When the car dropped them off not quite half an hour later, Tony looked around curiously. Charing Cross Road was one part of London he'd never seen before. It was famous for its bookstores, though other types of shops were dotted here and there, and Tony frowned when he didn't see anything that looked like it might be magical.

"So far, not impressed," he muttered, and felt a hand tapping his shoulder.

"What?" He looked up to see Steve pointing across the street.

"There," Steve said, "between the record shop and the book shop."

Tony blinked, and suddenly there was another shop between them. The sign proclaimed it The Leaky Cauldron.

"If you aren't magical and don't know it's there, you won't see it," Harry explained, eyeing the traffic coming both ways. "Do either of you see a pedestrian crossing?"

"We passed one a block back," Steve said. "No light, though."

He led the way, followed by Harry, and Tony brought up the rear, the odd thought that he and Steve were positioned somewhat like a protection detail barely registering in his mind.

Inside, the pub itself was dark, even after enough time had passed that Tony's eyes should have adjusted, and rather shabby, and a low murmur of conversation paused briefly as the double handful of customers looked up. A few frowned, though Tony couldn't guess why, but after a moment, conversation resumed.

"Cor, Mr. Potter," came a surprised voice from behind the bar. Tony glanced that way and took in the older, bald barman. "Have a little accident, did you?"

"Not quite so little, Tom," Harry replied. "It killed my Aunt Petunia."

"Sorry 'bout your aunt," Tom said.

Harry nodded a thanks as he hobbled closer. "Not so bad as all that - I got a new guardian out of it. Tony Stark is my - guardian, and Steve Rogers is a friend of his. This is Tom. He owns the Leaky and has always been nice to me."

After the introductions were acknowledged, Tom said, "Looks like the accident banged you up a bit, too, didn't it?"

"Two cracked ribs, a fractured left clavicle, and a broken left wrist and ankle," Harry replied. "And a lot of bruises."

Tom's gaze flicked from Tony to Steve and back before settling on Harry. "You're gettin' good care, I take it?"

"It's okay, Tom," Harry said as he made it to the bar, Tony a half-step behind him and Steve another step behind him. "They know. And this is the best Muggle care available."

"Well," Tom said, "I'm no healer, but - if your guardians don't mind, that is - I've fixed up a fair few customers who got a bit rowdy of a night. I could fix you up, I reckon."

Tony understood immediately - the barman was offering to use magic to heal Harry. By the look on his face, Harry wanted that, and badly.

"Please?" Harry asked.

Truthfully, Tony hated - make that hated - the idea of someone casting a spell on his son, but this was apparently part of their world now, so he blew out a breath. "If you're sure, Harry-"

"Oh, yes," Harry said immediately. "They're just simple fractures, at least according to the X-rays."

"They let you see your X-rays?" Steve asked, astonished.

"I asked," Harry said. "And it was kinda cool, except they were my bones, you know?" Then he turned back to Tom the barman. "When can you do it?"

"Right now," Tom replied. "Let's just get you someplace more private. It's summat small, though."

Steve held out his hands even before Tony looked toward him. "I'm happy to wait out here."

Steve turned away as Tom the bartender led Harry and Tony into an adjoining room and took a seat at the bar, angled so that he could see both the door where Harry and Tony had gone and the main entrance.

"Beg your pardon," a voice from behind him said, and Steve turned to face an elderly man. Steve would've guessed him to be in his seventies or eighties, but given how much longer Steve knew magicals could live, the man could've been a couple of decades older.

"Yes?" Steve asked politely.

"Was that really Harry Potter?"

Steve couldn't miss the emphasis on Harry's name, no matter how quietly the other man spoke. That emphasis heightened his senses and instincts. "Yes, why?"

"My granddaughter would love his autograph," the man said. "D'you think he'd sign one for her?"

"I don't know," Steve answered honestly. "I'll ask when he comes back, though."

"Thanks," the man said.

"Can I ask - why would your granddaughter want his autograph?" At the man's flabbergasted expression, Steve added, "I'm a friend of his new guardian - we're both American, and not familiar with the British magical world yet."

"Huh. Woulda thought it made the papers across the Pond, too." The man took a long swig of his drink - something sweet and a little spicy, according to Steve's nose - and set his mug back down on the bar before turning on his barstool to face Steve directly. "Back when he was a wee lad, a dark wizard attacked his home. His parents, rest their souls, were killed, and the dark wizard attacked Harry. His Killing Curse backfired, somehow, and Harry lived while the dark wizard … didn't."

"Ah," Steve said, mentally filling in a few blanks while raising a lot more questions - questions he doubted this man could answer. "I see," he said. "Thank you. If I wanted to know more, maybe read the newspaper accounts, where would I go?"

"Daily Prophet offices," the man replied. "Halfway down Diagon Alley."

"Thank you again," Steve said with a smile, and as he turned back, Harry - without casts on ankle or wrist - emerged from the back room, Tony following close behind.

"You're sure I can't compensate you for your time?" Tony was asking.

"Won't hear of it," Tom replied. "It's the least any of us can do."

Tony frowned, but Steve caught his eye before he said anything else. "How about we do Harry's shopping and then have lunch here?"

"Sounds good to me," Tony said. "How about you, Harry?"

"Whatever you want," Harry replied.

"Remember to get some Bruise Balm at the Apothecary," Tom said. "It's the only thing that really works."

"I will, Tom," Harry said. "Thanks."

"Harry," Steve said, and the boy turned to him. "This gentleman wondered if you'd sign an autograph for his granddaughter."

Harry blinked, looking almost as startled as Tony did. "But why?" Harry asked. "I don't remember doing anything!"

"That doesn't necessarily matter to him - or anyone else, really," Tony said. "A lot of people like having that connection to fame."

"Just so you know," Steve added, "He did answer a couple of questions for me."

Harry stepped closer to him - Tony following closely - and lowered his voice. "You think I should?"

"I think you should make your own decision," Steve said.

"Just remember, it's easier to turn down one if you turn down all," Tony said. "If you sign for some people but not others, people will wonder why, and maybe have hurt feelings. Not that I care about that, but you might."

Harry's expression tightened. "I think I'd rather not. Maybe if I signed something to be sold for charity. Maybe. But otherwise, no."

"Fair enough." Steve turned to the man he'd been speaking with. "Harry said he doesn't sign autographs, but thanks your granddaughter for her good wishes."

The man nodded, not apparently upset, and Steve turned back to his companions, meeting Tony's questioning gaze head on.

"We have a lot to talk about," was all Steve would say in public, though, and Tony nodded once, sharply.

"So," Tony said, turning to Harry. "Where now?"

"Back here." Harry led the way out the back of the pub into a small walled-in courtyard that held nothing but a trash can and a few weeds growing up between the cobblestones.

Harry pulled a stick - no, it would be his wand, Steve reminded himself - from the back pocket of his trousers and crossed to the trash can.

"Wait," Tony said. "You carry your wand in your back pocket?"

Harry turned to him, blinking. "Where else would I keep it?"

"I don't know," Tony replied. "But it's a weapon, right? A tool, at least. You wouldn't stick a gun in your back pocket - not if you've got any sense, anyway - or a screwdriver business end first, so why would you carry your wand like that?"

"Uh -" Harry looked as though he'd never considered that before.

"Maybe they have holsters or something, and you just didn't know about them?" Steve suggested gently. "Is there a shop we can go to and ask?"

"Ollivanders, I guess," Harry said. "It's where I got my wand. Hagrid didn't mention anything about a holster, and I didn't know enough to ask."

"Well, now we do," Tony said briskly. "What we don't know is why you brought us into this courtyard."

Harry grinned. "I was about to show you."

He turned back to the wall where the trash can was and tapped a brick three times with the tip of his wand.

The brick wiggled in place, then shimmered, and then dissolved into an archway large enough for the three of them to walk through side by side. Through the archway, Steve saw a bustling street filled with people going about their business - which appeared to be shopping, judging from the signs Steve could see - the apothecary Tom had mentioned and something called Quality Quidditch Supplies among them.

"Diagon Alley," Harry said and stepped through the archway. Steve and Tony were close on his heels.

Many - most - of the people wore robes similar to an academic's robe, but here and there were people dressed in what Steve would consider normal clothes. Several of the people wearing robes also wore pointed hats that reminded him of the one the Wicked Witch of the West had worn in The Wizard of Oz.

They strolled down the street, and Steve felt like he'd stepped back in time, even further than when he'd gone into the ice, maybe as far back as the Victorian age, judging by the styles of lettering on shop windows and the not-quite gas lamps that lined the street.

"You getting all this, J?" Tony asked, turning in a slow circle with his cell phone in his hand. Steve assumed there was a camera in the phone and Tony was recording everything they saw.

"I believe so, sir," came JARVIS' quiet reply.

"Where do we go first?" Steve asked, hoping to pull Tony's attention back to his son, where it should be.

"Gringotts," Harry replied.

"The bank, right?" Steve asked.

"Right. You'll see it about the time we get to Quality Quidditch Supplies."

Steve tried not to gawk as he steered Tony in Harry's wake. Tony, of course, was gawking enough for both of them.

They made the first turn in the road, and a massive stone edifice loomed over the street. Steve could barely make out GRINGOTTS BANK before his head started hurting.

Okay, the headache was more figurative than literal, thanks to the abomination of neo-classical architecture that was the bank. A rounded front that oddly reminded him of the Flatiron Building in New York contained three stories, each of which had a rounded front roof that was supported by Doric-inspired columns which stood at odd angles that should not support the weight of the balconies they held up.

Steve could only assume Tony was having even more difficulty accepting what he saw, as Steve was offended more by the lack of artistic and architectural unity than anything else. Tony would be offended by the violations of engineering and structural integrity, plus whatever laws of physics might be being bent, if not outright broken.

Harry didn't hesitate at the steps to the bank, but rather strode up the steps, apparently unfazed by the two uniformed and very armed guards flanking the doors.

Guards, Steve realized belatedly, who weren't exactly human, but rather shorter even than Harry with a swarthy complexion and very long fingers and feet.

To his surprise, the guards bowed as the trio passed them. Uncomfortable with the idea of bowing to anyone, Steve decided just to nod and smile at the goblin.

Inside was a vast marble hall that Steve itched to sketch. Long counters lined the walls to left and right, making a corridor of sorts. At least a hundred goblins sat behind the counters, dealing with customers, writing in large ledgers, weighing coins, and doing whatever else might need to be done.

Harry crossed to the nearest free goblin. "Good morning," he said.

Tony followed, but Steve hung back. When Tony turned, frowning, Steve said, "Finances are private. I'll wait here or in the Magical Menagerie a door or two down."

Tony only had time to say, "See you there," before a goblin was leading Harry toward one of the numerous doors set in the walls of the lobby. Tony hurried to catch up. Steve debated whether to wait here or the Menagerie, and decided it really wasn't a choice, so he turned to the door.

Tony caught up with Harry and the goblin who was leading them just as the goblin opened the door … into a narrow stone passage lit by torches. Narrow railway tracks lined the floor, which sloped steeply downward.

"What's this?" Tony asked.

"The way to the vaults," the goblin snapped back before whistling a loud, sharp note.

A cart hurtled up the tracks toward them - an actual cart, like a mining cart, as opposed to the roller coaster cars Tony was used to - and the goblin gestured them inside.

"You're shitting me," Tony murmured to Harry as the goblin clambered in beside them.

The cart hurtled away before Harry could answer, and Tony - who loved flying and the aerobatics that came naturally in the Iron Man armor - found himself grateful he hadn't had breakfast as the cart rattled through a maze of twisting passages.

Finally, the cart careened to a stop beside a small door set in the wall. Harry hopped out almost before Tony noticed the tasteful plaque beside the door that read 687.

The goblin stepped forward and unlocked the door to reveal stacks of coins - gold, silver, bronze. Idly, Tony wondered what the current price of gold was, but let the thought drift away as he watched his son step into the vault and scoop a few handfuls of each type of coin into a pouch that Harry had produced from … somewhere.

He turned to the goblin. "I don't know how to ask without sounding rude, but - is this the only vault Harry's entitled to?"

The goblin gave a disdainful sniff. "As if Gringotts would discuss their clients with strangers."

"Oh, sorry," Tony grinned easily, deliberately refusing to be baited. "Forgot to introduce myself. I'm Tony Stark - Harry's biological father."

The goblin shot him a narrow gaze, his lips pursed. "We will see, human. We will see."

Harry finished inside his vault quickly, and rejoined Tony and the goblin. "I think I got enough."

"Good enough," Tony said, and turned back to the goblin. "I need to talk to someone who can confirm that I'm Harry's biological father, and then talk about transferring money and investments."

"Hm." It was as much a growl as an acknowledgment, and the goblin secured the vault behind them, offering Harry his key back before climbing back into the cart.

Tony and Harry followed, and another gut-churning ride later, they were back at the main floor of the bank.

"Wait here," the goblin ordered and disappeared behind another door.

Harry sidled closer to Tony. "What were you talking about earlier? Investments and transfers?"

"It's my job to provide for you," Tony said. "And to make sure that your money is put to good use until you become an adult and can start managing it yourself, so I need to make sure that I can do that."

"Oh." Harry appeared to mull that over in the few minutes before the goblin returned.

"This way," he said in a slightly more polite tone. Slightly.

Thankfully, no more E-ticket rides awaited them. Rather, they were led into a spartan corridor lined with doors. The goblin paused at a door labeled BOGROD and knocked briskly before opening the door.

"Master Harry Potter, sir," the goblin said, "and Mister…?"

"Tony Stark," Tony supplied. A moment later, the goblin inside called out for them to enter, and Tony kept a hand protectively on Harry's shoulder as they did.

Although, to be fair, in this place Harry was probably better equipped to protect him than he was to protect Harry.

Behind a mahogany desk sat a goblin - who must, Tony realized, be sitting on a high stool or chair of some kind, because the desk looked like he could sit comfortably behind it - who looked up as they entered.

"Master Potter," he said. "Mister Stark. Please, be seated. How may Gringotts help you today?"

"Who are you, exactly?" Tony asked. "I mean, I saw Bogrod on the door outside - but I'm new to this, so is that your name or your title?"

"I am Senior Account Manager Bogrod," the goblin replied. "It was my pleasure to work with James Potter and his father Fleamont before him. I had assumed I would work with Harry Potter once he came of age, but that was before you claimed to be his biological father."

"I've got proof." Tony pulled a copy of both DNA test results from his pocket, along with a copy of the letter from James and Lily Potter. Which reminded him - their letter to Harry was still on the table by his bed where he'd left it the night before. He'd have to give it to his son when they got back to the apartment.

He slid the paperwork across the desk toward Bogrod, who took them and gave them a cursory once-over.

"These appear to be in order," he said. "You won't mind if I conduct our own verification, I trust?"

"I won't know if I mind until you explain exactly what that entails," Tony replied.

Bogrod actually chuckled. "Very wise. All I need do is cast a spell on the both of you. It should not hurt, and it will reveal your relationship to each other - if any."

Tony glanced at Harry, and Harry nodded, so Tony looked back at Bogrod. "Go ahead."

Bogrod waved a hand, and a shower of colors streamed between and around him and Harry. Tony tried to be a disinterested observer, as when watching a fireworks display, but that fell by the wayside when a band of red wrapped around him and Harry - and then streaks of black showed up within the red band.

"Ah," Bogrod said. "Blood family, but not emotionally close."

"I just found out he's my father two days ago," Harry said.

"And while I've known I had a son, I only knew where he was for the last couple of days," Tony added. "I hope we'll be close, though."

Harry quirked a smile. "So do I. It's strange, though - having someone who cares."

Bogrod's surprised expression morphed into a scowl and then into bland professionalism so quickly Tony almost missed it. "Well. Your claim is verified, Mr. Stark. You wanted to speak of investments?"

"Yeah." Tony leaned back in his chair. "I saw Harry's vault - impressive stacks of gold, there. But, in the non-magical world, gold is a hedge against inflation, to preserve wealth already earned. What if Harry wants to build more wealth? How does he do that with a pile of gold? Is that the only vault in his name?"

Bogrod smiled. "If I hadn't already confirmed your relationship, those questions would've almost convinced me. You sounded quite like Fleamont Potter and Lily Potter just then. Both of them were far more interested in their finances than most."

"My mum?" Harry whispered.

Bogrod's expression softened. "Oh, yes. I used to joke that Fleamont Potter made the fortune and Lily Potter preserved it. I spent many an hour discussing such things with her."

"Would you share some stories, too?" Tony asked. "Harry doesn't remember her, and I didn't know her that well."

"I'll be glad to," Bogrod said. "If, perhaps, you'll share the story of how you came to be this young man's father but magic still recognizes him as a Potter."

"Deal," Tony agreed immediately, and hoped Steve would forgive them for taking a bit longer than he'd expected.