Chapter Text
Harry did as much of the spell work as he could with Tony awake, and though he often flinched or frowned, the fact that Tony allowed him to heal him regardless of that fear was awe-inspiring for Harry.
Each new injury was photographed before being fixed, stitched, bandaged or vanished, leaving the skin as unblemished as he could manage. (Thank Merlin he’d stocked up on his potion supplies and had a full greenhouse/lab in his trunk, he’d be all out of Dittany by the end of this, he’d bet)
Eventually, though, Tony crashed from exhaustion. Harry peeled the permission to vanish his shattered bones and regrow new ones from disbelieving tired lips, (as well as the release sequence for the armour, and he was not going to think about the level of trust involved in THAT) before sending Tony into a dreamless sleep with two drops of approved potion (Just enough to help, not enough that Tony couldn’t be woken early).
The vanishing went perfectly. Releasing the armour was a little more difficult (due to sections stuck in skin), but a quick, mildly-overpowered ‘episkey’ sealed most of the cuts and ‘Vulnera Sanetur’ did the rest. (The elder wand was extremely happy with its sudden increase in usefulness to Harry, and may or may not have increased the power of those spells far beyond the limitations of possible.)
After spelling the skelegrow directly into Tony’s stomach, Harry set about making sure his patient was as comfortable as possible.
Cycling through his trunk compartments, Harry dug out a cot and firewood from his camping equipment and some blankets and pillows from his laundry section (If they were his favourites with little moving snowy owls and broomsticks, nobody had to know). He quickly made up the bed and levitated Tony onto the cot, careful not to jolt his injuries or slowly re-growing chest.
As Harry scouted the area for the perfect fire-building vessel, his eye caught a glint of metal, half buried under new snow, between Tony and the metal arm.
‘Huh, must have run right past that…’
On closer inspection, he could tell the object was actually the underside of a shield; metal handles on the inside were imprinted with finger marks, like the metal had been almost crushed under someone’s grip.
Harry froze, ‘I have a bad feeling…’
He hated his gut sometimes; it was never wrong and often sucked.
The closer he got to the shield, the worse the feeling became.
‘Rounded edge…solid metal… please no…’
Carefully, Harry shifted the new snow off the shield, lifting it off the ground; his eyes were immediately drawn to the flash of red...
Red on the inside.
Blood.
Harry felt like his own blood was boiling with the flash of pure hatred that passed through his veins.
‘They beat him with a metal shield. A man strong enough to dent the handle, forced this through another man’s chest, and then said he was fine.’
He closed his eyes, expelling the air from his lungs slowly through his nose, before dragging in another deep breath and repeating.
"Calm down. Help Tony. Kill Later."
The mantra helped.
Just a bit.
Eventually, Harry lowered the shield to the ground, snapped another photo of the evidence, and then stomped over to the dead guy pods where he ripped off a panel from the base (With the aid of some wandless magic) before stomping back over to Tony where the most aggressive fire ever made was constructed in far less time than should be physically possible.
(Though the flame that lit that fire was gentle, because Harry was NOT going to risk hurting Tony with fire magic, no matter HOW pissed off he was).
Harry then cast a quick shield charm over their heads to keep the snow from touching their skin and settled in to wait for their rescuers to arrive. (A Mr Vision and Miss FRIDAY, if he’d eavesdropped correctly).
Given that they’d already killed a few hours, and he was told it was a super-fast jet, he figured he was in for a good hour or two at most. Plenty of time to plot the murder of one ‘Big Blonde and Buff ™’, his one-armed sidekick, and a black spandex cat.
(Though the last might get a pass since he didn’t know, when Harry wasn’t as mad… but he should have at least checked!)
It was going to be a long few hours…
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Death was waiting for him in his dreams.
Poised and still, like a statue on a misty night, sitting in a field of white lilies, the air echoing with his mother’s faint laughter. The deity’s presence was a blanket over his mind, weighty and oddly comforting.
But then, Harry had never feared Death, even as a child trapped in the dark, starving for those basic comforts, grasping for the tiniest bit of love before he broke entirely, he would dream of peace within the end.
He had even less reason to fear them now.
Smiling, Harry wandered over to the being, perching beside them on a convenient dream blanket and staring aimlessly into the white expanse of flowers.
“Hello Death”
Death inclined their head, “Hello, Master”
Harry sniffed, a slight frown marring his features. “I still hate that title”
The complaint was commonplace; he’d given up truly arguing against it after his third death. After all, you can only argue with an immovable force for so long.
Shaking his head a little to dislodge those thoughts, Harry gave the being a small smile, “Why have you visited me this time?”
Death appeared to pause.
(It was strange how Harry always seemed to know what Death was feeling, or at least, trying to convey as feeling; since the deity didn’t have a face, or ever seemed to move their head more than an inch.)
“I have a request to make of you, Master.” The cool, rasping tone washed gently over Harry; it always gave him a feeling of peace, just like the veil, though the words gave him pause.
“What request? Like a mission, or another prophecy?” he scowled a little, “Because I’m not too keen on going through a prophecy again, the fates suck”
Death laughed, a wheezing cackle that would probably haunt the nightmares of lesser men. Harry was simply pleased.
“Not a prophecy, Master. Not for you at least.” Death finally replied, sitting beside him between one blink and the next, Harry didn’t even flinch.
“Who is this prophecy for?” He asked, aware that Death never wasted words. There was a prophecy here, and he was probably going to get involved.
Death appeared to smile; the air was ripe with sudden amusement.“Antony Edward Stark, Master. The fates have a great interest in him.”
The air cooled suddenly as Death’s amusement vanished, “But I held his soul first, I will not allow the fates to toy with another of my children.”
A skeletal hand landed softly into Harry’s curls, quiet whisps of fabric fluttering against his cheek, “Not this time”.
Harry breathed slowly, a warm tugging in his gut contrasting with the sharp sting of pain at the reminder of his fate. Harry knew he’d been a test subject for the deity, the first of Death's human children; and that did hurt, but he also knew Death truly cared for him now, in the only way the deity knew how to at least.
“You want me to help Antony with his prophecy?” He asked doubtfully, mulling over the question as Death stroked his hair. “Or do you want me to break it?”
Death grinned, the amusement back in force. “I’ll reveal more in time, Master. While we speak in dreams, I am also introducing myself to my Merchant. Together, you will prepare a reckoning for the Fates, one so great that none of the Deities will dare to lay a hand on one of mine again.”
Harry felt himself smile. “A reckoning for the fates… sounds fun”.
It wasn’t like the fates had ever done him any favours; in fact, it might be kind of cathartic to mess up one of their ‘prophecies’.
‘See how they like it for once.’ He thought darkly.
The scratching on his head continued, the massage greatly improving Harry’s mood as they spoke.
Death reeled in their amusement, the air falling calm once again, “The path ahead will be fraught with dangers, nothing too taxing for my Master, but my Merchant is yet untested”
Harry felt the sudden weight of Death’s stare, though he didn’t turn his head to look into the hood. (He learnt from other souls that madness lay that way).
“A great force is coming for this Realm, one who at present, cannot be defeated… You must guide my merchant through his healing. Strengthen his mind and his body. Prepare yourselves for the great battle ahead. And when the time is right…” Here, Death paused.
Twisting their hand, the air appeared to bend, and the resurrection stone formed from the mist. The stone was blacker in the dreamscape, more polished, and it released a gentle hum as Death placed it in Harry’s palm.
“Place this in my merchant’s hand and turn thrice with your own. Time will take care of the rest”
Somehow, Harry knew that was the most important bit of information Death had given him. Though its meaning was lost on him for now.
Not feeling up to a debate with the deity, Harry simply nodded.
Death ceased his petting, stroking down Harry's curls one last time before the hand vanished back inside the robe.
“It is time to wake now, Master. Stay close to my Merchant, he has agreed to protect you, as you shall protect him. From this point on, your souls are bound through me-“
Harry’s head snapped up as he whipped round to face the deity, “Wait WHAT?!”
But Death’s visage was already fading, the dream rapidly coming to an end, “-I pray for your happiness, my Master”
Harry blinked, and Death was gone.
Another blink, and the dream ended.
Harry frowned heavily as he bolted upright from his cot, Death’s parting words rattling around his head like kicked hornets.
His eyes flicked over to his patient; Tony was still sleeping, most likely would be for the next few hours, though a prominent frown line had appeared on his forehead.
He wondered what conversation Tony was having with the deity, and how he was going to take the whole ‘Prophecy’ bullshit… or the whole ‘bound souls’ upset.
Scrunching his nose, Harry decided it was far too late to worry about these things, especially since once Death decided to do something, it was just done. No point in getting upset over an inevitability.
Shrugging, Harry settled back into his cot, a wandless ‘Tempus’ told him he still had a few hours till rescue arrived.
‘May as well get as much sleep as I can, everything’s going to get stir crazy when Tony finally wakes up’
Harry sighed and snuggled further under his blanket, flicking a finger at the fire to keep it ignited, as he allowed the tendrils of sleep to curl around his mind.
‘Besides, it might be nice to have a soulmate… someone just for me’
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Mr Vision and Miss FRIDAY turned out to be two robots of varying awesomeness who systematically arrived, packed away every scrap of evidence and Stark property, including every blip of available data; and then proceeded to lift and carry Tony (Bed and all) into the sleekest looking jet Harry had ever seen, all without jolting Tony by the slightest degree.
(Harry was a little bit in love. Competency was apparently one of his kinks... the more you know)
Mr Vision's outfit was another mark in the weirdness pile though; all tight green and slightly metallic looking. Harry wasn’t sure if it was even fabric or just part of the guy’s skin.
The flashes of red matched what he’d seen of Tony’s armour and were more robotic in appearance, (he was leaning towards the skin theory,) though the gold cape was a nice touch (definitely giving Batman vibes now) and matched quite nicely with the glowing gem of concerning levels of power conveniently stuck in the guy’s forehead.
(Given the equally powerful and concerning black rock that was sitting inside a compartment of his trunk, Harry decided not to judge.)
FRIDAY was a little more normal-looking, at least as far as robots go. Harry figured her armour must be Tony’s creation, given that it was almost identical to his own, just a little older looking (and a lot less bloody).
He really appreciated the Gryffindor colouring, though. Tony’s family had good taste.
‘At least we can bond over colours if nothing else, ’ he mused, still slightly concerned over the whole ‘soul-bond’ part. ‘I hope Death is smoothing this over with Tony, I so don’t want that conversation on my shoulders!’ he shuddered at the thought.
On board the craft he was quickly introduced to badass lawyer pair Matt Murdock, (who was giving off suspiciously powerful energy for a seemingly blind lawyer, and his white cane looked like it could seriously break a leg or two) and Franklin "call me Foggy" Nelson (who looked more like an extra from a comedy show than a lawyer and gave off so many ‘I’m your new best friend’ vibes Harry felt intimidated just existing in the vicinity of his smile): who then proceeded to grill him for every detail from the past few hours (and wow wasn’t that a shock it’d been less than a day!) and then practically ripped the phone from his hand before delving into legal jargon so deep Harry was lost three words in.
He was then re-grilled by badass robot pair Vision and FRIDAY on the healing process he’d done for Tony, another explanation (read show and tell) for how healing magic worked (and he could somehow feel Matt listening in even though they were on the other side of the jet!) and repeat word-for-word the vow he’d taken and what that meant for him and Tony.
He didn’t repeat anything Death had said during his nap, unsure if Tony would want to weigh in, or just how much these people could be trusted with Death’s plan.
Having to stand up so the robots could scan him from multiple angles while he spoke or demonstrated magic was weird, and he had no idea how to answer any of their very scientific questions on the composition or theories of magic. (He wished Hermione were here; she’d have an answer for them, or if not, she’d at least know where to start researching).
Following that, was a very fast info dump from the two Lawyers, who absolutely ‘Couldn’t Believe’ that Harry had no idea who he’d saved even was; or who the Avengers were, or what the Accords was, or even that ‘Big Blonde and Buff ™’ was actually called Captain America (and wasn’t that a pretentious title) and was, apparently, the next big thing since Jesus’ resurrection.
(Or Hitler’s death, he supposed, who was basically Muggle Grindelwald with a higher death count and terrifying scientists. HYDRA who?!).
The Spark-Notes covering the battle(s) of New York, Sokovia, and Leipzig Airport had him so totally out of his depth that he admitted being from another dimension just so they’d explain it better to him. (Which kicked off a whole new round of questioning he really should have seen coming; bare basics only, thank Merlin!). And that didn’t even account for the “smaller” skirmishes, see: Mandarin, Electric whip guy and the OG Ten Rings kidnapping (WTF), that the lawyers determined was imperative for him to know.
He was then thoroughly insulted as Matt started to question what kind of compensation he wanted from Stark industries for his rescue of Tony, which caused him to delve into a full-on rant over how ‘expecting compensation for doing the right thing makes you just as shitty as the guy that fucked him over’. At least that got him a smile from Mr Vision, and the lawyers to finally back off.
By the end he was thoroughly exhausted, had a newfound respect for Tony’s people, (Because it was obvious that is who they were, and damn it he really wanted to become one of them!) and was absolutely, 100% certain that Tony Stark was the same kind of self-sacrificing idiot all of his friends (rightly) accused him of being, and damn him if he wasn’t already attached.
(He really should have seen this one coming.)
At least he didn’t want that drink anymore.
Who was he kidding? he wanted it so badly. But Tony needed him, and mixing magic with alcohol was just a terrible, horrible idea.
(Somewhere, Draco suddenly shuddered in remembrance of that Blender)
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Meeting Virginia “Pepper” Pots went about as well as anyone who personally knew Harry could expect.
One look at the Stiletto-wearing, business suit rocking, sharp-eyed blonde had Harry squeaking out a fear-filled “Hello” in the highest pitch he’d ever achieved before he promptly ducked behind Matt to gain a few more seconds of life. (She wouldn’t kill a blind guy to get at him, surely?!).
Pepper had blinked, smiled sharper than a ‘sectumsempra’, before welcoming him to ‘Stark’ Tower and getting him settled in the med bay with Tony and another unconscious guy (WHO WAS TONY’S BROTHER?), where she promptly told him to “make it better, magic man” before marching off with the two lawyers like a school of sharks scenting blood.
Harry had shivered, sent several prayers of thanks to Merlin, Morgana and Death that he still breathed (firmly ignoring the amused air he got from that last one), and proceeded to diagnose one James “Rhodey” Rhodes.
‘Paralysis from the waist down… great’ Harry rolled the diagnosis in his mind for a minute or two.
He had a few options, but with the patient unconscious, a lot of his potions were out.
(And he doubted Pepper was going to wait that long; this was a test, he wasn’t that stupid).
He could vanish the damaged nerve cluster, then force his magic to form new ones (a nerve re-growing potion wasn’t yet a thing, but the elder wand didn’t care about logic), or he could vanish the bone fragment digging into that cluster and have him re-grow part of his spine…. (But that would take more time.)
Harry sighed. “Vanishing the nerve cluster it is… okay”
He cracked his knuckles and flicked the elder wand into his hand, “Let’s get you healed, Colonel Rhodes, so Miss Pots doesn’t stab me with her very pointy heels”.
Settling into his magical core had long since become second nature, allowing him to achieve a state similar to an accomplished occulmens, which greatly increased his focus while tamping down on his emotions, so he'd be less affected by his patient's injuries. A true blessing in his former job, both as an Auror and Government Agent.
Harry, slowly and gently, lifted and turned Rhodes onto his front with his wand, pushed the hospital bedding just below his injury (while preserving his dignity as best he could), before pointing the tip of his wand at the damaged cluster.
Harry repeated his breathing exercises from the bunker, before vanishing the cluster and quickly forcing his magic into the open nerves. Rhodes appeared to jerk in mid-air, but thankfully remained unconscious.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Harry knitted the nerves back together. Forcing small shocks down them every minute or so to test that they were connecting properly.
After a positive reaction from all ten toes and two knee joints, Harry flipped the colonel back over and re-settled him on the bed.
Sweaty and just a little exhausted, Harry located the nearest chair (Noticeably comfier than your standard hospital offering ) and promptly fell asleep (read, passed out cold).
He didn’t stir for thirteen hours; during which he slept through: the colonel’s awakening and subsequent freak out; Peppers re-appearance and catch-up session with Rhodes; Tony’s awakening, extra huge freak out, featuring a hugging/crying session with “Rhodey”; and Tony’s eventual bridal carry of Harry into a room with a proper bed. (Which Harry will later realise was Tony’s bed, and that didn’t make him feel warm at all, no, sir.)
And if that was the best night's sleep Harry had for over ten years… well, that’ll be his little secret to never tell.
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