Nothing to Lose

By Ammie Hawk

Disclaimer: I in no way, shape, or form own Avengers or Harry Potter.

Summary: After a drunk night in Vegas, Harry wakes up in a strange hotel room, with a gold band on his finger that won't come off, no matter how hard he tries. Panicking, he leaves before his newfound spouse wakes up.

AN: So here's the first chapter of the winner of the poll. I'm glad for the interest in all the stories I'm currently starting. The others will be posted eventually, but I'm holding off for a bit so I can have some more chapters completed. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy my latest venture.

Prologue: The Aftermath

Harry Potter groaned quietly as he started to wake up. His head was pounding and his mouth tasted like something had died in it, clear signs of an over indulgence of alcohol. One green eye cracked open, to gauge the brightness of the room, only to squeeze shut almost immediately from the intensity of the morning desert sun. After another moment, he knew he would have to face the day, as his bladder was making itself known.

Very carefully, he crawled out of the king sized bed and padded quietly to the bathroom. Once he had relieved himself, he made his way to the sink to wash his hands and splash some water on his face. He felt marginally better after that, but opened the mirrored cabinet and found a bottle of painkillers. He downed three and leaned on the counter with his eyes closed, wishing he had thought to bring a hangover potion with him when he decided to visit Las Vegas.

The twenty-five year old had been living in New York for the past eight years, since the final battle of Hogwarts. He had basically washed his hands of the wizarding world and disappeared to the States. He only kept in contact with a couple of people and then not on a regular basis.

No, he had opened a little shop in Manhattan that sold teas and herbal remedies, read magical herbs and potions that were made Muggle friendly. He didn't really need the money, but it filled his days, kept him busy. And while he mostly kept to himself, he had become somewhat friends with some of his regular customers. Which was the reason he was actually in Vegas at the moment.

One of his more loyal customers, Steve, had wandered in several months ago looking for something to help him sleep. He was a tall man, over six feet, with short blond hair, and was solid muscle. He was a bit bulky for Harry's tastes, but he was one of the sweetest, most well mannered men he'd met since moving to the States. After he had recommended a mild sleeping draught, disguised as a tea, they had started up an interesting, albeit unlikely, friendship. They never discussed many personal matters, but they got along well enough.

It had been Steve who had suggested he take some time off and see the country that he now lived in, when he had admitted he'd not left the city in eight years. As an added incentive, the man had offered to watch the shop for him while he was gone. How could he really refuse that? So, together, they had pulled out a map and marked all the touristy spots across the nation and planned a trip.

He had decided to start in Vegas because it was the biggest distraction he could think of. It had sounded like a good idea, but he'd only been there twenty-four hours and already he was regretting ever setting foot in Sin City.

He could feel the painkillers starting to kick in and opened his eyes again. A frown marred his features as he caught sight of a flash of gold on his left hand. No. No, no, no, no, no, this could not be happening. He lifted his hand to examine the plain gold band more closely. He tried to pull it off, but it wouldn't budge, even when he tried using water and soap. It was like it was stuck there by magic.

God, he had to fix this, now. He needed to get home, and take a fucking hangover potion. First, though, he should probably find his clothes and find out who exactly he had ended up married to.

So, as quietly as he could manage he made his way out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. He wished he could've just observed from the doorway, but sadly his glasses were across the room on the bedside table. He contemplated crawling his way over, but quickly discarded it. If his new spouse woke up, he would face them like he had everything in his life. With that thought, he squared his shoulders and crossed the room.

He slipped on his glasses and was momentarily distracted by the folded piece of paper lying next to them. He picked it up, but hadn't managed to open it when the other occupant of the room shifted on the bed. Green eyes flew in that direction and finally landed on his newly acquired spouse.

There, sprawled across the bed, still, thankfully, passed out, was a broad shouldered, bare backed male. Well, all he could see above the blankets poled around his waist was the back, he assumed, like himself, the other was completely naked. He was lying on his stomach with his face turned away from him. From what he could see, which admittedly wasn't all that much considering, the man was attractive. He was fit, with a light definition of muscles, not overly bulky, which Harry highly approved of. His brown hair was short, and currently tousled from both sleep and their obvious nightly activities.

He shook his head, now was not the time to be checking out his latest shag. It didn't matter that he was apparently married to him, or maybe it mattered more. Either way, he really had to get home and find a way to fix this. With that thought, he located his pants and put them on. His shirt took a moment but he finally found it hanging off the lamp in the corner. He gave up on his socks and shoes as a lost cause as the figure on the bed began to stir.

He snatched his wallet and personal effects from the nightstand and made a beeline for the door. Once he was sure he was clear of the cameras, he Apparated directly into his apartment in New York.

It was a small place above his shop in Manhattan with a single bedroom, bathroom, and a combined living room and kitchen. It wasn't much, but it suited his needs. He appeared in the middle of his living room and sank down onto his second hand couch. He raked his hands through his hair in agitation before snatching his cell and dialing an all too familiar number.

~What do you want, Potter?~ an irritated male voice answered on the second ring.

"I need your help," he sighed, he really hated admitting that.

~Oh god, Harry, what did you do this time?~

"I think I kinda accidentally got married," Harry flinched slightly, oh this was so messed up.

~I think I need some more context,~ the other took a deep breath. ~Start at the beginning.~

"Fine," Harry almost growled but refrained. "Well, I decided I was going to take a vacation and see some of the sights around the States that I haven't seen yet. I don't know why exactly, but I decided to start in Las Vegas. Things were going great. I don't know exactly when or how it happened, but I can't remember much of last night. All I know is that this morning, I woke up, hung-over. And there is now a ring on my finger that won't come off. And I was in bed with a strange man. It wasn't even my hotel room."

~You're screwed, Harry.~

"Don't say that, Draco!" he snapped. "You're supposed to be helping me come up with a way to get out of this, not giving up."

~Fine, you want my help,~ Draco scoffed. ~Have you tried everything possible to take that ring off? Water? Soap? Magic?~

"I haven't tried magic yet," the raven sat up and grabbed his wand.

He tried every spell he could think of, but nothing seemed to work. Short of cutting off his finger, this ring was not coming off his hand.

"Nothing's working," he finally said in frustration. "Unless I want to cut my finger off."

~It'd just move fingers,~ the former Slytherin took a deep breath. ~This is old school magic, Harry. Not too long ago, this form of binding was common place in the Wizarding community. It's a minor binding ritual that, once consummated, can't be undone. It is literally till death do you part. The rings will not come off until one party is dead. If I recall correctly, most of them have an anti-cheating spell woven in. If you sleep with someone other than your spouse, think Cruciatus.~

"Damn, that's terrible," Harry gasped.

~I didn't create the ritual,~ the blond defended. ~I mean, not all witches and wizards use it, it fell out of fashion a few decades ago, but it pops up every now and then.~

"How do you know so much about all this anyway?" green eyes narrowed suspiciously.

~I know someone who had something similar happen,~ Draco replied. ~You know him too. Severus got married that way, pretty similar circumstances too, if you take his word for it.~

"Snape?" he asked incredulously. "Snape's married?"

~Yeah,~ the former Slytherin chuckled. ~To hear him talk, it's the worst thing that's ever happened to him, but deep down, I know he actually cares about his husband. You should ask him about it sometime.~

"Right," the former Gryffindor scoffed. "Cause that's a conversation I want to have with Snape."

~Suit yourself,~ he could tell Draco shrugged. ~Anyway, you should probably talk to your spouse. Figure all this out before something bad happens. Who are you married to anyway?~

"Oh god, I don't even know," Harry groaned. "Wait, I think I have the marriage certificate." He pulled out the paper he'd picked up that morning. "Yeah, here it is. Anthony Edward Stark."

888888

Tony Stark stretched slightly as he started to wake up. He could hear someone moving around the room, so he decided to pretend to still be asleep until they were gone. With the hangover he had, he was not in the mood to deal with his latest conquest. Though, it was a bit unsettling, he was usually the one that left, or had them thrown out. Maybe he was losing his touch.

When he finally heard the door click closed behind the unintentional guest, he rolled over onto his back and tried to remember anything from the previous night. It was pretty fuzzy, thanks to the obviously large amounts of alcohol he'd consumed. Though, he did remember green eyes, greener than emeralds, and short, thick, black hair that seemed to fall naturally into a 'just fucked' look. Following that thought was a lean, wiry body. Ah, male. That would explain their hasty retreat. His male bed companions didn't tend to stick around as long as his female ones.

The longer he thought, the more was coming back to him. He had been in Vegas for a business meeting that Pepper had not let him weasel out of. So afterwards, he had decided to go out on the town, looking for a hot body to spend some time with. He'd gone to an exclusive club, and was almost immediately set upon by men and women alike, all vying for his attention. Though, the young man standing at the bar caught his eye easily. He had been nursing a drink of some sort, leaning back on his elbows against the counter. He had been wearing a dark green leather jacket over a plain white t-shirt and tight fitting black leather pants that left little to the imagination, and calf length leather boots. He was definitely eye candy and Tony definitely wanted a piece of that.

The rest of the night was kind of a blur, but he did remember going back to his hotel room, a rare occurrence for him. What followed after that was some of the best sex he'd had in years. He was getting hard just thinking about it.

He was interrupted from his fantasy/memories, however, by the ringing of his phone. The ringtone indicated that it was Pepper and he knew if he ignored her she would just continue to call, or worse, come and find him. So, he sat up and quickly located his cell.

"Pepper," he forced himself to sound chipper, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

~Tony, what did you do?~ the CEO of Stark Industries asked, her voice furious.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," he frowned. "But apparently, I obviously did something, so who was he?"

~He?~ she practically screeched. ~He, Tony? It's bad enough that you got married while in Vegas, but to a guy? Are you insane?~

"Married?" he shook his head. "What are you talking about?"

His frown deepened as he held up his left hand. Sure enough, sitting innocently on his left ring finger was a gold wedding band. He tried to pull it off, but it wouldn't budge.

~I need you back in New York, today,~ she continued when the silence started to drag on. ~We need to prepare a statement, and call a press conference. We need to control this, Tony.~

"Fine," he knew better than to argue when she was like this. "Have the jet prepared. I'll be ready to leave in about an hour."

He clicked off the device before she could say anything else and flopped back on the pillows. How had this happened? He had always been so careful not to let anything like this happen. And in his thirty-two years he had never even come close to something like this. True, he was fighting paternity tests every other week, but he was always careful, and none of them had ever turned out to be true. So, how in not even that drunk of a night did he end up married?

He sighed heavily and got out of bed. He made his way to the bathroom to grab a quick shower. As he exited the bathroom, with a towel secured around his waist, his eyes landed on something that shouldn't be there. There, draped over the corner of the T.V., was the sleeve of that memorable jacket.

He went over and carefully pulled it out from behind the television. His… husband, god that was weird to even think about, must have been in a big hurry this morning to have left it behind. He shook his head, though it could be a good way to find him. Even if he wasn't staying in the same hotel, a jacket of this quality would be remembered and more than likely missed.

He tossed it on the bed for later inspection and began moving around the room, gathering his things. As he made his way systematically through the room, he found the other man's socks and boots as well. They joined the jacket on the bed. He would stop by the front desk before he left and see if he couldn't locate his wayward spouse, because without his shoes he couldn't have gone far.

He finished packing his things in record time, especially for him, and picked up the boots and jacket and left the room. He made his way down to the lobby. As planned, he stopped at the front desk, shooting a quick text to his driver, Happy Hogan, to bring the car around.

"Excuse me," he held up two fingers to flag down the receptionist.

"How can I help you, Mr. Stark?" the blond woman behind the counter asked with a friendly smile.

"Checking out," he slid his room card across the counter. "Also, I was wondering if you could help me find someone? He's about five six, five seven, a hundred fifty, hundred sixty pounds, black hair, green eyes."

"Can't say that I've seen him," she frowned slightly, and began typing something into the computer in front of her. "Did he do something wrong?"

"No, nothing like that," he flashed his most charming smile, being him did have its perks. "Just wanted to return some of his things, that's all."

"Hmm," her lips pursed as she studied her screen. "We don't have anyone matching that description staying in this hotel."

"Then maybe you or one of your coworkers saw him," he frowned. "He would've left about an hour ago?"

"Unfortunately, I've been the only one on the desk for a few hours and I haven't seen anyone come through that looked like that."

"Well, thanks anyway," he slid a hundred across the counter for her trouble.

He turned and made his way out of the hotel. Happy was waiting for him by the entrance. He handed his suitcase to his driver and slipped into the backseat of the car, still holding the stray belongings of his newly acquired husband.

Ammie: Okay, so there it is. I know, the receptionist at the hotel was probably a bit more helpful than is actually allowed within their job regulations, but I needed it for the story. Also I toyed with the timeline, cause I wanted to. Anyway, please let me know what you think.