Chapter Text
His awakening was sluggish, he felt like he was trying to get out of deep muddy ground.
He was rubbing his eyes, clearing the cobwebs, when he noticed something strange: He was alive! And somehow very small and thin.
He sat up sharply. How the hell was he still alive? Last he remembered was Pepper's face, crying and smiling, right after he used the stones. He looked around, and found a thin rope, tied to the lightbulb, right above his head. Tugging it brought a light, and his attention to his poor eyesight. Instinctively he reached for his round glasses and finally took a good look at his surroundings.
A cupboard. He had slept in a damn cupboard. Judging by the outline of the stairs above him, it was located right under them. The whole setup felt strangely familiar, but he quickly dismissed the thought. He examined the door, pushed it, but it was locked from the outside.
His stomach rumbled, but he ignored it for the moment, he needed to think. He needed facts.
He clearly remembered his final moments - his head growing heavy, his breathing becoming shallow. He had died after the snap. That was a fact.
And yet here he was, alive, trapped in a body that clearly wasn’t his own. What the hell was this? Reincarnation? But why now? Why he remembered his last moments now? Was it because his brain was not developed enough?
He dropped that line of thought and tried to remember more of his past. He remembered Pepper, the woman who was smiling and crying when he died. He closed his eyes and focused on her face, first seeing her tears, then slowly filling in the rest of the picture: what she was wearing, why she was crying, what surrounded her.
He cleared his mind completely and rebuilt the image, making it larger and sharper until it became vivid. Beside Pepper stood someone else… Rod? No… He snapped his fingers, trying to grasp the name. Road? Rhoades? Yes! Colonel James Rhoades. An image of a man in uniform saluting flashed in his mind. His friend. That felt right.
Now back to those final moments. What were they both wearing? For some reason, that detail felt critically important. He concentrated again on the first image and looked closer in his mind’s eye. Both of them were wearing some kind of sleek metal armor, with a glowing arc reactor embedded in the chest plate.
Arc reactor.
It all clicked at once.
His kidnapping. The shrapnel in his chest. His first miniaturized arc reactor. The first armor. That first flight. His revenge against the kidnappers. The brutal fight against his former mentor
“I am Iron Man,” he whispered.
Then he looked down at his tiny hands and added bitterly, “Was, apparently.”
Before he could sink deeper into lamenting his lost life, he heard the click of the cupboard door unlocking, followed by a shrill woman’s voice:
“Get up, boy! You have five minutes to wash yourself and start on breakfast! Now!”
He cautiously pushed the door open and stepped into a pristine, clean hallway. It led straight to the kitchen, with a small bathroom along the way. He quickly slipped into the bathroom and finally looked at himself in the mirror.
He didn’t recognize the face staring back. His once brown hair was now black. His once blue eyes was now emerald green. His cheekbones higher, and overall look was more aristocratic. And then he noticed another feature of his new face – lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
He had reincarnated as Harry fucking Potter.
Well shit.
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After making breakfast (and boy, that was awful, because he had never been any good in the kitchen), Tony sat down at the table and began curiously studying the people around him. The most prominent figure was his… uncle? A very large man with a walrus-like moustache who was frowning at the omelette as if it had personally offended him. Tony immediately dubbed him Whale Sr. in his mind. Next to him sat the blonde woman who had woken him up earlier. She was painfully thin, with an unnaturally long and slim neck that made her look like a startled heron. On the opposite side of the table was a boy who had no right to be that fat. His second chin seemed to have its own second chin.
Tony’s thoughts about the boy’s future health problems were interrupted by Whale Sr.
“What is that thing, boy?” He pointed a meaty finger at what was supposed to be an omelette.
“I would take a wild guess that it’s an omelette,” Tony answered calmly.
A vein on Whale Sr.’s forehead began to pulse. “Don’t be cheeky with me, boy. This is not an omelette. This,” he lifted the rubbery substance with his fork, “is a mockery of food. Where is my bacon?”
Tony sighed. He was a terrible cook, and he remembered almost nothing from this new life. Still, he couldn’t afford to be sassy just yet. Maybe later, once he recreated his suit. For now, it would be prudent to lay low.
“Sorry, uncle. I forgot. I’ll make the bacon right now.”
He got up from the stool and returned to the stove. After somehow producing a decent-ish batch of bacon, he piled it all onto his uncle’s plate and went back to his cold toast.
Once he had finished his meagre meal, his uncle left for work. His aunt approached Tony and handed him a sheet of paper.
“Your chores for today. Don’t slack off.” With that, she returned to the living room.
Tony looked at the list and scoffed. Wash the kitchen floors, weed the garden… They really expected him to do all that? Unacceptable. He wasn’t going to be a slave for these strangers. He opened the cupboard under the stairs and inspected it. As expected, aside from a couple of broken toy soldiers, there was nothing of value. Decision made, he simply walked out the front door and onto the street.
He needed information, first and foremost. Then he needed money and a place to stay. Staying with his relatives would be detrimental for his health, both mental, and judging by a few scars on his forearms, physical as well.
Looking around at the signs, he wandered off the street, talking to neighbours who could recognize him was not an option.
After wandering down a few streets, he approached a well-dressed gentleman and politely asked for a way to a library.
Thankfully a well-dressed gentleman knew his way around a neighborhood and 10 minutes later Tony was already browsing through history section of the local small library.
Two hours later, Tony leaned back in his chair and stretched his stiff neck.
This was not his world. There was no Captain America, no Howard Stark. He was familiar with the concept of the multiverse - after all, he had helped invent time travel, but still… a completely different universe?
He concentrated, trying to remember everything he knew about Harry Potter.
He never read anything past the fourth book, because he only read them for Morgan(and this thought alone brought a tear to his eye), and after reading the fourth book(something about a goblet), he deemed it too violent for his young daughter. He was not a model father(he even created a small armour for his daughter, just for fun), but he was not crazy enough to read about torture to a 5 year old girl. That scene he remembered well, freshly resurrected bad guy was torturing a 14 year old.
He would receive a letter from Hogwarts at eleven.
He might or might not meet a giant with another letter (he had already broken the timeline by leaving his relatives, so nothing was certain).
He actually had money! But it was in a bank located in a hidden alley, and he didn’t have the key.
He must find that alley, he remembered that it was in some kind of pub. Old something. Or holey something.
July 15. 1991. This is today's date. Harry's birthday was just a few weeks away, so time is of the essence.
The plot was about a stone. Philosopher or Sorcerer, but not the kind of Doctor Strange sorcerer.
That was the most essential points about the first book. There was something about a Basilisk in the second one, but he already had some outlines of a plan for this. Now he needed to find a pub. It would be easy, right?
It was not. Especially for a ten-year old boy, no matter how smart he was. Genius he may be in his past life, he was not a cartographer and did not know London as well as New York or Los Angeles.
He once again asked for help, this time an old lady, for a place with a map, and five minutes later he was standing in front of a large stand with a map of London and began to study it. He examined a large street map for a long time until his eyes caught “Charing Cross Road.” He memorized the surrounding streets and caught a bus.
Thanks to his natural charm (and despite his awful clothes), he managed to talk the conductor into a free ride. His puppy-eyed look, that worked so well on his mother and teachers was back!
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By late afternoon he was wandering Charing Cross Road. Just when he was starting to lose hope, luck - or perhaps magic smiled upon him. A man in a violently bright green shirt, yellow hat, and ridiculously wide red trousers walked past. No one else paid him any attention. Tony followed him and finally spotted the pub: old, dirty, and apparently named the Leaky Cauldron.
He slipped inside after the man, who casually waved his wand over himself, changing his clothes into black robes. Tony quickly scanned the room - a barman, and a few shady patrons, then watched carefully as the man tapped specific bricks. The wall opened, revealing the magical alley.
The sight took his breath away. Despite everything he had seen in his previous life, The Alley was something else entirely. The buildings seemed almost alive, twisting and leaning in ways that defied ordinary architecture. He stood still for nearly five minutes, simply soaking it in, before heading straight for the bank. It was impossible to miss - white marble, grand design, and two armoured goblins standing guard was kinda large giveaway.
He entered the bank, curiously looking around, and quickly headed to the free teller.
“Hello, I was told I have an inheritance within this establishment. How do I access it?”
The goblin looked him over appraisingly. “Name?”
“Harry Potter.”
“Do you have your key, Mr. Potter?”
“I believe it was misplaced.”
Goblin muttered something inaudible, then said with a distinct growl, “I need one drop of your blood,” he took out a small bowl from somewhere underneath, then poured a colorless liquid inside and added a drop of blue liquid. Then he held out a small dagger.
Tony took the dagger, made a small cut on his little finger without flinching and squeezed a drop right into the bowl.
The liquid in the bowl changed color from light blue to blood red, and then the goblin poured few drops of it on a parchment.
“Hmm yes, you are indeed who you say you are. Replacement key would be 35 galleons, the fee will be deducted automatically. I would advise you not to lose it again.” He then pulled out golden key and poured on it the rest of red liquid. The key smoked with a hiss, and changed its shape. Then he took the key, examined it carefully and gave it to Tony. “Now, Steelclaw,” another goblin suddenly appeared next to them, “will take you to your vault,” having said that, he turned his attention to his parchment.
“Follow me, please”, said younger goblin, apparently named Steelclaw.
Tony followed the goblin, unable to contain his curiosity. “The teller said the new key would cost thirty-five galleons. How much would that be in dol... pounds?”
“One galleon equals five pounds,” Steelclaw replied dryly.
‘Apparently these galleons are very small coins,’ thought Tony, ‘practically tiny.’ He could not recall the exact figures, but he was certain that in the nineties one gram of gold had cost far more than ten dollars.
“Are galleons made of pure gold?” Tony asked with interest, noticing that they had reached a peculiar little wagon waiting on the rails.
“Yes,” the goblin answered curtly. “Get in the cart,” he added, springing onto the rear seat and placing his hand upon what looked like a metal joystick.
Tony climbed up after the goblin and settled into the front seat. When he turned to Steelclaw with intention to ask another question, the goblin pulled a metal joystick and the cart rushed forward at lightning speed. During the wild cart ride through the tunnels, Tony grinned like a madman. The exhilarating speed reminded him of flying in the suit, bringing a sharp wave of nostalgia.
Unfortunately, the journey ended all too soon, and the goblin announced, “Vault 687. Your key, please.”
Taking the key from Tony, he stepped up to the vault door, inserted it and turned the lock.
The doors slid open without a sound. Inside, Tony beheld a substantial mound of gold, a modest pile of silver, and a couple of small heaps of bronze coins. What truly astonished him, however, was the size of the gold coins. They were huge! He stepped forward and picked one up, testing its weight in his palm. It felt distinctly heavier than twenty grams, which made it clearly worth far more than five pounds. Either the goblin had lied and these were not pure gold, or the economy of the magical world was very, very strange indeed.
Tony tried to estimate by eye how many galleons were in the vault altogether, but it proved far more difficult than he had imagined, so he simply asked the goblin.
“Counting other people’s money is not my job,” Steelclaw replied dryly.
Tony pressed his lips together. “In that case, may I ask who can help me with this?”
The goblin looked at him as if he were an idiot. “Only yourself. Do not waste my time, wizard.”
‘What an idiotic system,’ Tony thought grimly. He scooped up several dozen coins and stuffed them into his pockets, intending to return later after receiving the letter from Hogwarts and collect a good deal more once he had somewhere proper to store all the gold.
Five minutes later he was standing at the exit of the bank, wondering what to do next.
He decided information once again would be beneficial, and of course meal and a place to stay.
Tony made his way to the bookshop with volumes displayed in its window, the name **Flourish and Blotts** emblazoned above the entrance, and stepped inside.
Fortunately, the shelves were neatly divided by category. He selected three books from the history section - Hogwarts a History, Modern Magical History, and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, along with one volume from each of several other magical sections: One Hundred Useful Charms for the Inquisitive Mind, Magical Theory, and A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration.
After paying for the books (six galleons), he headed for the Leaky Cauldron, remembering how Harry had stayed there over the summer in the third book.
Getting a room in the Leaky was surprisingly easy. The barman, who introduced himself as Tom, was not nosy, and didn't ask any questions about a lone child renting the room.
After a hearty supper, Tony went upstairs, locked the door, emptied the bag of books onto the table, and finally allowed himself to relax. It had been an incredibly long day, but he had accomplished everything he set out to do. He fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow.
July 16 1991.
The next morning, refreshed and full of energy, Tony ate a full English breakfast downstairs and returned to his room to plan.
First problem: how to behave. He had never been a good actor. Perhaps he could pretend to be a brilliant, lonely introvert? The “brilliant” part would be truth, of course, but he doubted he could convincingly play the introvert. He needed ideas. He snapped his fingers, rose from his chair and began pacing the room, pondering the problem.
Oh, how he missed Jarvis or even Friday. AIs were always excellent at throwing out suggestions. Even stupid ones.
He stopped abruptly.
Why should he play a role at all? The children were unlikely to understand why he behaved like an adult, and the professors, even if they suspected something, were hardly to interrogate him. And if they did try, he would simply tell them it was none of their business.
Most likely he would still have to do a little acting in front of the professors, at least at first, but it wasn’t such a terrible thing.
What next? He knew there would be some kind of a plot, revolving around the sors.. philosopher's stone, but as he remembered from the book, Harry and his friends were essentially unneeded, and the Gandalf guy (Dumdoor?) would have sorted it out himself. So, he would try to avoid ‘the main plot’ at least until he would be ready.
How to get ready, then? He doubted he could recreate Badassium and make a power source for the Iron Man suit. But he did already possess the power source. He was magical, and magic could potentially be harnessed as a source of energy. All that remained was to understand how magic worked in the first place, how to measure the output power of his own magic, and whether it was even possible to release raw magic without the use of spells or a wand.
He decided to begin with reading the book on Magical Theory. He sat down at the table, took out the volume and began to read.