Harry wiped his hands on his oversized shirt, careful not to smear damp laundry water down the sleeves. He stepped back from the line, quietly inspecting the towels fluttering in the breeze like dull flags.
Something tugged at the edge of his awareness. He squinted past the fence, across the road.
There was a car. A black SUV. Sleek. Right there, for some reason. Harry had seen it the day before, too. He was sure of it.
The windows were tinted. He couldn't see who was inside.
Probably just some new neighbors, he told himself. Or guests. Or… something. But something didn't sit right. He bent back down to gather the laundry basket and carried it inside.
In the kitchen, Aunt Petunia barely glanced at him. "Leave those by the door," she snapped. "Then scrub the stovetop."
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied automatically.
As he worked, he glanced once more out the front window.
The car was still there.
Back in the Car
"You think he noticed us?" Rhodey asked, taking a bite from a protein bar. "Kid looked right at the car."
Tony smirked. "He's a Stark, even if he doesn't know it yet. Of course, he noticed."
Rhodey gave him a side-eye. "That's not how DNA works."
Tony shrugged. "It is when I say it is."
Then his expression turned serious.
"I think we need to talk to him soon. Maybe not today. But soon. The longer he's here, the more it eats at me." He had been thinking about it, At least few words and take a closer look at him.
Rhodey nodded slowly. "We'll do it right. Not in front of the Dursleys. Not where it could backfire." To be honest, Rhodey hand is twitching to do something, maybe walk in there and grab the poor boy, take him away. Violence is never the answer, At this moment, Rhodey is willing to do it. He won't admit it to Tony, he probably sing in joy and joins him.
Tony leaned back, staring up at the SUV's ceiling. "You think he'll believe me? That I'm… his brother?"
Rhodey gave a thoughtful pause. "Maybe not right away. But you're not the same guy who built weapons for a living, Tony. You're the guy who came here for a kid you never met."
Tony smiled faintly. "Yeah… Guess I'll have to earn this one."
Money can't buy everything after all.
Little Whinging – The Park
Harry didn't get free time often. So when Aunt Petunia muttered something about "not wanting his miserable face in the house for a few hours," he didn't argue. He slipped on Dudley's old coat and left with a folded letter hidden in his pocket—one he hoped to sneak into a postbox on the way back.
It wasn't much. Just a few lines to Ron. Nothing desperate. Just something.
He's still sad, why aren't they sending him letters? Does that mean they don't like him? No, they are his friends. Maybe, they are busy. Yeah, that's it.
The park was mostly empty, the sun playing peekaboo with passing clouds. Harry's steps slowed when he noticed someone already there, seated casually at one of the picnic benches, sunglasses on, like he owned the place.
Harry's stomach growled at the worst possible moment.
Because next to the man was a large, open picnic basket. And it smelled like actual food.
It's worse, That he didn't ate anything. His aunt didn't gave him anything to eat because he didn't clean the floor enough and her garden wasn't good looking as it should. Harry did his best not to roll his eyes knowing the woman is petty. Because Uncle Vernon and Dudley openly admitted even he is a freak, he cooks well.
You can imagine the sour and jealous on her face.
The man turned his head slightly, sharp eyes peeking over the rim of his glasses. "That you growling, or is there a small dragon nearby I should be worried about?"
Harry blinked, startled. "Uh…" Huh?
"Relax, kid. No fire-breathing required." The man nodded toward the bench across from him. "Come sit. I promise, this isn't a trap. I'm just a guy who brought too much food."
Harry hesitated.
He didn't know why. Maybe it was the voice. Smooth but warm. American. Nothing like Uncle Vernon's barks. Or the careful nothingness of Aunt Petunia.
Or maybe the fact, the person before him bare no ill intention and Harry is too hungry to care at this point. He slowly approached, stopping a few feet from the table. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."
The man nodded. "Smart. You should keep that rule." Then he took off his sunglasses.
And there was something about his eyes. Tired. Amused. Honest.
"I'm Tony," he said. "Tony Stark."
Harry stared at him for a second longer, the name oddly familiar. Then his eyes dropped to the food.
Tony noticed. "You're not allergic to peanut butter, right?"
"…No."
"Well, then it's your lucky day." Tony slid a wrapped sandwich across the table. "Free sample. No strings. Just… eat."
Harry sat down slowly, still unsure, but the sandwich was warm, and it smelled like something from the Hogwarts Express trolley.
He took a bite. It was chicken and cheese. Fresh. His hands shook just a little. He ate more.
Tony watched, but not in a pushy way. "You always eat that fast, or is this a competition, and no one told me?"
Harry paused, halfway through his third bite. "…I don't usually get food like this."
Tony didn't smile, not exactly, but something in his face softened. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I figured."
They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound being birds nearby and the crinkle of sandwich paper.
Then Harry asked, "Why are you here?" He never seen him here before, the clothes he's wearing look expensive, reminds him of his uncle's boss that came one time at home for dinner with his family. No, compare to that guy and this, Harry believes Mr Stark would win the modeling competition.
Tony raised a brow. "Told you. Too much food."
Harry gave him a look. Just like Hermione would.
Tony chuckled. "Okay. I guess that was a bit thin. The truth is… I'm looking for someone. A kid. I think he lives around here."
Harry went still.
Tony added carefully, "He doesn't know I'm looking for him. But… we're connected. Family, kind of. It's a complicated story."
Harry's heart pounded, but he kept his face neutral. Surely, he doesn't mean...
Tony didn't press. "Anyway, if you happen to see a scrawny kid with messy hair and a habit of looking over his shoulder too often—tell him he can have another sandwich if he wants."
Harry glanced down at the food still in his hands, then back up.
"Is he in trouble?" What a stupid thing to say, when the man before him boldly told the description of him. Why was this man here for him? And why hasn't Harry thrown half eaten sandwich at the man and bolt out of there?
Maybe the reason why he hasn't became sandwich is too good to be thrown away.
"Why...? Do you want to help the kid...?"
Tony met his eyes. Because he deserves to be saved... And I wanna tell him so much about myself however I am afraid he get scared away. So, I am trying my best to leave an impression on him and maybe we meet again to discuss...?"
Harry didn't answer. But he nodded once, slowly. He eats the sandwich, Okay, this man isn't dangerous. "Are... You friends of my parents...?" He can't say Magic.
Tony hesitate. "I suppose? It's hard to explain but yes we are related in a way..."
Harry had so many questions to asked, however he has to go, Aunt Petunia will be mad if he doesn't return back soon. The sandwich is gone, He wanted to have another one but too shy to ask and noticing it is getting late.
Tony let the silence stretch, like he understood that sometimes, kids needed time to believe people meant what they said.
Finally, Harry stood. "Thank you. For the food."
Tony smiled just a bit. "Anytime."
Harry walked off, the letter still in his pocket, the food warming his stomach—and a strange new thought curling in his mind like a whisper.
Family?
Tony watch him walk away, He holds himself back from grabbing him and spill everything. Even though, he already gave big tip and knowing the kid, he probably figure it out? Who knows. He looks at the basket and grab himself a sandwich and ate. He definitely get more food for his baby brother.
God, maybe he should have let Stark luck ran it's course and tell him everything. But, he doesn't know how would Harry react knowing the truth.
Those people are gonna pay heavy price.
The walk back to Number Four felt heavier than usual.
The sandwich was gone. Every crumb. He'd tried to make it last, but hunger didn't work like that. His pocket still held the folded letter to Ron—unsent, again. There were no postboxes nearby without someone watching.
But none of that bothered him as much as the man in the park.
Tony Stark.
Harry had heard the name before. He never paid attention, much on the news outside because how can he? Only TV he heard from his cupboard? Maybe from news?
But Tony hadn't felt like an actor. He felt… real. Quietly sharp. Like Dumbledore, only younger, with jokes instead of riddles.
And the way he'd looked at Harry.
Like he saw him.
Harry couldn't remember the last time someone did that without disgust, indifference, or pity. It's refreshing.
Inside the house, Aunt Petunia barely glanced up. "Took you long enough. Dinner won't cook itself. Get to work."
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry mumbles, heading for the kitchen.
He slipped the letter into a drawer behind the sink pipes before they could see. He will later do something about it.