Archive of Our Own ^beta

June 25, 1992 – 10:04 PM 

Dumbledore Is Mad, and I’m Not Doing This Again.

Right. So…

It’s been exactly twenty-four hours since I came back to Privet Drive, and I have concluded three things:

1. Albus Dumbledore is completely mental.
2. The Dursleys have somehow become worse.
3. I am twelve years old, and apparently, I have to save myself.

Uncle Vernon has already padlocked Hedwig’s cage, Aunt Petunia has used the word “freak” six times, and Dudley threw a biscuit at my head and called it “feeding the help.”

When I asked if I could have seconds at dinner, Vernon said, “You’ll have what you’re given, boy.”

Which was half a tomato and a judgmental glare.

So I decided to pack my trunk. If Dumbledore wants me "safe and loved," he can find somewhere that doesn’t reek of floor polish and emotional neglect. As I gathered my things, a mix of hope and fear swirled inside me. The idea of leaving this place filled me with a longing for something better, a whisper of freedom, and the promise of a world where I didn’t have to look over my shoulder at every snide remark or scornful glance.

I’ve got my cloak, my wand, Hedwig (she bit Vernon on my behalf earlier—good girl), and exactly 4 Galleons, 23 Sickles, 12 Knuts, and a stolen sandwich from lunch. I’ve never actually run away before. Feels exciting. Feels stupid. Feels like something Dumbledore will somehow make me write an essay about later.

Anyway, I’m waiting for the Dursleys to start snoring so I can slip out. I don’t have a plan yet. Maybe I’ll go to London. Maybe I’ll become a Muggle bus driver. Maybe I’ll join a traveling circus. At this point, any of those sounds better than Aunt Petunia’s cooking.

If anyone finds this journal after I die, please tell Hermione she was right about everything and that I regret nothing—

11:23 PM

Update: I tripped over my trunk on the way out. Loudly.

The good news is that no one woke up.

The bad news is that I somehow waved my wand while falling and accidentally summoned a triple-decker purple bus that nearly ran me over.

A man in a very loud uniform yelled, “Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard!”

I said, “Brilliant. Take me anywhere that’s not here.”

He asked if I was old enough to travel alone.

I said, “Emotionally? No. Legally? Probably.”

He nodded, charged me eleven Sickles, and gave me a mug of hot chocolate that tasted faintly like despair.

We’re on the move now. The beds keep sliding around, and a chandelier just fell on someone’s head.

This is fine.

This is all fine.

Next stop: freedom. Or possibly a concussion.

June 26, 1992

1:27 AM

I have arrived.

Not triumphantly — more like “accidentally tripped off the Knight Bus and faceplanted onto the cobblestones of Diagon Alley at 1:47 AM.”

At least I’m still here. Small victories.

The Leaky Cauldron was almost empty.

Tom the bartender, gave me a once-over, decided I looked like a lost chimney sweep, and just went, “Rough night, lad?”

I nodded and ordered tea.

He didn’t recognize me, thank Merlin.

I think the lack of lightning-bolt glow and the overall ‘soggy orphan with poor decision-making skills’ aesthetic helped.

The tea tasted faintly of despair and dishwater, but it was warm, and that was enough.

After a brief nap behind a suspiciously dusty fern, I decided I had nothing left to lose except sleep and dignity — so I went to Gringotts.

9:12 AM

Gringotts looks a lot scarier when you’re twelve, broke, and possibly violating seven international laws.

The teller — a goblin with silver piercings, polished armor, and a nameplate that read “Griphorn Ironbite” — looked at me like he was measuring my soul’s resale value.

“Name?” he asked, voice like gravel in a blender.

“Harry Potter,” I said. “Please don’t make a fuss.”

He smirked, which, I’ve learned, is goblin for “I will absolutely cause you emotional distress for fun and potentially harm you, scattering your limbs across the country never to be retrieved.”

I explained that I wasn’t going back to the Dursleys, that I wanted to know who actually had custody, and that I was very done with Dumbledore’s life plans for me.

Griphorn’s grin widened.

“Blood test, then,” he said, producing a dagger that definitely had a name and a body count.

One drop of blood later, the parchment glowed gold, sparked, and spat out a scroll with a puff of smoke that smelled faintly of gin.

Griphorn raised an eyebrow.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “Mr. Potter, you have… three registered magical guardians. James Potter. Lily Potter. And…”

He frowned, double-checked. “…Anthony Edward Stark.”

I blinked.

“Who’s that? A duke? A dark wizard?”

“A Muggle,” he said. “American. Possibly unstable.”

“Oh,” I said. “So just like everyone else I know.”

Then he handed me a sealed envelope.

The wax bore the Potter crest and — I kid you not — a doodle of a martini glass wearing glasses.

The letter read:

To Whom It May Concern (which is almost certainly you, Harry, unless this has been intercepted by goblins or your godfather again):

Hi, sweetheart.

First things first — we love you more than anything. Second — surprise! You have an extra parent!

So, funny story. Your mum and I (James) were in America once for a wizard–Muggle cultural exchange event (read: free booze and fireworks). We met this absolute genius disaster named Tony Stark. He was smart, charming, and wearing a shirt that said “Proof that Tony Stark Has a Heart.” Your mum called him “a peacock with too much money.”

We all hit it off immediately — Sirius especially, because Tony bought him a round of whiskey and declared him “his kind of degenerate.” By midnight, Sirius was riding a mechanical bull while Tony took bets.

Anyway, there may have been some sexy magical bonding involved that night… And by “bonding,” we mean something that should not legally result in you having three biological parents, but — surprise! — wizard magic doesn’t believe in logic or paperwork.

So congratulations, Harry James Potter-Stark (Merlin help us all). You are 33% James, 33% Lily, and 34% Tony because he somehow over-engineered the conception spell. Honestly, Harry, it's a delightful quirk of wizarding magic that sometimes logic and genetics take a backseat to imagination and whimsy. After all, why stick to the rules when magic can make up its own?

Do not panic.

It just means you technically have two dads and a mum, and you’ll probably start inventing death machines in your teens.

Your mum says to tell you that Tony was actually quite nice once you got past the ego. He fixed her hair dryer with a glowing rock?? and then accidentally electrified the carpet. We still owe that hotel money.

Sirius, if he’s around (and not in Azkaban yet — long story, your Godfather is quite the trouble maker, the cheeky wanker), will know what to do with this. If he’s not around, just… go to Tony. He’s probably still alive, building robots or flirting with kitchen appliances. He’ll love you — he’s surprisingly good with kids once you threaten him a little.

Also, tell him we said thanks for the night out, the hangover potion recipe, and the minor international incident.

Love,

James & Lily Potter

P.S. Don’t tell Dumbledore. He’ll make it weird.

P.P.S. If Sirius is reading this — PUT IT BACK. AND STOP DRAWING MUSTACHES ON TONY’S FACE.

Griphorn looked like all his birthdays had come at once.

“Would you like a Portkey to New York?”

“Can you do that?” I asked.

“Absolutely not,” he said cheerfully, already reaching for a coin. “But let’s both pretend I can.”

He pressed the coin into my palm.

“Think of Tony Stark,” he said. “It’ll take you right to him. Good luck surviving America.”

And with that, the world spun violently, my breakfast left without me, and I reappeared in a place full of honking horns, confused pigeons, and what I assume was New York.

2:13 AM (New York Time)

Landed in a park. Got yelled at by a jogger. Might be on a watchlist.

Currently heading toward the tallest tower I can see because statistically that’s where Tony Stark probably lives.

To recap:

• Escaped England. (Yay!)
• Accidentally did advanced blood magic. (Ooops)
• Discovered my third parent is a Muggle billionaire with questionable life choices. (No Complaints - Anything beats the Dursleys)
• Successfully international-ported without adult supervision. (Fuck you, Snape)

Feeling accomplished. Slightly nauseous.

If I die, tell Sirius my newly discover Godfather I’m haunting him…. Bloody Wanker not taking me in after 2/3rds of my parents' deaths. 

June 26, 1992 

2:13 AM (New York Time)

Teleportation Is Not Child-Safe.

I am alive. Somehow.

Mostly.

I landed in what I assume is Central Park, sprawled on the grass, flapping like a confused owl.

A jogger screamed. A squirrel threw an acorn. And there, in the distance, stood the tallest, shiniest tower I’ve ever seen in my life.

Statistically, that’s probably Tony Stark’s building.

Logically, I should probably not barge in like a wizard wrecking ball.

Emotionally, I didn’t care.

I marched to the entrance and pushed the revolving door.

It was automatic. I’m fairly certain it said “Welcome, Mr. Stark Jr.” in a passive-aggressive robotic voice, but I ignored it.

2:18 AM

Inside, I was immediately met by a woman with brown hair pulled into a no-nonsense bun, wearing what I think was a corporate combat outfit.

“Hi, I’m Pepper Potts. And you’re…?”

“Harry Potter,” I said.

She blinked.

“Oh,” she said. “You’re… tiny. And British. Cute. But tiny.”

I did not respond because she had already whisked me to a chair and set a plate of biscuits and a steaming mug of tea in front of me.

“For the Britishness,” she said.

I immediately adored her.

2:25 AM

She pressed a tablet toward me.

“We’ll just run a quick blood test. Your…. Dad’s? been anxious, since you popped up on the camera.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“You mean Tony Stark?”

“Yes,” she said. “You know him?”

“Not really. He’s my… third parent,” I muttered, lifting the letter Griphorn Ironbite gave me, doctored for the muggles' view. It explained the story of the one-night stand and how the couple decided to continue raising the baby resulting from the encounter, conveniently avoiding mention of magic, not that I particularly cared about keeping the secret. I suppose now that I’ve committed one crime, I might as well commit a few more. 

Pepper glanced at it, raised one perfect eyebrow, and whispered: “Ah. That explains it.”

The test was fast, lasting thirty minutes of staring at blinking lights, some very awkward small talk, and a lot of biscuits. Pepper asked me what Hogwarts was like, and I told her about Dumbledore being mad. She gasped. I shrugged and added, 'Yeah. Also, there are ghosts. And my uncle is a criminal. Don't judge.' She gasped again, clearly intrigued. Then, with a hint of a smile, she said, 'Ghosts, mad wizards, and a criminal uncle? Harry, if you ever write a book, call me. I'd love to edit it. It sounds like a bestseller already.' Her wit was a comforting touch in the whirlwind of revelations.

2:50 AM

The results came back.

She tapped her tablet.

“You’re… his.”

I looked up.

“I’m… what?”

“Tony Stark’s son,” she said gently, almost like she knew I might faint or start levitating something out of terror. Even having already found out at the bank, this somehow cemented it into reality. I am Tony Stark’s Son. 

2:52 AM

And then… he appeared.

Tony Stark, in all his chaotic genius glory, was walking toward me in a suit, hair slightly messy, and that infuriatingly confident smirk plastered on his face.

“You’re Harry, right?” he said.

I stared.

“Yeah. I’m… uh… your… son?”

He blinked.

“Wow,” he said, like he’d just realized he had to assemble Ikea furniture without instructions.

“I… guess?”

Tony crouched down awkwardly. “I’m… I’m not sure what the rules are here. But I like you. You’re small. You’re British. You seem smart. I… think we’re good.”

I blinked again.

Then, very uncharacteristically, I started crying.

Tony panicked.

“Oh no, did I scare you? Are you allergic to hugs? Do I have to call JARVIS for emotional support?”

He scooped me up like I weighed five pounds and held me until I stopped shaking.

“We’ll fix your room,” he promised. “You can have whatever you want. Lego bricks, lasers, maybe a tiny dragon if you behave.”

I hiccuped. “I… okay.” Not even knowing what i was agreeing to, as time seem to fade away.

3:10 AM

After my emotions calmed we spent the next few minutes just… existing in awkward silence.

Tony tried explaining things about life. I tried not to cry again. Pepper smirked like she’d been expecting this meltdown and knew it was adorable.

I think — I think — this might actually be the start of a… family?

Diary Note (for the record):

• First British-to-American cultural shock: instant, overwhelming, terrifying, and oddly cozy.
• Tony Stark is my dad. Confirmed.
• Pepper Potts is amazing.
• I am still slightly traumatized.

July 10, 1992 

9:00 PM

Two weeks. Two whole weeks.

Somehow, I’ve survived living in a building full of superheroes without being vaporized, experimented on, or sent on some morally questionable mission (so far). I even have a room. A real room. With curtains that open, a bed that doesn’t squeak like it’s judging me, and a desk that could probably double as a lab station. I may have levitated a tiny cauldron onto it, but don’t tell anyone.

Pepper insists I eat more than three biscuits a day. I try to argue that tea with biscuits counts as two food groups, but she just rolls her eyes. Steve keeps offering me spinach snacks, and I’ve started leaving subtle levitation reminders around his shield. Natasha gives me an amused side-eye whenever I mutter about potions or broomsticks, and Bruce keeps sneaking into the kitchen to test 'spell-proof gadgets' while muttering something that sounds suspiciously like, 'This is fine.' One evening, after dinner, we all gathered in the common room for what Tony called 'Avenger Movie Night.' Steve brought popcorn, still trying to figure out how to work the microwave without setting it aflame, while Natasha and Clint attempted to agree on a film. Bruce had his spell-proof gadgets ready, just in case. Tony leaned back with a grin, saying 'Family bonding, superhero style.' As the movie played, jokes were made, laughs were shared, and for once, chaos blended into something heartwarming.

Tony? Tony has officially gone full dad mode. He calls me his “tiny British protégé” every five minutes and brags about me to anyone who will listen. He even tried to teach me how to build a mini arc reactor, but I was too busy imagining turning Snape into a mechanical frog. Small victories.

Life here has been… surprisingly normal. For a wizard. And a Muggle-born-American-hybrid-child.

9:15 PM

Then it happened.

I had a nightmare. Naturally, it involved Dumbledore being furious at me for reasons that made no sense even in wizard logic. I woke up screaming, flailing, and crying. In my panic, I may have accidentally set a cup of tea levitating, a chair spinning, and my quill scribbling random insults about Hogwarts on the wall.

And I spilled everything.

“I’m magic! I can do… magic! I’m not kidding! There are wands and spells and potions and frogs!”

Tony froze mid-sandwich. He blinked like someone had just explained quantum physics using interpretive dance.

“Wait. Wait. You can do… magic?”

I nodded frantically, tears dripping, quill still scribbling, broomstick hovering near the ceiling.

“Yes! And Snape is terrible! And Dumbledore is MAD! And—”

Tony just blinked. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face.

“You… you’re amazing.”

He scooped me up like I weighed five pounds, hugged me tightly, and whispered that he loved me no matter what. Then he muttered something about “buying magic-proof electronics” and making the entire penthouse spell-resistant. I think he was proud. I think he was terrified. Probably both.

9:45 PM

Pepper walked in. Of course, she walked in. She always walks in at the perfect moment.

“He’s definitely your kid,” she said, smiling knowingly.

Tony nodded, still hugging me like he might accidentally squeeze me into another dimension.

“Yep. Tiny British chaos genius. Confirmed. Would fight Voldemort while sipping tea.”

I thought about Hogwarts. About the endless rules, about Dumbledore sitting in that ridiculous chair, and about Snape lurking like a sour cat who also teaches potions.

I hate them. Mega hate.

Tony promised, softly: “We’ll break a few rules together. I think I can keep up.”

I think I may have started to like this dad thing. A lot.

Diary Note:

• Magic revealed.
• Dad still loves me.
• Tony is officially the best.
• Snape and Dumbledore can rot in paperwork hell.
• Life is officially: chaotic, terrifying, and perfect.

Also: Steve keeps bowing awkwardly like I’m some magical royalty. Natasha smirks every time I talk about frogs. Bruce keeps whispering, “Science and magic do not mix,” while tinkering with gadgets.

And me? I’m just trying to survive my own awesomeness, one levitating cauldron at a time. 

July 15, 1992

7:30 PM

Today started in the lab — again. Tony let me tinker with a mini repulsor for my levitating cauldron project. I may have accidentally turned the cauldron into a miniature UFO, spinning at alarming speeds.

Tony laughed. Really laughed. And then, for the first time… I said it:

“Dad…”

He froze. Blinked. Then smiled like someone had just invented joy in physical form.

“Dad?” he asked, softly.

I nodded.

He scooped me up, hugged me so tight I thought I’d become part of him, and whispered:

“I’ve been waiting a long time to hear that, kid.”

Best. Day. Ever.

8:15 PM

Dinner was… something else. The penthouse table was groaning under the weight of Pepper’s amazing food, piles of gadgets Tony had “temporarily cleared off the counters,” and a living, breathing chaos of Avengers trying to act normal.

Steve was attempting polite conversation while covertly stealing biscuits. Natasha smirked from across the table every time I muttered about broomsticks. Bruce had brought a little gadget he claimed could “analyze magical properties in food,” which caused the mashed potatoes to spark a little. Clint… well, Clint was Clint.

Somehow, the conversation got to — of course — dating and relationships.

“So I told her,” Clint said, wiggling his eyebrows and making a hand gesture that seemed to involve a very long cucumber,

“If the dragon’s breath doesn’t get him, the other thing will. And trust me… the spell-check won’t help!”

The table erupted in laughter. Tony practically fell out of his chair laughing, Pepper rolled her eyes, Natasha chuckled like she’d seen it all before, and even Steve smiled awkwardly.

I… did not understand.

“Uh… Dad?” I whispered, wide-eyed. “What… what did he mean?”

Tony, still laughing, leaned in and whispered:

“Oh… nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just… adult stuff.”

I nodded very solemnly, like I understood, but inside my brain had short-circuited.

The rest of dinner was lively chaos. Tony kept showing me tiny gadgets under the table, Pepper subtly rolled her eyes at Tony, Natasha made snarky comments, Bruce muttered something about “ethical magical technology,” and Clint kept wiggling his eyebrows in suspicious ways.

By the end of dinner, I was… exhausted. And vaguely traumatized.

10:00 PM

Tony sat me down on the edge of my bed. I was clutching my blanket like it was the last life raft on the Titanic.

“Harry,” he said, trying to sound casual, which made it worse, “about that joke at dinner…”

I froze. I still had no idea what it meant.

“Uh… yeah?” I squeaked.

“Well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “you’re old enough now that I should… um… explain some things. Biology stuff. Puberty. Feelings. Attraction. The adult stuff that makes dinner jokes… makes sense.”

I blinked. I shrank a little. I may have turned invisible inside my own brain.

“Dad… wait. All of it? Right now?”

“Yep,” he said, grinning like this was a game. “And don’t worry. I’m gonna make it as painless as possible. Probably.”

He started explaining. I don’t even know how to describe it. Words like “private parts,” “puberty,” and “feelings” floated through the room like rogue spells. I turned into a puddle of mortification. My ears burned. My brain short-circuited.

“I… I don’t understand… any of this!” I whispered, hiding under the blanket.

Tony laughed. Really laughed. Not mockingly — lovingly.

“That’s okay, kiddo. You’re twelve. You’re a wizard. You have plenty of time to figure it out.”

He explained everything anyway. Very awkwardly. Very casually. Occasionally, drawing diagrams in the air with a glowing holo-pen. Every time I tried to look away, he’d lightly jab me with a finger and say:

“No hiding from Dad's education.”

Just when I thought I might survive without dying of embarrassment, there was a soft knock on the door.

“Hey, kiddo… I heard talking… did you need a refill on tea?”

It was Pepper. She grinned knowingly and backed out slowly.

“Go back to bed, Tony,” she whispered as she left.

Tony shook his head, still grinning.

“No interruptions, Harry. This is quality Dad-Harry education time. You’re welcome.”

I… wanted to die.

He started talking about… well… let’s call it how humans work. I turned the color of a Bludger.

“Dad… oh Merlin, stop… I can’t… I’m… agh!”

Tony, completely unbothered, ruffled my hair and chuckled:

“You’re okay. This is normal. Totally mortifying, yes, but completely normal. You’ll thank me later… maybe… probably.”

Then he leaned back, arms crossed, smirk plastered on his face, clearly entertained by my misery.

“Questions?” he asked, as though that would be safe.

I shook my head violently, hiding under the blanket, trying to pretend my body didn’t exist.

“Good,” he said. “Sleep on it. We’ll continue tomorrow. Or never. I’m flexible.”

Diary Note:

• Lab bonding: confirmed best day of life.
• Called him “Dad” for the first time.
• Full family dinner: chaotic, hilarious, confusing.
• Clint is inappropriate.
• Tony giving The Talk: traumatic but oddly fun.
• Life is officially: chaotic, magical, wholesome, and mortifying.

July 16, 1992

8:30 AM

Woke up still mortified from The Talk. My brain is officially scrambled eggs with a side of embarrassment.

Tony was already in the lab when I wandered in, wearing a T-shirt that said “Dad of the Year (and possibly Genius of the Universe).”

“Morning, kiddo,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Ready to tinker?”

I nodded, though I may have blushed a little when he ruffled my hair. We set up my mini repulsor project again, this time with safety precautions that may or may not include a “Do Not Explode” charm I invented.

Tony hooked up a little speaker.

“Also,” he said, grinning, “we’re doing an audiobook today. Thought you might like some background music.”

And then… the dulcet tones of The Lord of the Rings filled the lab. I nearly squealed.

“Aragorn?” I whispered, clutching a soldering iron like it was a wand.

Tony grinned. “Yeah. You like him?”

“A little,” I admitted. “A lot.”

We spent the next hour soldering, levitating little gadgets, and laughing at how fast I could accidentally make things spin, float, or explode a little. Tony noticed my obsession with Aragorn.

“Careful,” he said, trying not to laugh. “Don’t short-circuit the mini arc reactor while thinking about fantasy men.”

9:30 AM

Eventually, we paused for a break. I leaned against the workbench, sipping tea and staring at my levitating cauldron.

“Dad,” I said softly, “I’m… really excited to go back to Hogwarts. I miss my friends. And… I kind of miss the chaos. Sort of.”

Tony’s face softened, then pinched slightly.

“Yeah… that’s the problem,” he said. “You want chaos. But Hogwarts? That’s… dangerous. You’re twelve. They’re… well, they don’t exactly play fair there.”

I nodded eagerly, still half in awe of my dad and half thinking of my Gryffindor friends and all the adventures I’d already survived.

“But I can handle it!” I insisted. “I’ve got spells, and… I’m Harry Potter, remember?”

Tony sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, like he was debating the ethics of letting me live my life in a place full of potentially murderous teachers.

“Fine,” he said finally. “But you’re not going without my personal Hogwarts protection package.”

I blinked.

“What… what’s that?”

He smirked.

“Oh, nothing. Just… ten gadgets. Full surveillance. A mini shield generator disguised as a backpack. Anti-potion spill detectors. A retractable staff that doubles as a wand holster. And, of course…”

He dramatically held up a sleek phone. “A direct line to me. With J.A.R.V.I.S. monitoring you 24/7.”

I nearly fell off my stool.

“Dad! That’s… incredible!”

“Incredible, yes. Necessary, also yes,” he said seriously. “I cannot have my tiny British chaos genius being turned into a Snape experiment or falling into a giant magical trap. Ten devices. J.A.R.V.I.S. on full alert. You are basically an armored, spell-proof superhero.”

I giggled, imagining myself strutting through Hogwarts with a backpack full of gadgets, my cauldron hovering beside me, and J.A.R.V.I.S. whispering advice like some very overprotective ghost.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, ruffling my hair. “But if anything goes wrong, call me. Or don’t — I’ll probably just teleport there anyway.”

Halfway through my fourth attempt at a self-stirring cauldron, the lab alarm beeped. The Avengers were needed on a mission.

“Uh…” I said nervously, looking at the empty suits and gadgets disappearing into portals and jets.

Tony patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry, kid. You’re staying here. The Tower is safe. Mostly.” Giving me a quick hug he called the Iron Man suit to him and flew out of The Tower. 

I nodded, but my stomach decided it was a great time to panic. 

3:45 PM

I did what any rational wizard/Muggle hybrid would do under stress: I baked. A lot.

• First: chocolate cupcakes.
• Then: triple-layer fudge cake.
• Then: cookies shaped like broomsticks, wands, and Aragorn’s face (this was tricky).
• And finally: a pie that I may or may not have enchanted to float around the kitchen.

By the time Tony peeked in, having flown back before the rest of the team, flour covered the counters, the floor, and my hair. Some cupcakes were orbiting my head.

“Wow,” Tony said, laughing. “Stress baking level: Master. Also… very magical.”

I grinned sheepishly, covered in chocolate and powdered sugar.

“I… uh… just wanted to… keep busy,” I mumbled.

“Good plan,” Tony said, ruffling my hair again. “Also, don’t eat all of it. Avengers might be jealous when they get back.”

The Kitchen door swooshed open, and one by one the Avengers tumbled back from their mission, slightly exhausted, mostly hungry, and completely unaware of the chaos I’d left behind.

“Whoa… what is this?” Steve asked, eyes widening as he looked at the mountain of desserts floating, orbiting, and occasionally trying to escape the counters.

“Harry made these,” Tony said, arms crossed proudly. “Total chaos. And yes, all edible —I think.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, but a small smirk betrayed her amusement. Bruce peeked over a floating pie, muttering, “This violates physics,” while Clint was already reaching for a cupcake like a kid at a magic candy store.

One by one, the Avengers tried the treats.

Steve: “Wow… these are amazing. You could open a bakery, Harry.”

Natasha: “Seriously. These are impressive… for someone who isn’t even trained.”

Bruce: “Delicious… and highly magical.”

Clint: “I will defend these with my life. Especially the chocolate ones.” Ever the dramatic. 

Tony beamed, looking way too proud for a man who literally invented Iron Man suits.

“If I ever decide to open a bakery, just let me know,” he said casually.

I blinked. And then, somehow, blurted out:

Actually... I don't want to open a bakery. I want to be an animal doctor! Both Muggle and Magical. I had never admitted it out loud, everyone assuming I wanted to be an Auror or something daring like that. Ever since I was little, I've found comfort in caring for animals. I remember, back at Hogwarts, tending to an injured owl that had flown into the Whomping Willow. The way it trusted me, despite its pain, was magical. That's the kind of connection I want to have, combining my magic with a deep love for creatures great and small.

The room froze.

“Wait… what?” Tony said, teetering on a counter to keep his balance.

Steve’s jaw dropped.

Natasha laughed quietly, muttering, “He’s serious.”

Bruce’s eyes went wide behind his glasses.

Clint spat out a cupcake.

I nodded enthusiastically.

“Yeah! I want to help animals! Heal them! Take care of them! Not bake… not make desserts… although the desserts are fun… I’ll perhaps keep it as a side-hobby”

Tony stared at me for a long, very Tony moment. Then his grin spread across his face like he’d just won some parental jackpot.

“An animal doctor, huh?” he said, ruffling my hair. “That… actually makes me ridiculously proud. Even more than the dessert chaos. My little Bambino saving all the cute animals, like their very own animal superhero!”

“Really?” I asked, eyes wide.

“Really. I mean, you’re already brilliant, inventive, and adorable. Now you’re also going to save animals? Kid, you’re basically unstoppable.”

The Avengers all nodded in agreement, some with tears forming, some with smirks, and Clint just whispered, “Still think he’s a dessert assassin, though.”

Tony leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, still grinning.

“So… Hogwarts is coming up. Ten protection gadgets, a backpack with shields, J.A.R.V.I.S. monitoring… still want to go?” Tony asked, bringing the conversation back to where it had started in the Lab earlier that day. 

I nodded eagerly.

“Yeah! I want to see my friends! And do magic! And… maybe cause a little chaos!”

“I knew you’d say that,” Tony said, chuckling. “You’re lucky I love chaos as much as you do, kid.”

We all laughed, including the Avengers, who were now secretly already imagining me wreaking havoc in Hogwarts with gadgets and magic.

I felt a warm glow in my chest. Between Tony, Pepper, and the team… I was home.

Diary Note:

• Lab bonding + LOTR audiobook = perfection.
• Aragorn crush = confirmed.
• Tony is amused and not judging (much).
• Hogwarts protection package = over-the-top but necessary.
• Avengers missions = stress-inducing.
• Baking chaos = disaster, but delicious.
• I want to be an animal doctor (and they all just accepted it)

July 31, 1992

9:00 AM

Woke up to… absolute chaos.

The Avengers were inexplicably in the kitchen, Steve attempting to make pancakes with precision that made me dizzy, Natasha giving me a sly smirk like she knew something was coming, and Tony… Tony was pacing, grinning like a mad scientist.

“Happy Birthday, kiddo!” he said, hands full of gadgets and packages. “Brace yourself. Today, chaos is mandatory.”

I blinked.

“Uh… thanks?”

He gave me a hug that nearly crushed me, whispered, “You’re officially twelve… let the adventures begin,” and then handed me the biggest gift I’ve ever seen.

It was covered in shiny wrapping paper, tech wires sticking out in confusing patterns, and a bow that looked suspiciously like it might spark if you pulled it wrong.

“Open it,” Tony said, practically bouncing.

I tore off the paper. And then my jaw hit the floor.

There it was. The Child Endangerment Vehicle (CEV). A tiny, sleek, motorized car modeled after a Porsche, complete with:

• Enough trunk space for all my Hogwarts bags
• Hover-adjustable suspension (for brooms, obviously)
• Repulsor boosters for “emergency zooming”
• Lights that flashed every time it detected a spell nearby

I squealed. Loudly. Possibly horrifically.

“Dad! This is… the BEST!”

Tony winked.

“I call it the CEV. Child Endangerment Vehicle after hearing Pep nag me about it and calling it that for a week.. Pepper hates it. I love it. You can take it to Hogwarts… but only if you promise to break a few rules.”

I hugged him so tight I nearly knocked both of us over.

“I promise! I’ll… I’ll be careful… mostly…”

“Good. Mostly counts.”

Tony insisted on a test run around the penthouse. Naturally, I crashed into a potted plant, narrowly avoided Natasha, and somehow made a floating cupcake spin wildly across the kitchen.

“Careful!” Tony shouted, laughing like an insane parent. “It’s fast! But you’re a wizard. You’ll figure it out.”

By the end of the run, I had mastered:

• Boosting (sort of)
• Hovering over small objects (barely)
• Avoiding Avengers’ limbs (mostly)

I was exhausted, exhilarated, and completely in love with my new ride.

11:00 AM

I was still bouncing from the CEV test drive, but the real excitement started when I stumbled into the kitchen. And wow. Just wow. The Avengers had turned my birthday brunch into… I don’t even know what to call it. A magical, chaotic, totally over-the-top brunch-palooza.

Pepper had made pancakes shaped like broomsticks, wands made of chocolate (that smelled suspiciously like peppermint), and a cake that looked exactly like Harry wearing wizard robes but with a tiny Iron Man mask perched on top. I nearly fell over from sheer joy.

“Happy Birthday, Harry!” Tony shouted, spinning around with his arms wide. “You are now officially licensed for chaos… and cake.”

The Avengers cheered, some trying to eat my chocolate wands before I could grab them, and Steve tried to arrange the pancakes in a precise spiral because apparently morning geometry matters. Natasha smirked, clearly enjoying my squeals of excitement. Clint had already snagged two broomstick pancakes, waving them around like swords. Bruce just stared at the cake, muttering, “This is technically impossible,” which only made me giggle.

Then came the gifts. Each of the Avengers had picked something just for me — all Muggle, all ridiculously perfect.

Steve gave me a tiny leather-bound journal with “Property of Harry Potter, Protector of Animals (and Chaos)” stamped on it. I squealed. A journal! Perfect for recording my magical experiments, adventures, and maybe… the developing teenage thoughts.

Natasha handed me a sleek, black watch that apparently, through tiny nano cameras, tracked “time, danger levels, and whether a villain was nearby.” I blinked. She smirked. “For Hogwarts. You’ll need it.” I hugged her. She almost didn’t flinch.

Clint handed me a bow-and-arrow set — a real one, but mini-sized — with foam tips for safe practicing. He gave me a long-winded speech about accuracy, aim, and the importance of always hitting your target, which made me laugh and immediately want to try it in the backyard with a flying cupcake.

Bruce… well, Bruce gave me a science kit, but not just any kit. This one came with detailed instructions from the Dr himself and the promise to tutor and teach Harry whatever he desired to know.

Even Tony had snuck in a few “dad extras”: a personalized Gryffindor robes; fireproof, bulletproof proof and with secret hidden pockets for gadgets (Having stolen mine from my trunk secretly to use as a pattern), a miniature toolbox that fit in my pocket, and a pair of gloves that could manipulate small tech remotely. I was basically spoiled beyond belief.

Diary Note:

• Birthday level: legendary
• CEV chaos: mastered (mostly)
• Avengers: fully impressed by my driving skill (and magical cupcakes)
• Tony: peak dad energy
• Life: chaotic, magical, motorized, and perfect 

August 31, 1992

10:00 PM

Summer Wrap-Up: Magic, Mayhem, and Dad’s Gadgets

Okay. August. Wow. Just… wow.

I have survived an entire month living with Tony Stark, Pepper, and the Avengers. Somehow. Still alive. Still me. And honestly, somehow more awesome than ever.

Magic & Studying

The Tower is… surprisingly magical. Not magically magical, I mean wizarding magical, because apparently the Trace doesn’t reach America. Which means I can practice spells all I want without someone coming to yell at me for doing a simple Levitation Charm in the kitchen. (Though Tony did yell once when a levitating pie zoomed past his head.)

I’ve been practicing charms, potions, and the occasional Transfiguration (mostly turning Tony’s coffee mug into a tiny hat… for the pet cactus he keeps on the balcony). I even tried a minor spell to levitate the cat Pepper rescued last week. That went… okay. The cat is fine. The vase is broken. Tony laughed and said:

“Perfect. That’s progress!”

Training With Dad

Tony has also been training me — superhero style. Which means:

• Target practice with mini repulsors (Non-lethal and made to feel like being hit with a bean-bag) while dodging. Apparently, it was to train me to dodge spells.
• Quidditch broom “simulation” courses around the training gym
• Obstacle courses through the Tower (I may or may not have intentionally knocked over a few vases… They were uglyyy)
• Flying lessons with the CEV (Child Endangerment Vehicle), which is officially the most fun I’ve ever had

He’s relentless but somehow hilarious about it. Every time I get a spell wrong, he laughs, shakes his head, and says:

“You’re a tiny British chaos genius, Harry. That’s allowed. But let’s try not to destroy Stark Tower this time, okay?”

I’m learning fast. Mostly. And the best part? Tony actually listens when I suggest improvements. Like adding a “spell-proof seatbelt” to the CEV.

Preparing to Return to Hogwarts

Even though life here is perfect (cake, magic, chaos, and Tony being the best dad ever), I can’t wait to go back to Hogwarts. My friends! My friends! And I have so much to tell them!

I know they’re going to be shocked. Especially when I show up zooming through the castle corridors in the CEV, with a broomstick tucked under my arm, and probably a chocolate wand in my pocket. Snape was going to FLIP.

Diary Note:

• Spells: mastered (well… mostly)
• CEV: expert-ish
• Avengers training: terrifyingly fun
• Tower life: perfect chaos
• Hogwarts return: imminent, excited, and slightly terrifying. 

September 1, 1992

7:30 AM

We left New York late last night. I barely slept because the excitement was bouncing around my brain like a spell gone wrong. The CEV was packed safely in the cargo hold. Pepper sat next to me on the plane, holding my hand like I was about to fly off into space.

“You ready for Hogwarts, Harry?” she asked softly.

“Yes!” I squeaked, practically vibrating. “I can’t wait to see my friends Ron and Hermione! And show them… everything!”

Tony leaned back in his chair, a rare soft smile on his face, fiddling with a mini gadget that hummed quietly.

“You’ve had quite a summer, kid,” he said, voice low. “Magic, tech, chaos… and you handled it all perfectly. Proud doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

I hugged him tight. His arms smelled like iron and warm coffee — perfectly dad.

“I’m gonna miss you,” I whispered.

“Hey,” he said, ruffling my hair, “I’ll see you at Christmas. And remember, you’ve got a direct line to me — J.A.R.V.I.S. included. Don’t blow anything up too badly without me.” I vow that from the moment I crossed that barrier, I would do Dad proud and create mischief and discourse as he did. 

We landed in London at sunrise. The air was crisp, slightly magical (or maybe that was just me), and the streets of London sparkled like a dream. Tony and Pepper helped me with my trunk, my robes, and my myriad gadgets.

The CEV was tucked neatly at the edge of the platform, humming softly, waiting for action.

“Alright, kid,” Tony said, crouching to my level. “Time for the grand finale. Platform 9 ¾. Mischief optional but highly recommended.”

Pepper smiled, giving me one last squeeze.

“Be safe. Be brilliant. And cause just a little chaos.”

I nodded, heart hammering.

9:00 AM 

I revved the CEV lightly. The little lights blinked like it knew exactly what was about to happen.

“Alright,” I whispered to myself, “let’s make this magical.”

Tony leaned down, brushing my hair from my face.

“You ready, Harry?”

“Yeah… I love you, Dad,” I said softly.

“Love you too, kiddo. Go be brilliant. And don’t crash into the Sorting Hat, okay?”

Pepper laughed, waving, eyes glistening.

I pressed the accelerator, feeling the CEV purr beneath me. The front wheels hit the magical shimmer of the barrier, and — WHOOSH! — I zoomed through Platform 9 ¾.

The barrier sparkled and shimmered, the magic twisting around the car as it fully accepted a Muggle-vehicle-meets-wizard combination. I popped out on the other side with a triumphant grin.

“Hogwarts!” I shouted, laughing, spinning the wheel just a little to make the car do a perfect donut around the luggage troll. “Time for mischief!”

9:10 AM 

Even as I raced away, I felt my heart swell. This summer had been… perfect. Magical chaos, chocolate disasters, LOTR audiobooks, lab experiments, Avengers pranks, and above all… my dad. Tony had given me more than gadgets and a CEV; he gave me a home, confidence, and love I’d never known before.

Pepper’s parting smile, Tony’s proud grin, J.A.R.V.I.S. humming quietly in my backpack… it was all perfect. I was ready for Hogwarts, ready for my friends, and ready to tell them every single, insane, wonderful thing about my summer.

And… break a few rules in style while I was at it. Make the family proud. The old goat be dammned. 

Diary Note:

• Flight to London: survived
• CEV through Platform 9 ¾: epic
• Dad & Pepper goodbye hugs: heart = melted
•  Mischief promise: made
• Hogwarts, friends, and chaos ahead: extremely ready
• Life: chaotic, magical, perfect, and completely mine