Author's Note: Written for…

Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. Team/Position: Montrose Magpies, Chaser 1. Task: Write a crossover with a movie (Iron Man/Avengers). Prompts: now or never, utopia, "Who the bloody hell is that?"

More to Learn

It was raining in London. In the grand scheme of things, this was not a huge surprise. It had rained on all three of Tony's visits to London in his short life, and he had begun to assume this was just how the weather worked in England. That did not change the fact that he had just spent the last three weeks enjoying the beaches of Malibu and was not prepared for the wet and cold.

The private jet had been misleading with its controlled air and heated seats. By the time Tony landed at Heathrow at seven in the morning London time, his sleep-deprived mind had forgotten where he was heading and he was assaulted by the freezing cold the moment he stepped off the plane.

There was no point in sleeping once he reached the hotel. He had just enough time to shower and eat before he in the rented limo on his way to the Very Important Business Meeting his father had sent him across the pond for.

"You're old enough to handle this by yourself," Howard had said. He'd barely looked up from his work to slide a thick folder across the desk. "This will get you up to speed on the project."

Tony hadn't objected to being his father's glorified assistant. It was a compliment, in a way. He was eighteen, after all. He'd been out of MIT for a year now, but this was his first official Stark Industries assignment.

It wasn't even that exciting, he realized as he read through the folder on the plane. It was a simple dispute on the price of materials – something so trivial that Howard would never have dealt with it himself.

The meeting took a total of thirty-five minutes: twenty minutes for Tony to make it clear that Stark Industries was the most valuable buyer Michaelson Metalworks was likely to get with their flawed materials, and another fifteen minutes to talk them down to a reasonable price.

Tony slipped a note to his father in the envelope with the signed contract – a recommendation to find a new supplier as soon as possible. It was unlikely Howard would listen, but at least Tony tried.

It was still early by English standards when Tony shuffled out of the office building and waited for the limo to pull up. His initial thought was of sleep. He was up early the previous morning to meet with his dad, then there were hours of preparations for his unexpected trip, and he'd probably spent about an hour too long saying goodbye to the pretty brunette Rhodey had introduced him to, and then there was the ten and half hour flight which he'd spent preparing for the meeting.

Sleep sounded really good.

The drizzle had stopped while he was inside, allowing the sun to have a few moments in the spotlight. It gave him a false sense of home, driving with the windows down and the sun beating on his face.

"Back to the hotel, Sir?" the driver asked, and Tony smiled because he must have told the guy to call him Tony at least five times, but Jarvis never called him by his first name either. And thinking about Jarvis, and being in a nation where everything reminded him of Jarvis, made the teenager feel even more relaxed but less like he wanted to sleep for a week.

They were passing by lots of little shops and businesses, and people still carrying their umbrellas upright as if the rain was going to start back up at any moment, which it probably was. English weather.

"I have to get something for a friend," Tony told the driver, trying to recall the sweet Jarvis had requested he pick up if he had the time. "Jelly Babies. Do you know where I can get some?"

The driver chuckled. "Sure. Just about everyone sells 'em. Does it matter where you get 'em?"

"No."

They pulled up in front of a convenience store three minutes later and Tony handed the driver a few notes to run inside and grab the aforementioned sweets.

"I don't actually know what they look like," Tony explained, slipping an extra ten pounds into the driver's hand as a tip.

He waited outside the car, enjoying the fleeting sunlight and idly watching the passersby, running in and out of the chip shop and book store and florist. One spot on the street, directly across from the limo, remained suspiciously inactive.

Tony squinted at the dark sign and darker windows, wondering what sort of store it was if you couldn't even read it properly. Curious, and a little bored, he jogged across the street to get a better look.

"'The Leaky Cauldron,'" he read to himself. Up close it was clearly a pub. It was still hard to see through the dirty windows, but he could just make out a few people moving around inside.

He smiled to himself, the possibilities entering his mind for the first time. He was eighteen, in England, where the legal drinking age was – you guessed it – eighteen. It wasn't like he'd never had a drink before. Howard never put an age on things like drinking or driving or rebuilding engines. Tony had had his fair share of beer and wine and whiskey, but there was something about being all alone in another country and be legal to drink that made it all the more exciting. It was fate!

Tony arrived back at the limo at the same time as the driver. Breathless from the running, he motioned across the street for a moment.

"I'm just going to go over and have a drink. I'll be back in a few minutes." He probably should have waited until a more suitable time – maybe after it had gone dark, and when he'd had sleep – but Howard was expecting him back in New York by the morning and that meant leaving London that night. It was now or never.

The man shot him a confused look, but promised to wait as long as Tony needed.

:-:

"I hate my job," Sirius moaned, dropping onto a barstool and slamming three sickles down to pay for his customary after-work drink.

"You say that every day," the barman replied with a smile, pouring a small glass of firewhiskey for his favorite customer.

"Every day it gets a little bit truer." Sirius took a long sip of the drink and set the glass down again. He crossed his arms on the bar and rested his head on them, closing his eyes. "Anything exciting happen today, Alan?"

"We just opened. I think you caught all the good stuff last night."

"I hate working the late shift."

"You should find a better job, and maybe get a flat so you can stop napping on my bar," Alan huffed.

Sirius opened one eye to glare at the barkeeper. "I have a flat," he argued. "I just don't want to be there."

Sharing with Remus had been one thing. They'd been best mates for years, and it seemed like a natural choice when they both left Hogwarts and needed to support themselves. Things had been great for ten years, but then Moony had to go and get a girlfriend. But not just any girlfriend, oh no, a girlfriend with a cat and a new landlord who was allergic to cats and decided it was perfectly legal to kick sat woman and her cat out, therefore forcing her boyfriend and his helpless flatmate to accept her into their private sanctuary.

So now there was a girl in Remus' bed and a cat in Sirius' and the flat smelled like floral perfume and kitty litter. The fridge was always stocked, but his bacon was usually stolen. There was no chance of him bringing a girl home himself since it was never clear how long he'd have the place to himself. And God forbid he left the toilet seat up.

All in all it was just safer to hang around the pub for a few hours until he was dead on his feet. Then he could head home, claim exhaustion, and collapse in bed until it was time to head back to work.

His stomach growled loudly, reminding him that he had not eaten since the bag of crisps at five, almost four hours ago. He lifted his head to order something to eat when there was a light ding to signal someone entering the pub through the muggle doorway. Sirius twisted his head to have a look and who was joining them. It was still early and he'd become quite close with the breakfast crowd since his switch to the nightshift, but the boy striding over to the bar with an abundance of confidence was new to him.

"Who the bloody hell is that?" he muttered to Alan. He eyed the boy's light suit and dark tan. He definitely didn't look like a local. Alan shrugged and shuffled over to his new customer.

"Can I get a whiskey?" the boy asked in an unmistakable American accent.

Sirius' eyes lit up. He loved Americans! They were so laid back and gullible. He giddily slid onto the stool next to the stranger and brought his glass with him, pushing it Alan's way.

"Make that two, and whatever food you have available that doesn't contain eggs." He grinned at the boy and stuck out his hand. "Sirius Black."

The boy looked at it skeptically for a moment, but ultimately he accepted the handshake and the corners of his mouth twisted upward into something resembling a smile.

"Tony Stark."

"What brings you to London, Tony?" Sirius didn't like last names. Last names were for professors and superiors, and for annoying friends. Strangers he randomly started chatting to in a pub didn't fit into any of those categories.

"Business."

"International affairs, eh? They start you off young."

Alan returned with two glasses of whiskey and a sandwich. Tony pulled out a flap of leather and Sirius watched him curiously as he tugged out a few muggle banknotes.

"Only coins in here, mate," Alan told him.

Sirius reached into his pocket and grabbed a few galleons, passing them over. "It's on me."

"Thanks," Tony said, putting away what Sirius now recognized as a wallet. Wizards didn't carry wallets.

"No problem. So, muggleborn or just work in a muggle area?" He didn't wait for a reply. "Gringotts is just down the Alley, you know. You should probably exchange some for coins if you're going to be in town long."

The boy's brow furrowed, as if Sirius was speaking in another language.

'Americans are so dense,' the animagus thought, taking a bite of his sandwich.

"I'm leaving tonight." Tony turned away from him slightly and picked up his glass. He took a large gulp of his drink and Sirius watched amusedly as the teenager's face turned red and he looked pained as he swallowed. "What was that?" he croaked.

"Ogden's Old Firewhiskey," Alan replied, holding up the bottle of Sirius' favorite beverage.

"Firewhiskey? What the hell is that? I just wanted a plain whiskey, not something that's gonna fry my insides."

"They don't have firewhiskey in America?" Sirius asked doubtfully.

"I don't think they have 'firewhiskey' anywhere!"

The boy got off his stool and had turned back to Alan to argue the point when the back door opened and a young couple with three small children strolled in with brightly colored robes and took up a corner table. The father was talking loudly, brandishing his wand and throwing harmless sparks around the room to entertain the children.

"Can you believe that lousy toss Jenkins made? I realize his broom got smashed, but he still could've made a decent toss while he was falling."

Tony sunk onto a stool, his face slack in shock, and something about this clicked in Sirius' brain. The foggy haze of tiredness slipped away to reveal an idea – a completely absurd idea, but as Remus was so fond of mentioning, Sirius' ideas weren't usually sane.

He inched closer to the teenager and put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright, mate?"

"How is that possible?" he said. It didn't seem like he was aware Sirius was talking to him. "Is it a sparkler or …?"

"It's a wand," Sirius supplied, gently patting his arm. "It's magic."

"Magic isn't real."

This caught Alan's attention. He leaned on the bar and shared a look with Sirius. "Hate to tell you this, kid," he said, "but it's very much real."

"How?" Tony looked at Sirius, bloodshot eyes wide.

"It just … is. It's hard to explain. Here." He pulled his wand and held it out to Tony. Alan cleared his throat loudly.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea, Sirius. We should probably call the Ministry or something; get them to send Obliviators."

"That's probably not a good idea."

Tony was already reaching for the wand anyway: always curious, even when dazed. He tentatively grabbed the stick by the handle and held it up to his face, examining every inch of it.

"This creates the … magic?" he asked. Sirius nodded. He gently pried his wand out of the American's hands and spun it in his fingers, creating a soft light.

"You've never seen real magic?"

"No."

"Never ridden a broomstick?"

"Nope."

"You don't even know what a muggle is, do you?"

Tony shook his head. "Can this … What can it do? Your world, you guys – you must have created a utopia."

"What's that?" Alan asked.

"Like heaven. Perfection? A place where nothing could go wrong. Magic can do that, right?"

"Not exactly. There is such a thing as dark magic," Sirius told him. "Nothing it perfect."

There was a hint of disappointment in Tony's eyes then, like for a moment he'd been led to believe he won the lottery but found out it was all a mistake. "Look, just … just tell me how it works. I went to MIT. I can handle it, trust me."

Alan chuckled and shook his head as he walked off to deal with the new customers.

"No one knows how it works," Sirius explained in a gentle voice that probably would've astounded his friends. "It just does. I'm a wizard; so is Alan, and everyone else in this pub. It's a wizarding pub."

"You should probably get a better sign, then," Tony said. "To keep people like me out."

Sirius sighed and stowed away his wand. "There already is something. No one should be able to see this place. Not as a pub, anyway. The muggles – the nonmagic folks – they see this as a rundown store. Only people with magic see it for what it really is."

"Then how come I saw it?"

Sirius flashed him a grin and clapped a hand on his shoulder then. "That's the beauty of you being here, Tony. To get in, you must have magic."

"That's impossible."

"A few minutes ago you would have said the same thing about magic existing."

"I'm still not entirely sure I haven't passed out in the back of the car."

"Well, you haven't. And I admit it's a damn shame you're just finding out about this. I mean, you're what, seventeen? Eighteen? You should be finishing up school by now. It might be harder for you to learn it all now."

"Who says I want to learn anything?"

Sirius' smile faltered and he removed his hand, focusing his eyes on a suspicious stain on the floor. "You don't have to if you don't want to, I guess. It's up to you. You could go back to your life and pretend you dreamt all this up, I guess. Go on, go live your ordinary life. But I'll be here. Same time every day."

Tony stood up and wandered over to the door, but turned back just before reaching for the handle.

"My life is anything but ordinary."

And then the strange American boy was gone, and Sirius was left to eat his dinner in peace.

:-:

Tony was woken precisely eight hours later, with just enough time to get dressed before he needed to head for the airport.

Instead, he found himself dawdling by the window, enjoying the view of the city in just his boxer shorts. The phone rang, interrupting the calm, and he rushed to answer it.

"Good evening, Sir. I'm just ringing to make sure you're aware of your flight home."

It seemed Jarvis didn't even get a day off when Tony was in another country.

"Yes, Jarvis, thanks. I was just about to head out."

He was looking out the window still, admiring the tall industrial buildings, but also the really old ones that had so much history. He wondered if some of them were built by magic. Like the pyramids – those had to be magic, right?

"But, you know, I think I'm going to spend another day or two in London. See the sights."

Tony Stark was, in a word, curious. That would probably never change.