picture, turned and shouted, "Jimmy, stay with Stark!"

Forest - Jimmy - reached out and shoved Tony roughly to the floor of the car, and Tony felt the scotch seep into his expensive suit trousers.

"Lie down!" the older soldier shouted, slipping out of his door and around the back of the car. He perched over the humvee's hood, firing off a few shots when there was a loud pop; the windshield was hit, a circular crack radiating out and splattered with red as he slumped to the side and then out of Tony's sight.

"Son of a bitch!" cursed Jimmy, stepping out of the car.

Tony felt his breath catch as he sat up. "Wait, wait, give me a gun!"

"Stay. Here!" Jimmy ordered through the window. As he turned, his body jerked and wiggled back and forth, and bullet holes peppered the side of the car.

Tony jumped and curled in on himself a bit, staring around as the noise stopped, only there was a ringing in his ears, and he could hear his harsh pants. The other soldiers in the two other cars not hit earlier were firing back at some unseen enemy.

I need to get out of here. I need to survive, he thought. Without further delay, Tony yanked open his side passenger door and stumbled to his feet, his Gucci dress shoes no match for the desert. He had already been sweating in his Tom Ford suit, and now everything else he owned was ruined as he brought his arms up to protect his head instinctively.

He glanced left and right, but was unable to spot anyone; instead, Tony ran through burning debris, feeling the suffocating heat from the exploded vehicle combat the dry desert air as bullets rained down on the soldiers and something whistled through the air - one of the other hum-vees exploded.

"Guh!"

Tony dodged forward and fell against a large rock, his breath expelling violently. From his pocket, he pulled out his Stark-pager, connected to the SI satellites and J.A.R.V.I.S., beginning to type in SOS, attacked on route. HELP-

But the whistling noise he heard earlier stopped, and he glanced to his side at a loud thud - only to see a Stark Industries missile in the sand barely a meter from him.

"Fuck," he had time to mutter before the device went off, sending him flying. His lungs felt like they were on fire; his entire right side felt like acid was eating through his skin and sensitive to the touch as he lay in the sand, disoriented and dazed.

Something in his chest hurt.

Blinking, he stared up at the sun and then pulled his dress shirt back, popping the buttons as his fingers brushed something warm and wet. He could barely lift his head but saw enough through his double-vision that his bullet-proof vest did not stop whatever hit him.

He coughed and the pain in his chest intensified.

Hermione, he thought, struggling to stay conscious. I need to get back to Hermione and Morgan. I need to stay awake - I need - I need…

It was one thing to wake up in a freezing cold cave, disoriented, and it was another to realize that you had a giant magnet stuck in your chest keeping you alive. Tony was no stranger to the idea of being kidnapped, but this was the first time someone managed a successful attempt.

While he was grateful for the man who saved his life, Tony was equally disgusted by the men speaking to him with guns pointed at their heads, demanding the Jericho. Didn't they know that the parts were manufactured elsewhere and completed in a secure location? You don't just make missiles willy-nilly.

The cave was dark and dank, and Tony, still feeling out of sorts from the explosion and hash-slap surgery the fellow prisoner conducted on him, could barely focus on the demands the leader was spitting at him. Luckily, the other man seemed to understand him and was translating in a bland tone.

All Tony knew was he had to refuse. He was going to die anyway, so what did it manner? Resignation and determination warred in him. Finally taking the other man's advice, Tony began rattling off a list of things he could possibly need - not for the Jericho (he would need some rather high-tech equipment for that) - but enough to maybe cobble together something to help him escape.

Morgan. Hermione. He had people counting on him.

Eventually, he turned to the other man as the kidnappers - or terrorists, really, at this point - slammed the heavy iron door shut. He heard the lock click and a bar wrench its way across supports, an additional security measure to keep them locked up.

"How many languages do you speak?" demanded Tony.

The other man shrugged. "A lot. But apparently not enough for this place. They speak Arabic, Urdu, Dari, Pashto, Mongolian, Farsi, Russian..."

Tony's eyes darted around the dank interior, his breath coming out as white puffs of hot air. His eyes lingered on the security camera watching them. "Who are these people?"

The other man gave Tony a wry smile. "They are your loyal customers, sir. They call themselves the Ten Rings."

Hours, maybe days later, the men returned with the things Tony requested. He spent the time lying on his cot, lugging around the large car battery as he wandered every edge of the cave, inspecting dark corners while the other man watched him with knowing eyes.

Finally, the two went to the workbench, and Tony and the man began working; the other man knew what he was doing, was able to keep up with Tony as he shot off directions and instructions, melting metal and making molds for it.

With Tony's hands still shaking and recovering from the explosion, the other man poured the metal into the mold while Tony hovered. It was an awkward feeling for a man who was so used to being in charge. "Careful. Careful, we only get one shot at this."

The other man grinned but didn't look up from pouring. "Relax, I've steady hands. Why do you think you're still alive?"

"What do I call you?" Tony acknowledged the rebuke as he finished pouring.

The man put down the heated pot they were using attached to tongs and looked up at Tony. "My name is Yinsen."

"Yinsen... nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too," Yinsen replied. He stood straight as they moved to the next step in their procedure. "We met once; you know. At the technical conference in Bern, in 1999."

Tony paused. The night I met Hermione and George? This can't be a coincidence. His eyes narrowed. "Don't remember."

Yinsen huffed a tiny laugh. "No, you wouldn't. If I had been that drunk, I wouldn't have been able to stand, much less give a lecture on integrated circuits."

Days later, once the metal had cooled, Tony began soldering components together as Yinsen hovered, watching as Tony connected everything by wire to a circuit board. "Speaking of circuits, that doesn't look like a Jericho missile."

He pointed at the other components Tony had laid out on the worktable, the tiny beads and steel rings he was making.

With a pleased tone, Tony shook his head slightly. "That's because it is a miniaturized Arc reactor. We got a big one powering my factory at home. It should keep the shrapnel out of my heart."

Yinsen glanced at him sharply, the light from the arc reactor as Tony powered it up reflecting off his glasses and lighting their workbench area up in a gentle, soft blue.

"But what could it generate?"

"If my math is right, and it always is… three gigajoules per second," replied Tony quietly, still in awe of what he made with the crude tech he was given. If I can do this with the equivalent of a microwave, what can I do in my lab and with J.A.R.V.I.S.?

"That could run your heart for fifty lifetimes," commented Yinsen, realization slowly dawning in his eyes.

Tony nodded. "Yeah. Or something big for fifty minutes. This is our ticket outta here."

More time passed. Tony used Yinsen's razor to keep his facial hair trimmed, but his hair was growing longer, scraggly. He spent the time trying to fall asleep imagining conversations with Hermione, Morgan about his appearance and hair if only to remember the sound of their voices.

Oh, Tony! Hermione would say, sighing in exasperation while burrowing her hand in the curls, tugging lightly.

Whenever he saw himself in the tiny mirror Yinsen had strung up on a support beam, he saw more of Morgan's face peering from his dark hair, his eyes. How was his little girl holding up without him?

But then a new day would begin, and Tony was showing Yinsen his plans for the suit of armour that would get them out of the cave, layered on thin rice paper.

"What is it?" asked Yinsen, glancing at the separate components until Tony layered it.

"It's the 'Flying the Mountain' look," he replied, proud at his creation.

Yinsen breathed, "Impressive," and looked up at Tony with something different in his eyes. Whereas before Tony was the Merchant of Death, the man who brought missiles to the Ten Rings - albeit, a smart merchant - the shrewd, conflicting look in Yinsen's eyes were now warmer. It changed their relationship.

They didn't always work on the suit of armour, though. There was downtime between dedicated hours spent on the machine, doing whatever they could to fool their captors. Yinsen had been there much longer than Tony and had even accumulated some board games to play.

They were playing backgammon, passing the time with idle conversation when Tony began getting personal - the first time since they had met, in what Tony estimated was two months. "You still didn't tell me where you're from."

Yinsen glanced up. "I'm from a small town called Gulmira. It's actually a nice place."

"You got a family?" asked Tony, thinking of Hermione, Morgan; of Rhodey, Happy, Pepper. Even Obie was on that list. He was sure they were missing him, that Rhodey had everyone out looking.

"Yes," replied Yinsen quietly. "And I will see them when I leave here. And you, Stark?"

The question was always asked by people, rote by politeness and not from knowing him; why would playboy billionaire Tony Stark have a family - and one that was not mentioned in every interview? But Tony, who had kept Hermione and Morgan secret for so long - stuck in the dark cave with the potential of failure constantly nipping at their heels… he decided to tell the truth.

"Yeah," he croaked out, making Yinsen look up in surprise. He cleared his throat and spoke again. "Yeah, I've got… I've got a daughter."

"You do?" there was incredulous disbelief in Yinsen's voice before it disappeared, noticing how uncomfortable Tony was in his admittance. "How old is she?"

"Ten," replied Tony quietly. He frowned a bit, remembering when he and Yinsen first introduced themselves. "Actually… now that I think about it, you met her mom."

Yinsen blinked. "I did?"

Tony nodded, both thinking back.

"… Oh, yes. In Bern," breathed Yinsen, sitting back on his upturned crate. There was a look of surprised wonder in his face as his thoughts turned inward. His eyes were sharp as he turned back to Tony. "The brunette you were with. Who liked my keynote with Dr. Wu."

Tony smiled softly, his thoughts turning back to the moment when he first met Hermione Granger - her anger at him, God, even the way he was acting - Tony shook his head ruefully. "Yeah, that's Hermione. The more extravagant and complicated the discussion, the happier she is. She's a professor at Oxford, now."

There was something on Yinsen's face when he asked, "Your wife?"

Tony knew he should've expected that; that was the direction the conversation was going, but he didn't expect the sharp lance of pain it had, right where the magnet sat in his chest. He struggled to breathe for a moment, inhaling sharply through the pain as his hand came up to hover by the magnet.

Yinsen was watching him carefully, half-risen from his seat and looking like he was a minute away from launching to Tony's side.

"No. I-" Tony shook his head, dropping his hand and glancing away as his heart clenched and tightened in his chest. It had nothing to do with the magnet. He cleared his throat. "… Anyway; yeah. It's - that's a no."

"I see." Yinsen's voice was low and soft, causing Tony to strain his hearing. When he caught the other man's eyes, there was something sorrowful in them. "So, you're a man who has everything... and nothing."

He tried to swallow but there was a lump in his throat. The words were a dagger in Tony's heart - a man who has everything and nothing. It seemed that between 'Merchant of Death' and 'the Man who has Everything and Nothing,' Tony couldn't quite escape his failings.

Hermione was in the middle of a lecture when the first phone notification went off. The student in question - as she lectured for Muggles as well as Magicals on different days and on different topics at Oxford (the university shared "in the know" professors to cut back on hiring costs) - blushed a furious red and mumbled an apology when Hermione paused, fishing the phone out of their bag to silence it.

Hermione gave them a nod and continued, "So we can learn from d'Hughes Second Principle that-"

And then someone else's phone went off.

In response, Hermione exhaled loudly through her nose.

Then, someone's phone began to ring.

Bewildered, Hermione stood at the front and bottom of the lecture hall, glancing around as students began pulling their phones out of their bags and reading their messages and notifications, only to begin to whisper and mutter to one another.

Finally, Hermione turned to one of her teaching assistants who sat near the front, and asked, "What is going on?"

Her TA, a young man, looked up at his phone, his eyes wide. "It's Tony Stark, Professor Granger. His convoy was attacked and he's missing in Afghanistan. It's breaking news."

For a long moment, Hermione just stood there, at the front of the room while her students talked about the infamous Tony Stark going missing. The words barely penetrated Hermione's mind, because all she could think was: he's going to miss our Valentine's Day dinner.

Then, the utter banality of what she thought slammed into her and she struggled to breathe, leaning over her podium at the front of the lecture hall, her hands clenching the edges so hard that they turned white from tension.

"Professor?"

"Class dismissed," gritted Hermione, staring at the warped wood of the podium and not raising her eyes. She knew her TA heard her. "Lewis - tell them. Class dismissed."

Her TA muttered something, but she heard him speaking loudly to those remaining in the lecture hall until the students began to file out.

"Professor, do you need help? Are you okay?" he asked, hovering near her.

"I need to -" Hermione broke off. No one knew that she and Tony had a history, but there was someone she could speak to. She dove for her mobile phone, something Tony insisted she have and waved Lewis out of the hall as she frantically thumbed through her contacts until she reached the Ps.

Pepper answered on the first ring. "Hermione -"

"I just heard," the witch barked into the phone, grabbing her materials and spinning on her heel to Disapparate. There were no cameras in the lecture hall, so there was little risk of being spotted. The phone went weird for a moment, losing the signal as she magically moved from Oxford to her cottage outside the city.

"Hermione? Hermione, are you there?" Pepper's voice rang worriedly across the line.

"I'm here."

"Tony went missing officially seven hours ago," began Pepper, her voice clipped and business-like. "Rhodey suffered minor scrapes and bruises and is already out with the US military looking for Tony. We'll find him, I promise you."

"I know," replied Hermione, her voice firm despite the tremble in her hands as she looked down at the one not holding the phone, standing in her living room. "But what do I tell Morgan?"

"You tell her the very best people are working to bring Tony home," replied Pepper, conviction in her voice.

"You'll keep me updated?"

"Whenever I can, with whatever I learn."

Hermione gave a watery sigh. "Thank you, Pepper."

"Of course, Hermione."

Hermione hung up, the phone falling to her couch from a limp hand. Time passed without her realizing it, her thoughts inward as fear and worry clutched at her, her thoughts back on Tony and the stupid conversation they had early yesterday morning regarding him being safe. If she believed in divination…

A sharp crack of Apparation, diluted only by the windowpanes, broke through Hermione's self-reflection. She looked up, unaware of the streaky tears left on her cheeks and the shallow look on her face as Harry burst through the door, eyes wide and hair messy with his wand out.

His emerald eyes focused on her, sitting motionless on her couch. Worry seeped out of every part of him as he went, "Oh, Hermione…"

She promptly burst into sobs.

Harry was at her side in an instant, words falling from his mouth as his arms tightened around her. "I sent Ginny to pick up Morgan from school, she's with us now. Stark will be okay – he's a scraper. Gets out of most messes, you know?"

"I spoke to Pepper," muttered Hermione against Harry's chest.

He stilled. "What did she say?"

"Seven hours," she said. "It happened seven hours ago. They don't know who took him or if he's dea—" her mouth stopped and her breath hitched.

Harry tightened his grip.

"We'll bring him back," he promised, taking a hold of Hermione's chin and bringing her to look at him. "After everything you've done for me, it's my turn. I'll bring him back. I promise."

"I really hope so, Harry," replied Hermione, and no more words were spoken that evening.

Days later, Hermione had to find some excuse to stay home – she eventually used a family emergency, which was true, but it was only Ashtonbury who knew the truth, the Master of Ceremonies from Hermione's convocation and Dean – and was granted leave.

Morgan was pulled from school, for homeschooling to keep her busy more than needing the education and was often kept company with Victoire as Fleur and Molly helped keep both Hermione and Morgan eating.

From Harry's end, he contacted Kingsley, who kept Hermione updated with the little news the British government could glean from the American counterparts regarding Tony's kidnapping. They learned he was alive, and that he was taken by a terrorist group known as the Ten Rings, but little else. It was mildly frustrating, as despite Kingsley's contacts as the Minister for Magic, that the men knew nothing.

George and Maya tried to keep Hermione's mood up, running interference with Pepper and Happy when both deigned to let Hermione know what was happening; it was mildly annoying, George would later remark to Maya, at how Hermione was kept from the loop.

It was Morgan who found a solution that the adults missed.

"Where's Daddy?" she asked, a few weeks later.

Hermione's face fell and her eyes, red-rimmed, filled with tears. "We don't know, darling - your daddy is missing - something went wrong on a business trip-"

"Is Uncle Rhodey looking for him?"

Hermione nodded. "Him and the rest of the United States military."

"What about Uncle Harry? Can Uncle Harry and the Aurors help?"

Hermione blinked, looking a bit startled. Then, the next thing, she leaped to her feet and was heading to the fireplace, shoving a handful of Floo powder into the fire and shouting, "Harry Potter, Head Auror's office!"

At first, Harry didn't want to help – refusing to state his reasons, but there was some mumbling regarding "misappropriated funds," and "gross abuse of power" – but eventually, he saw reason. He made a few mumbled promises about contacts with the British Muggle Ministry, and, a weeks later, he returned to Hermione's tiny cottage.

"I have news," he said, grimly.

Hermione, sitting on the couch, looked up at her best friend.

"Colonel Rhodes has been slowly knocking off quadrants of the Afghanistan desert. There are only a few left, but I could probably help track and knock the others off quicker if I go and use magic. Kinglsey's given me permission and a short leave of absence, so I'll be leaving tonight."

"Leaving?" echoed Hermione.

Harry nodded. "I'm going to go, pretending to be part of a British attaché. A few confundus will help quell any other questions."

"You'll find him?" asked Hermione hopefully, clutching a ripped and wrinkled tissue.

Harry stared at Hermione for a long moment and then sighed. "Yes."

Hermione stared at Harry. "You don't want to go."

"Not particularly, but he's important to you."

Hermione looked down and admitted, quietly, "He is."

Harry sighed. "And that's why I'm going. I'll let you know if we find him. Probably before Potts or Hogan do."

Hermione slowly stood from the couch, going to hug Harry. He let her, sighing again against her shoulder. "It'll be okay, Hermione. I promise."

"Thank you," she whispered against him. "Thank you."

Not even five days later, Harry's stag Patronus burst through the same living room window, coming to a rest in front of Hermione. Her heart leaped into her throat.

"We found him," Harry's voice came from the stag's head. "Colonel Rhodes has already contacted Potts and Hogan. You'll be getting a call soon – get ready to go to the States."

The Patronus nodded once at Hermione and then burst into thousands of tiny stars as the spell dissipated, glitter reflecting the afternoon sunlight.

"Thank you, harry," whispered Hermione. She took a deep breath and then turned, calling loudly, "Morgan! Morg! Pack a bag! Accio suitcase – your dad has been found!"

It was by unanimous decision that Hermione and Morgan would remain at the Malibu house when Tony arrived in California, with both Hermione and Tony overriding Pepper and Happy's worried fears that their arrival would upset Tony's recovery and health.

While Hermione would've preferred seeing Tony immediately, when he landed, she knew that the whole point of keeping Morgan safe and away from the public played a large factor in them greeting the Stark heir privately.

But, as Rhodey admitted, over a crackly line, fed through J.A.R.V.I.S., it was also a safety measure: Tony was targeted specifically, and if whoever took him knew about Hermione and Morgan, well - suffice to say the words Rhodey used ranged from "it wouldn't be good," to "utter devastation for Tony."

And Hermione agreed.

So, she sat with Morgan cuddled against her, clutching Honeybear in her tiny arms, as they watched the live CNN broadcast of Tony's return and his press statement. Tony looked tired in it, and despite his nice pinstriped suit and silky brown shirt, the marks on his face, the scabbed cuts, merely highlighted that he had been a prisoner.

Tony's arm was in a blue sling, keeping it still, and Hermione recognized the Stark Industries lobby as people milled about and cameramen jostled for a good view of the makeshift stage. Tony sat in front of the podium, Obadiah Stane behind it as he began mumbling in the microphone.

"Alright, let's get started," the older man began, bracing himself on the edges as he looked out into the crowd of flashing cameras and mutters.

Then, Tony was calling loudly over the crowd. "Hey, would it be alright if everyone sat down?" He raised his good arm, waving it a bit to catch their attention - although he already had it. He then pulled out a wrapped burger from his suit pocket. "Will you sit down? That way you can see me, and I can… A little less formal…"

He took a large bite.

"What's Daddy doing?" asked Morgan, looking from the television to Hermione, who pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes.

"I don't know, Morgan," the witch replied, not moving her eyes from the screen.

From the reporters in the crowd, they watched as they all sat, listening to Tony's instructions until they were kneeling or cross-legged in front of him in a semicircle, like preschoolers in front of their teacher for a reading circle.

Obadiah, used to Tony's antics, had an amused smile on his face as he copied the crowd and sat next to the CEO. Tony's head lolled a bit as he turned to face him, head-on, and the camera's failed to pick up the audio between them, although Hermione saw their mouths move.

Then, Tony turned back to the crowd. "I never got to say goodbye to my father."

The silence held by the crowd as Tony spoke was riveting; Hermione couldn't remember a time when even Harry held that same sort of control, as the Boy-Who-Lived or Man-Who-Won; even Dumbledore would've been hard-pressed to control a crowd with the ease Tony managed. But there was something off about Tony's demeanor, the way he spoke and how he began his speech.

"Mum?" Morgan's voice tried to pierce through Hermione's whirling brain.

Tony hates speaking about his father. He only invokes Howard's name when he speaks about the company… Hermione's breath caught as something occurred to her, but the thought disappeared just as quickly and she unconsciously leaned forward, closer to the television.

"There are questions that I would've asked him. I would've asked him how he felt about what his company did… ...if he was conflicted, if he ever had doubts." Tony wiped his mouth with a cloth handkerchief, pausing after each sentence to increase the tension. "Or maybe he was every inch of a man we all remember from the newsreels."

Ouch, thought Hermione, as he finished on that and held a long pause. She knew, at that moment, Tony was thinking of Morgan, and how their daughter would've handled things if Tony had never been found - her father taken from her far sooner than he had been.

There was a long-eyed stare that Tony held as he looked out at the crowd; his hair was stringy, unwashed despite his impeccable facial hair, and his face a bit more sunken than previously. Hermione's heart clenched.

"I saw young Americans killed… by the very weapons, I created to defend them and protect them. And I saw that I had become part of a system that is comfortable with zero accountability."

That seemed to spark something in the reporters, and one brave soul raised a pen, stuttering, "M-Mister S-Stark-"

Tony glanced at him gave a tiny dip to his chin and went, "Yeah?" softly.

The same reporter breathed, "What happened over there?"

The question was on everyone's mind - what happened to Tony Stark, the Merchant of Death, that would cause him to say that he became part of the very system that destroyed?

"I- I had my eyes opened," said Tony, rising to his feet and beginning to walk around the podium, his voice carrying loudly across the silent lobby. His finger wagged in emphasis on certain words. "I came to realize that I have more to offer this world than just making things that blow up. And that-"

He stopped, standing behind the podium and looking out at the crowd. "-is why, effective immediately, I'm shutting down the weapons manufacturing division-" he began to raise his voice to speak over the clamouring of the reporters as they shot to their feet, shouting questions, and just as Obadiah raced to Tony's side. "-of Stark International… until such a time, as I can decide what the future of this company will be-"

Obadiah tried to break in, a placating hand out to the crowd as he wrapped the other around Tony. "Okay, okay-"

"-What direction it should take, the one I'm comfortable with-"

"Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark!"

"-And is consistent with the highest good of this country and the world," Tony finished, walking away from the podium, Obadiah pushing him a bit, so he was away from the microphone. Tony kept walking down the path made for him by reporters, many who didn't know if they should follow Tony or stay with Obadiah, who stood at the podium.

"What we should take away from this… is that Tony's back!" Obadiah tried to silence the crowd, bringing their attention back on him, but even Hermione could tell he lost the crowd as Tony walked away.

"Mum? Mum, what does Daddy mean? If he shuts down SI's weapons manufacturing -"

Hermione turned to Morgan, looking down at her and seeing Tony's round, brown eyes looking at her from beneath her curly hair.

"I- I'm not sure what that means, darling," answered Hermione, finally, a bit bewildered. Whatever happened to Tony, it was life-changing. "I think we'll just need to wait and talk to your dad when he gets here."

"And when's that?" Morgan's lower lip pouted and stuck out a bit. She turned back toward the television and asked, louder, "J.A.R.V.I.S.?"

"Yes, Miss Morgan?"

"When's Daddy going to be here?"

"Mr. Stark is still at Stark Industries, Miss Morgan, and has yet to leave the premises," replied the smooth, British tones of the AI. "I predict that, following his conference, he will speak to Mr. Stane and then make his way here within the next hour."

Tony did arrive, just over an hour and sometime later, a grumpy look on his face that visibly brightened when he stepped through the door and Morgan shouted, "Daddy!"

The girl raced across the sunken living room, practically flying off the couch to slam into her father.

Tony braced himself but still rocked by the force the little girl exhibited, a muffled "oof," expelling from his lungs.

Hermione stood slowly from the couch, the tv now muted thanks to J.A.R.V.I.S., watching their daughter with her eyes suspiciously moist. Tony glanced up, above Morgan's bushy hair - that was all Hermione, unfortunately - and met Hermione's eyes.

"Hey," he mouthed.

"Hey," she mouthed back, biting her lower lip. With Morgan hanging off him, Tony was unable to move more than a few steps, partially laborious. Hermione, seeing this, gently called, "Morgan - your father is hurt. Let him breathe."

Morgan released her tight grip on Tony quickly, almost like an electric shock ran through her, and took a few steps back, her brown eyes staring up at him in fear. "Did I hurt you, Daddy? Are you hurt? Is it because of me?"

"Oh, no, Morguna," sighed Tony, unaware he was listing to the side as he made his way toward Hermione and the couch. "It wasn't you, baby."

Eventually, Tony made it to the couch, and Hermione reached forward to help ease him down, inwardly wincing as the billionaire sighed in relief as he sunk into the plush cushions. Morgan hesitantly slid onto the couch by her father's side, eyes fixated on him.

"Morgan, darling, why don't you tell your father about your recent test, hm?" began Hermione, sinking onto the couch on Tony's other side, curling a leg underneath her as she did so.

The young girl nodded and then launched into a vivid description of the past few months, cataloging everything that Tony had missed since February in detail and breathless, run-on sentences, eerily reminiscent of her mother's own recitals.

Tony let his daughter's voice wash over him, exhaustion finally catching up with him as his eyes met Hermione's. She had stretched an arm behind Tony and was running her fingers slowly through his lanky hair. The motion relaxed him, and with a sigh, he muttered, "Thank you," to his ex-lover quietly.

Hermione's lips twitched into a smile, but the worry in her eyes belayed the motion. Her other hand reached forward and caught one of his, on his lap. Tony tangled their fingers together, and let his eyes close, comforted by the sound of his daughter's voice on one side of him, and the scent of Hermione on the other.

Hermione and Morgan remained with Tony in Malibu for several weeks following his return, celebrating Tony's birthday at the end of May in a quiet, "hurrah, I'm alive," way with just the three of them.

Morgan would only be staying a little longer, having missed the routine of school and so Hermione decided to send her back to England to stay with Bill and Fleur until the end of June, in which Hermione would return to the UK.

In the meantime, Tony would fall into funks, disappear into his lab for hours at a time. Hermione would keep Morgan entertained during that time, while the girl's brown eyes – identical to her father's – would widen and she'd ask, her voice trembling, "Is Daddy mad at me?"

It was hard to explain to a ten year old that their father experienced a terrible event, and was trying to get over it without going to therapy or talking to anyone, but Hermione did her best for her child and her child's father, silently supporting one and playing with the others to keep her entertained.

Eventually, Tony admitted to needing to change out the arc reactor he made while in Afghanistan and that he didn't want Morgan around in case something happened. And so, the girl was sent back to the UK, amidst tears and cries, the lights flickering as something hit the electricity grid and the reactor in Tony's chest hummed as his heartbeat sped up.

The day after Morgan left, Tony was in his lab. He was so engrossed in his plans - the holographic displays spread across his workshop tables; there was a full-blown, human-sized schematic for the armour he was working on, separated by pieces so he could see the individual plates from a variety of monitor screens - that he didn't hear Hermione, nor did J.A.R.V.I.S. announce her presence in the lab.

"What are you doing?"

Tony jumped, his hand going straight to his arc reactor and hovering above it as he spun, his heart racing and pounding in his chest. He gasped, "Hermione? Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

Hermione was dressed in her pajamas, long flannel pants and had wrapped a shawl around her upper body, clutching it to her as she stepped barefoot further into the lab. A wince told him that his concrete floor was a bit too cold for her, but she pressed gamely on.

"I was," she admitted, frowning and narrowing her eyes as they roamed the displays, clockwise "I got up for a drink and wanted to check in on you-"

Tony winced. J.A.R.V.I.S. was a tattletale if Hermione knew about his nightmares.

"-when J.A.R.V.I.S. mentioned you were in your lab," she finished. She came to stop near his shoulder, peering up at the arc reactor display. "This is your-"

He nodded. "The arc reactor."

"And the rest of this?"

Tony swallowed and flicked his right hand, sweeping it left as the arc reactor hologram before them swished away, bringing his suit to the forefront. He glanced down at Hermione who was peering at it curiously, nibbling her lower lip as she thought.

"Obie said we're ironmongers," said Tony quietly, turning away from Hermione to stare at the armour schematics. "That we're a weapons manufacturer and deviating from that… it won't do Stark Industries any good."

"What did you say to that?"

Tony's shoulder tightened. "We can do better."

He risked a glance at her, and his shoulders loosened at her proud smile and the shine in her eyes. Tony let out a low, near inaudible sigh of relief.

"So how does this factor into that, Tony?" she asked, stepping up at his side, looking over the schematics as well. "Is this the armour Happy and Rhodey told me you were found in?"

"Kind of," replied Tony, answering to both her questions. "I think the key to everything is the arc reactor technology. It's a source of completely renewable energy that has an output beyond anything else out there. A mini-core powered the suit I used to escape the Ten Rings-"

Hermione's mouth pulled down into a deep frown.

"-and I think, using what I have available to me here, I can replicate the suit, but… better," he finished with a tiny shrug. "Obie said to lie low as he dealt with the fallout of me announcing the shutting down of the weapons manufacturing, so… I figured a self-imposed break was permission to work on this."

Hermione scoffed. "Like you need permission to do anything."

Tony flashed her an easy grin.

"Well, if you're going to do this," began Hermione, crossing her arms and leaning back a bit, to tilt her head and look up at him, "You're going to need to replace that, first." She tapped gingerly on the mini core in his chest.

"Oh, I think that'll be the first to do," replied Tony, swiping his hand and showing her the improved, mini arc reactor he had planned. "Say, you've got tiny hands - wanna help?"

The look Hermione gave Tony made him laugh.

Later, after a rather disgusting realization of the inner workings of the older battery in Tony's chest and his mild cardiac arrest, in which Hermione was about ten seconds away from Apparating him to Saint Mungo's, magic secrecy be damned, Tony, in a rather relaxed fashion, began talking Hermione through the Mark II armour.

"I've stripped down the heavier plates from what I'm calling the Mark I, when I was with my -" Tony cleared his throat, "With my hosts, those months ago."

"What'll that do?" asked Hermione.

Tony was wearing a black vest, leaving his arms bare as he moved around the holographic display, collecting parts from bins that DUM-E and U were pushing and moving around the basement lab. He would pick something up from the bin - some type of sheet metal - and then discard it easily enough before moving on to the next.

Hermione leaned against the holographic table, marvelling at the display and wondering why the magical world didn't have something like this - she was determined to bring it to George and Harry's attention at the next Weasley dinner.

California in August was warm, and despite the air conditioning in Tony's Malibu house, she wore shorts and a light blouse to hide her forearm scar, and a pair of strappy sandals with one sliding off her foot as she crossed them behind her, leaning in and zooming in with a pinching motion on one part of the display. "Is this running on the arc reactor you designed?"

"Mmhmm," replied Tony.

He returned and began rotating the display for Hermione to see. "It'll have the same thrust and capabilities that the Mark I had, only… you know, better. Like - in weapons, in flight, in maneuverability."

Hermione shot Tony a look. "You're going to fly?"

He grinned. "Pretty cool, right? Human flight, all down to me. It'll be something for the history books, for sure."

"Tony, why are you building this?" Hermione asked quietly, standing up straight as she surveyed him. "You could've just left things when you returned from Afghanistan; you didn't have to shut down the weapons division, nor did you have to return to the design of the suit that saved you. You could've continued doing what you did before…"

Tony bowed his head a bit, sniffing. He then looked up at Hermione, something hard in his eyes as he focused with intensity on her. "I could've, sure. But people died, Hermione. Those soldiers, they died because of me-"

"They died because some terrorists decided to kidnap you-"

"To use my weapons!" Tony shouted over Hermione, furiously. His hands clenched at his side. "My weapons, Hermione! Stark weapons! They used Stark weapons to kill people, people my weapons were supposed to protect. It was to get to me to make them the Jericho to kill more people. That's on me."

Hermione watched him carefully, before speaking. "I read an article by a reporter before you left. She wrote that peace means having a bigger stick than the other guy. She was paraphrasing you and your father's words."

Tony groaned. "Everhart."

"Yes, that was her," agreed Hermione quietly. "You said something about weapons being needed in this world to ensure peace. Is that what the Mark II is? The bigger stick?"

Tony grimaced, turning back to the hologram. "I - no. I don't think so…"

"What are you going to do with it when you prove successful?" asked Hermione, pressing gently.

Tony glanced at her. "When? You don't think I'll fail?"

Hermione laughed. "Tony, you'll fail a thousand times in making the Mark II, and eventually it'll all come together because you're a stubborn arse that won't stop. You'll make sure it works. So, yes - when it works, what will you do with it?"

"Probably have a party to celebrate," he quipped, "You, me, some of my closest hundred friends, some vodka and G&Ts. Maybe the Mark II could serve the drinks-"

"You're being flippant," sighed Hermione.

Tony fell silent. "I was thinking of going to Afghanistan."

"You'd go back?" the incredulous tone in Hermione's voice shifted quickly. "You'd go back for a reason…"

"I wasn't alone," he admitted, quietly, looking away. His arm muscles flexed as Tony reached out and gripped the edges of the table, focusing his eyes on the display and losing himself beyond it to avoid Hermione's eyes. "When the Ten Rings captured me, I wasn't alone."

Tony risked a glance at Hermione, but she was watching him patiently, without any emotion on her face. He swallowed and continued, "Do you remember Dr. Yinsen…?"

"Yinsen," muttered Hermione under her breath, "Yinsen… from… Bern? All those years ago?"

"You remembered him quicker than I did," replied Tony with a flashed grin at Hermione before he sighed and looked back at the table. He released it and stood straight, but his shoulders bowed a bit. "He was there."

"But - why? He was… he was a doctor, not a scientist!" protested Hermione in confusion.

Tony shrugged. "Dunno. But well, he helped me make the Mark I. But he… uh…"

Unable to continue, Tony tried clearing his throat, but Hermione reached forward and awkwardly hugged Tony from the side, trapping his left arm against her.

Unbidden, tears welled in Tony's eyes, but he refused to let them fall, blinking quickly and gruffly saying, "Anyway. I thought I'd go back and... liberate his village. For him."

"So, you're making the Mark II to fight," murmured Hermione against his shoulder.

"I guess so," he laughed weakly, wetly. "I guess I can take the weapons out of SI, but I can't take the weapons from a Stark."

Hermione hummed thoughtfully, still not moving. "And once you save his village?"

Tony shrugged, but only his right side. Still, Hermione felt the movement through his body. He wasn't one for planning.

"It makes you feel better, doesn't it?" she murmured instead.

"What? What does?"

"Having the ability to fight back when it was taken from you before."

Tony froze.

"The Mark II means you're in control," continued Hermione, her voice low and quiet and nonjudgmental. "That whatever weapons they've been using before, without your consent, in your name - this is you taking that back and showing them that they're wrong. That Stark weapons don't kill; they protect."

"I - I guess -" Tony stuttered for a moment. "I - yeah." He sighed. "I don't want this winding up in the wrong hands like the Jericho could have, or my other missiles did. Maybe… maybe if the Mark II is in mine, well… this weapon? It could actually do some good."

"Didn't I tell you that you are a good man?" chuckled Hermione, releasing him. She reached out and placed a palm on his stubbly cheek, turning Tony's head to face her. She waited until their eyes made contact.

"I don't like the idea of you going to fight." Tony's body tensed under her touch. "But I understand the need to reclaim control, probably more than you realize. Not that you need my permission, but you have my understanding and support."

Tony narrowed his eyes. "But…?"

"There's no but," said Hermione, rolling her eyes and stepping back, taking her hand with her as it slid from Tony's cheek.

Tony didn't remove his eyes from her. "Uh-huh."

"There's not!" protested Hermione, pulling back, affronted. Her hand slid to her shorts pocket, "But…"

"There it is!" crowed Tony.

"I was wondering if you integrate this into your design?" finished Hermione crossly, as she fished out a tiny loop of something from her pocket. It was stringy, frayed brown twine mixed with red and yellow and a few plastic beads.

Tony frowned. "What is that? Good God, it looks like something a cat vomited."

Hermione scowled. "Morgan was making friendship bracelets with Teddy and Victoire, and she made you one."

"It's wonderful," Tony quickly backpedaled, eyeing the bracelet as Hermione placed it on the hologram table. "Beautiful, and absolute stunner and work of art. Morgan will go places if she pursues this as a career-"

"Shut up, Tony," sighed Hermione.

"Yes, dear," the words slipped out quickly and he grimaced.

Hermione sent him a look, one that read I'm onto you.

Tony sent her an easy grin in reply, moving back toward his table and a workbench littered with parts and pieces. He quickly went back to organizing them, becoming absorbed in his work.

In response, she sighed and began backing out of the room. "Just… don't do anything stupid unless I'm here to help. Okay, Tony?"

"Mmm?"

Hermione sighed again.

"Okay, let's start mark… half a meter back of the center. DUM-E, look for light. Stand back for fire safety. U, roll it."

There was a pause.

"Activate hand controls. We are gonna start up nice and easy, raising 10% thrust capacity to achieve lift."

"Ten; really, Tony? Why not 1 or 2%?"

"Sweetheart, does fortune not favour the bold? Anyway, and three, two, one. Up two? Alright, step back…"

And Tony went up and over his workbench, crashing into the low, sloped ceiling.

Hermione shrieked, something sounding like Latin and the impact Tony was expecting as he flopped back to the hard cement floor was - smoother, comfier - than he was expecting.

He groaned as he lifted his head up. "Maybe 1% to start…"

"What's this now, Tony?"

"This is a flight stabilizer. It's completely harmless."

He flexed his hand and light burst from the circular half-dome in his palm, far more intense and furious compared to a stunner or spell, sending Tony flying backward, as Hermione was becoming to expect.

Tools scattered everywhere, metal clanging as Tony slowly clambered to his feet, hair in disarray and his eyes wide. He looked around the room until he focused on Hermione, standing off to the side, near the door with a scowl on her face and her arms crossed.

"I didn't expect that."

"I'll bet," she retorted.

Tony cleared his throat. "Day eleven, test thirty-seven. Configuration two-point-oh. For lack of a better option, DUM-E is still on fire safety." He glared at the large robotic arm. "If you douse me again, and I'm not on fire, I'm donating you to a city college."

Hermione sighed from off to the side, where she was sitting on top of one of the cleared worktables. "That's because you don't trust me with the extinguisher."

"Hermione, I've seen what Morgan can do to a toaster. And your reaction. It's safer in DUM-E's hands."

Hermione scowled.

Tony released a nervous exhale. "Alright, nice and easy. Seriously, just gonna start off with 1% thrust capacity. Better, right?"

"Right."

"And three, two one…" the thrusters engaged, and Tony began to lift with a loud sizzle and crackle of energy bursting from the domes on his palms and the heels of the silver boots he wore.

"Tony, you're doing it!" cheered Hermione, gasping from the table. "That's brilliant!"

Tony flashed her a grin. "'Course it is. Again, let's bring it up to 2.5%." Tony began to flail. "Okay, this is where I don't want to be…"

He quickly stabilized himself, and laughing weakly, he said, "We are fine. Okay, we are getting there."

He turned to Hermione, beaming at her. "I can fly!"

She beamed back. "Yeah. You can fly."

The darkness around Tony's face was suffocating, and he was nervous, but he injected as much confidence as he could into his voice. "J.A.R.V.I.S., are you there?"

"At your service, sir," the disembodied voice of his AI replied, just as the darkness receded and a blue-and-gold tinted display popped up as the electronics engaged; the helmet Tony had on came to life, showing the workroom and a nervous Hermione wringing her hands in front of him.

"Tony?" she asked.

"I'm okay. I'm here," he replied, eyes darting around the interior screen. "Engage the head-up display - Check. It works." He laughed. "Import all preferences from home interface."

"Will do, sir."

Grinning behind the mask, Tony looked around, flexing his armour-encased hands. "Alright, what do you say?"

J.A.R.V.I.S. replied. "I have indeed been uploaded, sir. We're online and ready."

Tony nodded. "Start the virtual walkaround."

"Importing preferences and calibrating virtual environment."

"Do a check on control surfaces," ordered Tony.

"As you wish, sir."

Around Tony, panels opened and closed with hisses and the sound of pneumatic power systems. Hermione stared wide-eyed from a few feet from Tony, watching as the panels revealed lines of wire and a blue-tinted sheen underneath, the same colour as the arc reactor.

There was a moment of silence, and then J.A.R.V.I.S. said, "Test complete. Preparing to power down and begin diagnostics."

"Ah, yes... tell you what. Do a weather and ATC check. Start listening to ground control."

Hermione stilled in front of him, beyond the scope of the blue display, noting the terrain beyond the Malibu mansion, the weapons, and systems checks. "Tony…"

At the same time, J.A.R.V.I.S. hedged, "Sir, there are still terabytes of calculations needed before an actual flight."

With a put-upon sigh, Tony ignored her and began, "J.A.R.V.I.S.…"

"No, seriously, Tony. Don't," said Hermione tersely, throwing her shoulders back.

The armour turned its head toward her, and Hermione tried not to shiver at the odd blue light reflected in the eyes. Tony's voice, slightly tinny, emerged. "C'mon, Princess. Sometimes you gotta run before you can walk."

Hermione scowled. "I don't care. Stop being such a… such a Gryffindor!"

"A what?" Tony shook his head. "Never mind. J, ready? And three, two, one…"

Tony placed his palms parallel to the floor with his arms straight along the side of his body as the armour began to gently lift, causing him to hover. Then, he tilted forward and the thrusters engaged, and he was racing out of the lab, along the garage, and up through the garage entrance, Hermione's scream of "TONY STARK" slipping behind him.

Tony let out a shrill cry of delight as he burst up and out, going straight up into the dark Californian sky.

He began spinning, doing aerial acrobatics, pushing the system to its limits. The display kept him abreast of all his systems. Then, a tiny icon appeared at the bottom right, with Hermione's face.

"Uh…"

The icon increased in size and then Hermione's irate voice erupted around his helmet.

"Tony Stark-!"

"Hi, sweetheart… um, are you calling me right now?" Tony glanced to the side. "J, why did you let that go through-"

"How else am I supposed to yell at you?" she retorted sharply.

"How about congratulating me instead? The armour works!"

Hermione sighed, some of the ire falling from her voice. "How does it feel, Tony?"

Tony grinned. "It feels like a dream."

"Great, now get your feet back on the ground," instructed Hermione.

"In a minute," replied Tony. "Let's see what this thing can do while I'm here. What's the SR-71's record?"

J.A.R.V.I.S.'s voice broke across both connections, with both Tony and Hermione hearing him. "The altitude record for fixed-wing flight is 85,000 feet, sir."

"Tony, no!"

"Records are made to be broken, Hermione," replied Tony as he flew up, higher and higher. "C'mon!"

Then, suddenly, there was lag and the display he created began flashing red warnings. "Sir, there is a potentially fatal build-up of ice occurring."

Tony swore. "Keep going! Higher! We're iced up, J.A.R.V.I.S.! Deploy flaps."

There was no reply.

"…. J.A.R.V.I.S.? C'mon, we gotta break the ice!"

He swore again as the power cut and he began to plummet, warnings shrieking around him. He began a mad spiral and flail, plummeting through the atmosphere as his heart raced and thundered in his chest.

Hermione's going to kill me, he thought, but then the displays evened out, the cold and ice began to recede, and the thrusters came back online until Tony could take control, bringing him back to his mansion where he hovered above the roof.

With his heart pounding, he ordered, "Cut power," and as the armour went dead, he crashed through the flat roof, the support beams, and crashed into the piano in the living room, and then kept going until he slammed hard into one of his roadsters, denting the car's frame and shattering the windshield. The two cars on either side wobbled from the force of displaced air, and their alarms activated.

Hermione spun from where she was near his worktable, watching a replica of his display from her end, a stick in her hand that she hastily put away as Tony groaned. "Tony! Mer-Jesus, don't do that!"

He flailed a bit trying to roll off the car. "I'm fine, I'm fine. See? J.A.R.V.I.S., note: the main transducer feels sluggish at plus 40 altitudes. The whole pressurization is problematic. I'm thinking 'icy' is a probable factor."

J.A.R.V.I.S.'s dry voice echoed around the lab as Hermione raced forward to help Tony stand straight. "A very astute observation, sir. Perhaps if you intend to visit other planets, we should improve the exo systems."

"Visit other planets, my arse," muttered Hermione while Tony shook his head and retracted the helmet. "That's not happening while I'm around."

"Connect to the CISCO, have it reconfigure the shell metals. Use the gold-titanium alloy from the Seraphim tactical satellite. That should ensure the fuselage integrity while maintaining the power-to-weight ratio. Got it?"

"Yes, sir. Shall I render using proposed specifications?"

Tony grinned, leaning heavily on Hermione as they staggered to the table. "Thrill me."

Around the table, the holographic display changed from blue to a coloured rendition of the armour, with J.A.R.V.I.S. announcing, "The render is complete."

Hermione stared. "Little ostentatious, don't you think?"

Tony vaguely agreed, staring at it as well, but his voice was more sarcastic as he spoke. "What was I thinking?"

"You're usually so discreet," sighed Hermione in irony, looking at the all-gold armour paint that hid the silver from the metal.

Tony snorted. "Tell you what... throw a little hot-rod red in there."

"Yes, that will help you keep a low profile, Tony," said Hermione, nodding sagely. "Now you really are a Gryffindor."

"You keep saying that…"

"The render is complete," announced J.A.R.V.I.S. overtop of them.

The image changed, showing a red suit of armour with gold accents on the arms and legs and helmet, marrying the two colours together nicely, offsetting the blue of the arc reactor core.

Tony slowly grinned. "Yeah, I like it. Fabricate it and paint it."

"Commencing an automated assembly. Estimated completion time is five hours," announced JAVIS, before pausing. "And, Sir? Dr. Granger? Mr. Stane is upstairs."

The two shared a look, Tony still supported by Hermione while holding himself up on the table with the silver armour hand.

"What's he want at this time of the night?" muttered Tony, while Hermione reached forward and began to help DUM-E unbolt and pull the armour pieces off the billionaire.

"You won't know until you go up and ask him," replied Hermione, dropping the heavy plates as she pulled them off.

Tony winced. "Granger, careful. That's a thousand dollars right there."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Sorry." She didn't sound it at all.

When Tony was finally free of his armour, he looked around and said, "Stay here, please," to Hermione, striding away from the lab and up the stairs to his living room, where Obadiah stood, staring at the crushed piano in confusion and amusement. He had a box of pizza in his arms.

Upon hearing Tony, he looked up. "Tony! Just the man I wanted to see. What happened there?"

"I'm getting bored, so I began redecorating," came the flippant reply. "Why're you here?"

"To tell you about the meeting…?"

"Meeting?" Tony stared blankly at the vice-CEO and then remembered. "Oh. How'd it go?"

Obadiah grimaced.

"Oh, went that bad huh?" Tony sighed and walked toward his bar, untouched from his earlier destruction.

"Just because I brought pizza back from New York doesn't mean it went bad," replied Obadiah with his own frown as he followed Tony, setting the box down on the bar top.

"Sure doesn't," sighed Tony, opening the box and taking out a slice. He bit into it and said happily, "Oh, boy, how'd you know I was craving a supreme?"

Obadiah stared at Tony, hands in his pockets. "It would've gone better if you were there."

Tony shrugged. "You told me to lay low and that's what I've been doing. I lay low and you take care of all the…" he waved a finger around in the air.

"Hey, c'mon," replied Obadiah, taking his hands out and trying to placate the Stark heir. "In public, the press…" Obadiah's mouth formed into a line. "This was a Board of Directors meeting."

Tony paused in bringing the slice back up for another bite. He echoed Obadiah in surprise. "This was a Board of Directors meeting?"

"The Board is claiming Post Traumatic Stress. They are filing an injunction."

Tony spun around to stare at Obadiah, pizza forgotten. "A what?"

"They wanna lock you out," explained Obadiah patiently.

Tony scowled. "Why, cause the stocks dip forty points?"

"We knew this was gonna happen," said the vice-CEO calmly, "And it was fifty-six and a half."

"It doesn't matter, we own a controlling interest in the company-"

"Tony, the Board has rights too," sighed the older man. "They are making the case that you and your new direction isn't in a company's best interest."

"I'm being responsible!" protested Tony. "That's a new direction. For me…" He stopped at what he slipped. "I mean, for the company."

Obadiah stared in surprise.

Tony, a bit wide-eyed, stuttered, "I mean, me on the company's behalf being responsible for the way that…"

At the look Obadiah gave him, Tony bitterly laughed, picking up the pizza box and walking away, toward the lab. "Oh, this is great!"

"Oh c'mon, wait! Tony, Tony!"

"I'm busy, Obie."

Obadiah strode forward quickly and caught up with Tony near the end of the living room, catching his arm and pull him to a stop. "Hey, hey, Tony, listen. I'm trying to turn this thing around, but you gotta give me something. I don't begrudge you spending time with Dr. Granger - you've been, uh, special friends, since the beginning, but c'mon. I need something to pitch them. A new weapon-"

Thunder flashed across Tony's face. "No. No. Absolutely not. Forget it. And don't speak about her like that."

Obadiah let go of his arm. "Alright, well… I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. It's your life."

Tony stared at his vice-CEO for a few moments. "Is there anything else? No?"

The other man shook his head.

"Go on, here, you can have a piece. Take two," offered Tony, pushing the box toward Obadiah. "I'll take the rest."

The other man pursed his lips, looked at the box, and then reached in and politely took a slice. "Thank you. Do you mind if I come down there to see what you're doing? I have some time before-"

Tony paused. "Before what?"

There was a strained smile on Obadiah's face. "It's nothing, don't you worry about it."

He began to back away until he was at the lip of the sunken living room, moving toward the door.

Tony frowned, but called, "Then goodnight, Obie," watching until he left, closing the door behind him. The frown was still on his face as he entered the lab minutes later, the pizza box growing cold in his arms.

Hermione looked up. J.A.R.V.I.S. had connected the house's security system for her and she had been watching. "What was that about? Where's he off to? I thought he'd push more to see the lab. He always struck me as a pushy one, ever since he went after George that first meeting…"

Tony shrugged, putting the box down. "Dunno. And he can't help it; it's a businessman's acumen."

"Businessman's acumen?" Hermione raised her eyebrows at stared at her ex-lover. "Tony, please. That man is a shark."

The man scoffed. "He's harmless, a little baby fish, not a shark. He's a pufferfish. A carp. Guppy."

Hermione stared back. "He might not be a shark, Tony, but he's no fish. He's a piranha."

"Oh, come off it, Granger - he's not. I'll prove it," Tony turned away from her. "J.A.R.V.I.S., what's on Obie's schedule? You can hack his blackberry, can't you?"

"Is that a question, sir?"

Tony sent Hermione a smug look as J.A.R.V.I.S. continued, but it quickly faded. "… it's the third annual benefit for the Firefighters Family Fund. The one you started as part of your mother's list of charities to continue."

"I - J.A.R.V.I.S., did we get an invite from them?"

The AI paused. "I have no record of the invitation, sir."

Tony's face shuttered for a moment, and Hermione reached a hand out. "Tony…"

But there was something fierce in Tony's face as he strode away from her and the lab, yanking at the neck of his shirt and pulling it up and over his head in a smooth movement, letting it drop as he called, "Don't wait up for me, honey."

Happy pulled up outside the building with a slow crawl. "You sure you wanna do this, boss?"

Tony, decked out in a suit, frowned. There was something bothering him about Obadiah's visit and Hermione's comments, and this was the only way he knew he could learn what that feeling was telling him.

"I'll be fine Happy," he said instead. "Go circle the block a few times. I doubt I'll be that long."

He exited the car, ignoring the flashes of camera lights and shutter noises, walking the red carpet to where he spotted Obadiah talking to a cluster of men. A few people noticed him, their murmurs increasing in volume as Tony approached the men.

"The weapons manufacturing is…" Obadiah stuttered, pausing as he caught sight of Tony from the corner of his eyes. "-Only one small part of what Stark Industries is all about…"

Tony grinned as he stopped at the vice-CEO's side. "What's the world coming to when a guy's gotta crash his own party?"

Obadiah chuckled, clasping Tony on the shoulder and squeezing tightly. "Look at you! Hey, what a surprise!" he turned to the men he was talking to and said, "I'll see you inside. Gentlemen?"

He steered Tony away, muttering as they walked. "Listen, take it slow, alright? I got the Board where I really want them."

Tony fought back shrugging the man off, giving him a tight smile in response. "You got it. Just cabin fever, I'll just be a minute." He eyed the bar as Obadiah waved him off, heading directly to it as he surveyed the room with the white tablecloths and people in fancy dress. "Give me a scotch, I'm starving."

"Mr. Stark?" the other man at the bar turned with a genial smile toward him.

Tony stared, picking up his drink. "Yeah?"

"Agent Coulson," the man said.

"Oh yeah, the guy from the…" Tony trailed off.

"Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division."

Tony looked away, taking a sip of his drink and then shaking his head a bit. "God, you got... you need a new name for that."

Coulson gave a bland smile. "Yeah, I hear that a lot. Listen, I know this must be a trying time for you, but we need to debrief you. There's still a lot of unanswered questions, and time can be a factor with these things."

Tony took another sip, not wanting to reply.

"Let's just put something on the books. How about the 24th, at 7 p.m. at Stark Industries?" continued Coulson.

Across the room, Tony spotted a redhead in a low back blue dress; he blinked and realized it was Pepper. What's she doing here? She's my assistant, shouldn't she have told me about this?

Distracted, Tony muttered while extending a hand for Coulson to shake, "Tell you what... you got it. You're absolutely right. Well... I'm gonna go to my assistant and we'll make it a date."

He then strode off, leaving Coulson standing at the bar.

Approaching his personal assistant, he decided between a surprised reaction and decided on something a bit more serious. "Pep! I didn't recognize you."

Pepper turned around, blinking in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Avoiding government agents," retorted Tony, narrowing his eyes a bit. "What about you? How come I didn't know about this?"

Pepper ignored his questions, looking over his shoulder and around. "Are you here by yourself? Is Hermione here?"

Tony frowned. "No, she's back at the house."

Pepper's eyes turned to her boss. "Why? Are you hiding her from the press, too?"

"Ouch," said Tony, his voice low in warning. "That was mean."

Pepper's eyes widened

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" asked Tony

"No, no-"

He continued blithely. "You look great, by the way. I'm supposed to say that, right? Hermione gets on my case when I get rude-"

"Oh, God," Pepper muttered, looking around with wide eyes.

"-But I could fire you, you know, for what you said, if that'd take the edge off," continued Tony, letting her know he didn't appreciate her comments. "We've talked about this. They're off the table for conversation with me, Miss Potts. So, let's discuss why I didn't know about this party. Isn't it your job to tell me these things?"

Pepper grimaced. "Mr. Stane implied you were too busy tonight-"

"And that's where you got Hermione," sighed Tony. "Still, Pepper, you should've said something. Although I suppose, I can do without you."

Pepper narrowed her eyes. "I actually don't think that you could tie your shoes without me."

Tony grinned, but it was a bit dark as he brought his tumbler to his lips to take a sip. "I'd make it a week."

"Really? What's your social security number?" asked Pepper, eyebrows raised.

"Five."

"Five? You're missing just a couple of digits there. The other eight?"

Tony paused for a moment, letting the banter fall between them. "That's why I got you, for the other eight."

Pepper let out a gusty sigh in relief. "Oh, good job then. Seriously, though, Mr. Stark-"

"Tony." The man ordered, but a familiar blonde caught his eye, now in Coulson's vacant spot at the bar. She reminded him of something, something Hermione had said...

Pepper continued. "Tony. Why are you here?"

Tony turned back to Pepper with a slimy smile that she hadn't seen on his face for some time. "Drink, Pep? I would like a drink. Like… right now. It's very important."

Sighing, Pepper replied, "I think I'm good, Tony. But… best of luck to you. For whatever reason, you have to show up here."

She then turned and walked away, moving in the crowd and leaving Tony to turn back to the bar, a hard look on his face that he masked as he approached the blonde. He overheard her order as he arrived.

"I would like a vodka martini, please. Very dry with olives, lot of olives, like at least three olives," she was saying.

"How specific," grinned Tony, leaning against the bar as he caught the bartender's attention. "Two vodka martinis, extra dry, extra olives, extra fast. Make one of them dirty."

The woman turned around and Tony's elbow nearly slipped off the bar as he realized who it was. "Well... Tony Stark!"

"Oh, hey! Fancy seeing you here…" He paused, scrunching his face up. "Carrie."

The woman's face tightened. "Christine."

"That's right, Berkeley."

"Brown. And you have a lot of nerve showing up here tonight." The reporter leaned forward a bit, showing off her cleavage. "Can I at least get a reaction from you?"

Tony grimaced. "Annoyance. I would say annoyed is my reaction."

Christine's eyebrows went up as she leaned back, crossing her arms. "I was referring to your company's involvement in this latest atrocity."

Tony, sighing, waved his hand between them. "They just put my name on the invitation, I don't know what to tell you-"

Christine spoke over him. "I actually almost bought it, hook, line, and sinker."

Something tightened in Tony's chest. "I was out of town for a couple of months, in case you didn't hear-"

Instead, Christine held out a few small photographs on glossy paper. "Is this what you call accountability?" she demanded, shaking them a bit. "t's a town called Gulmira. Heard of it?"

Tony froze, looking down at the photographs in her hands before taking them. He missed the look of surprise on Christine's face as he did so, flicking through one after the other.

"When were these taken?" he demanded, finally looking up.

"Yesterday," she replied, a bit taken aback.

Tony's mouth tightened. "I didn't approve any shipment-"

"Well, your company did," retorted Christine.

Tony scowled at the reporter, tucking the images to the inside of his jacket pocket. "Well, I'm not my company. Excuse me."

He then began walking quickly through the crowd, eyes searching for Obadiah's height and bald head until he finally found him, near the steps leading out of the building. He barely registered that Christine, the reporters, was following him. There were photographers around him, their lenses bobbing under the weight as Tony approached and the men jostled one another for better angles of the two men.

Obadiah scowled and tossed a hand at them as he said, "Please, do you mind?"

Tony ignored the press - he was used to it - and instead demanded in a low voice, "Have you seen these pictures?"

"What's going on?" sighed Obadiah, glancing at Tony and drawing him away from the cameras. They kept their backs to them as they spoke.

"This!" Tony shoved the photos at Obadiah, who glanced at them and sighed.

"Tony, you can't afford to be this naive."

"I was naive before when they said: Here's the line, we don't cross it, this is how we do business!" the CEO of Stark Industries scowled and muttered lowly. "If we're double-dealing under the table... are we?"

Obadiah stared at Tony for a few, long moments, before turning him around and saying, genially, "Let's take a picture. Come on. Picture time!"

The crowd before them on the steps raced forward, taking their pictures and snapping their shutters as flashes exploded around them. Obadiah kept one arm around Tony's shoulders, pressing the younger man tight against him as they faced the crowd.

Then, the older man leaned close as Tony began his usual 'press smile,' saying, "Tony... who do you think locked you out?"

Tony's smile slipped off his face as Obadiah continued.

"I was the one who filed the injunction against you. It's the only way I can protect you."

The patted Tony's shoulder and then strode down the steps, his bodyguards falling into step behind him as he moved toward his car at the end of the red carpet.

"I'm sorry," he heard Christine say from behind him, but the words barely registered in his mind through the roar in his ears and the haze before him.

Then Happy was there, muttering at him, his hands on him and then he was in his car, and the lights of Los Angeles were pinpricks and starbursts through the tinted windows of the vehicle until he was back at his Malibu home, in the middle of his living room with a worried Happy hovering around him and Hermione before him, her cold hands on his face as she said something to him.

"-ony? Tony? What's wrong?"

"He-" Tony's breath caught high in his throat. "He - he locked me out."

"Who? Who did? Happy, what happened?"

"I don't know, Dr. Granger-"

"It was Obie - Obadiah." Tony cleared his throat and his vision stopped being narrow, allowing him to focus on Hermione's pinched, worried face and the feel of her hands on him. "He made the board kick me out. I'm no longer the CEO of Stark Industries."

Happy swore behind him.

Hermione's eyes went wide. "What?"

Tony nodded, slowly. "I - I lost the company. I lost Stark Industries. I lost my family's legacy…"

He felt his knees go weak and Hermione and Happy helped his sink onto his couch, Happy disappearing to his bar right afterward as Hermione gingerly sat beside him. She was staring up at him.

"The reporter… she showed me images…"

"Of what?" asked Hermione.

Tony pulled the photos from his jacket pocket and handed them to Hermione, who quickly browsed through him, her mouth a tight line until she put them aside. She breathed heavily for a moment or two, staring down at her hands, before looking at him.

"What?" he asked, catching her eyes.

"Well, what is your plan?" she asked in reply. There was something fierce in her eyes.

Tony frowned. "Plan?"

"You're not just going to sit here and wallow, are you?" asked Hermione, eyes narrowing on him. "I didn't think Tony Stark considered himself a loser."

Happy, by the bar, paused in his rummaging to slowly turn around and stare at Hermione.

Tony's mouth dropped down. "I - what?"

"Are you a loser, Stark?" challenged Hermione with a knowing glint.

"No!" Tony struggled to sit up on the couch, mouth agape at Hermione. "What the fuck-"

"If you're not a loser, then how do you plan to fight?"

"Fight?" Tony blinked as he echoed Hermione. "I-"

"Tony," she implored, leaning forward. "This is your company. Your family's legacy. You don't want to make weapons anymore? Good for you. But if you want to make a difference, then what are you going to do about it?"

"I - how, Hermione? How am I supposed to fight?" he asked.

"It's your company, it's yours by right and birth. So, take it back, Tony." Hermione's voice was firm. "You want to make things right? Start with Gulmira. You said that before. You have the means. Now, do it."

"I-" Tony's mouth closed as he soaked up Hermione's words. His self-pity and wallowing in impotency were being shoved aside for anger. Anger at Obadiah, anger at the Ten Rings, anger at the photos Christine Everhart handed to him.

With resolution on his face, Tony stood up and purposefully strode to his basement, Hermione on his heels. Happy, standing by the bar, was left to ask an empty room, "what just happened?"

In the basement, suspended from cables as two robotics arms finished with the paint job, hung his armoured suit. The red and gold gleamed in the low light of the basement, compared to the concrete around it.

"I didn't want to make more weapons," admitted Tony as he stopped in front of the armour, staring at it.

"Maybe it's not about who has the weapons," replied Hermione quietly. "Maybe it's about how we use them and why."

"And this? Is this not going to make me the Merchant of Death?" asked Tony, turning to Hermione, gesturing to the hanging armour.

"You're not selling, Tony," replied Hermione, shaking her head. "Merchant? Ha. Why not be an Angel of Death instead, delivering justice?"

Tony scoffed. "I'm no angel."

Hermione peered at him curiously. "Then what are you?"

"Let's find out," replied Tony, his voice hard.

TBC...