Chapter 3

Harry watched the television spellbound, his only concession to the real world was taking the occasional sip of his cappuccino.

The image that appeared when the screen cut to the live feed was that of a military man, who the text at the bottom of the screen identified as Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes.

"And now, Mr. Stark has prepared a statement," the Lieutenant Colonel was saying. "He will not be taking any questions. Thank you."

While Colonel Rhodes was giving his introduction, a man in a crisp black suit with the most intricate facial hair that Harry had ever seen, joined him on the stage. At once, Colonel Rhodes stepped back and to the side, giving up the microphone to the man identified as Tony Stark.

"Ah, been a while since I was in front of you. I figure I'll stick to the cards this time," Tony Stark said, holding up the indicated cards. Then, holding out the cards in front of him, he began to read. "There's been speculation that I was involved in the events that occurred on the freeway and the rooftop ..."

"I'm sorry, Mister Stark," a female journalist in the audience interrupted, "but do you honestly expect us to believe that that was a bodyguard in a suit that conveniently appeared - despite the fact that you ..."

"I know that it's confusing," Stark interrupted her, an annoyed look on his face. "It is one thing to question the official story, and another thing entirely to make wild accusations, or insinuate that I'm a superhero."

"I never said you were a superhero," the female journalist pointed out.

"Didn't? Well, good, because that would be outlandish and fantastic," Stark replied. "I'm just not the hero type. Clearly. With this laundry list of character defects, all the mistakes I've made - largely public ..."

It was then that Colonel Rhodes stepped back into the screen and whispered something in Stark's ear. The fact that Tony Stark immediately looked down at the forgotten cards in his hand and then held them back out in front of him told Harry exactly what was said.

Tony Stark paused then, staring at the cards for a long, long moment before his hand dropped and he looked right into the camera.

"The truth is: I am Iron Man."

Not only the reporters on the screen, but also everyone in the bakery with Harry immediately began talking and sending questions every which way.

Harry, though, couldn't see what the big deal was. He thought that Stark was saying that he was in one of the iron suits that had been on the screen not long before - most likely the Gryffindor red and gold one - but to him, it didn't mean all that much.

So, the guy could obviously do stuff that the ordinary person couldn't. Harry could relate to that. The big difference between the two of them that Harry could see was that Stark seemed to eat up the attention that the media was giving him, and that was not something that Harry'd ever been comfortable with.

Deciding that, since he'd seen the 'big news announcement' and not wanting to stay around where a bunch of people were beginning to talk louder and louder to the person next to them, he sidled out of the bakery and continued his explorations of his new home.

ooo00ooo

Sipping his cappuccino and munching on his chocolate scroll, Harry continued wandering the streets. He particularly loved the old world feel that the old red-bricked buildings gave him. He wondered idly about that, especially when he realised that, no matter what country or continent he'd visited over the past four years, he'd naturally seemed to gravitate towards the oldest section of the city or town. But then, the more he thought about it, the more that it made sense.

When it came down to it, the first place that Harry had ever been happy to call home, the one place that he'd always felt most comfortable in, was Hogwarts. And if you wanted the old world feel, then Hogwarts was always bound to win. Diagon Alley, too, was an extension of that. Both were places where he began to come into his own. Especially the summer before his third year when he got to spend a number of weeks living in the Leaky Cauldron and exploring the Alley every day.

Whenever Harry found that he was starting to leave the old neighbourhood behind, he'd turn back, exploring a different street or even simply the opposite side of a street that he'd already been down.

It wasn't surprising then, when he found the place that seemed to instantly call to him.

The building was much like the ones around them - all red-brick and old wood and steel. Huge plate glass windows lined not only the front of the building, but were also set into the top third of the old oak door in wedges that formed a semi-circle, a small circular piece of glass set in the bottom centre of the glass as though it was the sun and the other pieces were its rays shining forth.

It was only three stories high, the highest level even having a small balcony set in the centre. To one side of it, a second building, made from the same materials, only twice as high, butted up against the one that had caught Harry's attention. On the other, across from the small alleyway, was a second building, much like its counterpart, six stories high and seeming to loom over the smaller, forgotten building.

And it was indeed forgotten.

An old, grubby for sale sign hung lopsidedly in one window of the building, catching Harry's attention.

As though drawn like a moth to a flame, Harry quickly found himself standing right up against one of the big glass windows. But even having cupped his hands around his face and leaning right in, he was hard-pressed to see anything inside - the windows were just that grubby and stained that they simply obscured everything from sight. The only thing that Harry could make out was a large, seemingly empty space that was completely devoid of light.

Stepping back, he looked up at the building again, this time a little more closely.

The outside looked to be in fairly good shape, but he assumed that that had more to do with the materials used in its construction than anything else. Deciding to investigate it further, he walked the few metres to the alley and turned down it.

The alley was filled with piles of rubbish and old boxes. A dumpster, completely overflowing, seemed to have been long forgotten hear its end. Partway down the alley, Harry found a single old door with three padlocks on it that led back into the building. And a little further down, was a pair of doors that could only lead to a cellar.

He knew that he was being impulsive. Foolish, too, if he was willing to admit it to himself; but there was simply something about the old building.

Yes, he suspected that it needed a lot of work. But magic could do wonders. In some ways, it almost reminded him of himself. After the war, he'd been almost lost and in need of a lot of work to make him better. A tiny fraction of that he'd been able to accomplish in England, but it took leaving and travelling, experiencing new and different cultures for him to slowly heal and put himself back together again.

Maybe, just maybe, he reasoned, that's what this old building needed - a new lease on life and some good hard work to help it live again.

Rounding the building to the front again, Harry dug into one of the front pockets of his backpack to find the small notebook and pen that he kept there. In it, he carefully wrote down the name and number of the agency selling the building.

Now, all he had to do was find a phone.