Man of Iron, Child of Magic

8

Minerva McGonagall prided herself on being both efficient and effective. She designed routines that worked for her and made certain each day's work was planned before she went to bed the night before. Disruptions to her routines were unwelcome and dealt with as efficiently and effectively as she knew how.

Until the arrival of a snowy owl one morning a month before the start of term. A very familiar snowy owl, in fact.

"Good morning, Hedwig," Minerva said, suppressing a smile as the owl offered a leg so she could remove the letter she carried.

She removed the message briskly, then reached for the container of owl treats she kept at her desk. They weren't often needed, as her mail came with the students' at breakfast, but during term breaks owls came as they would.

"You're welcome to rest a bit at the owlery," she said as the bird took the treat gently from her outstretched hand.

Hedwig hooted briefly and took wing once more.

"Well, Mr. Potter," Minerva murmured as she opened the envelope addressed in a scrawl that was only somewhat neater than Potter's first-year handwriting had been. "What have you to say this summer?"

She pulled out the sheet of parchment and frowned at its weight. It wasn't until she opened the parchment itself that she realized a second envelope was concealed within. The second envelope read only, PROFESSOR McGONAGALL in a script that reminded her of a book.

Loyalty to her students - and especially to one of her lions - compelled her to read Harry Potter's letter first.

Dear Professor McGonagall,

I apologize for the messiness of this letter, but my aunt and I were in an auto accident the day before yesterday, and I have several broken bones that make writing awkward and uncomfortable, especially with a quill.

My aunt, who was driving the car, did not survive.

I was very frightened when the hospital staff told me that - Uncle Vernon hates me and only put up with me because of my Aunt Petunia. I was afraid he would throw me out, or worse (not that I want to imagine what worse might be).

Fortunately, my biological father arrived. He'd been looking for me, but obviously not in the magical world. He checked me out of hospital, took me to Uncle Vernon's house to collect my things (and not a minute too soon, as he'd already thrown them in the rubbish bin), where Uncle Vernon said he never wanted to see me again.

That feeling's mutual, for sure.

Anyway, my father - Tony Stark - brought me to his apartment in London to recuperate. I have casts on my left wrist and ankle, two cracked ribs, and a fractured clavicle. Without magic, it will take 6-8 weeks for everything to heal.

Will you please come to the Stark Docklands Tower on Saturday at ten a.m. to formally introduce Mr. Stark to magic? If Madam Pomfrey could come along and heal my injuries, that would be great.

Looking forward to seeing you Saturday,

Respectfully,

Harry Potter

Minerva read the letter a second time, and a third, one phrase burning itself into her memory: my biological father arrived.

How could that be? Harry Potter was the son of James and Lily Potter - everyone knew that. Aside from Minerva's absolute certainty that Lily would never have cuckolded James, Minerva herself had been at the boy's welcoming ceremony and then, a couple of weeks later, his naming ceremony, and at both of which James Potter had looked as proud and happy as any new father could be.