Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor Marvel's Ironman. Anything you recognize is not mine.


Warning: This contains FEM!Harry. I'm sure there are also other differences to the original, but remember: this is fanfiction. I made those changes because I can. (;

That said, I appreciate comments containing constructive criticism but I will not reply to flames.

Love, W


Last Edited: 05/17/2015


Prologue:


Amy was finally finished with her last shift at the hospital. It was eleven thirty at night and she really wanted to sleep for a week. Especially after that debacle with a suicidal drunk who seemed to have lost his wife two weeks ago in an accident.

The young Healer sighed as she changed into her well-worn blue jeans and a ruby Weasley sweater from the previous Christmas. Not wanting to bother with her Potter hair for the ride home, she just put it up in a messy bun. Grabbing her new leather messenger bag, another Christmas present, Amy left the changing room. On her way out, she waved to the nurse on duty.

The twenty-six-year-old made sure to be polite and considerate whenever she spoke to nurses because they tended to be good conversationalists when you needed to rant about sexist pigs or moronic pick-up-lines.

Hermione had suggested she try to combine her Healer training with Muggle medicine so Amy could work in both worlds, after the defeat of Voldemort and her overwhelming need to leave the Wizarding World. Thus, Amy applied for the three-year Healer program, alongside Hannah Abbott who had become a good friend over that time.

Maybe I should give her a call? It was always fun to go out with the Hufflepuff.

Hermione said she was too scholarly to really lose herself to the music like Amy tended to do. Besides, her bushy-haired sister in all but blood had just given birth to a little girl called Rose which she had been named godmother of. At the thought of the ginger-haired baby Amy smiled, losing herself easily in memories of spending time with her family. Due to her job at the Saint Cross Private Hospital in downtown Manhattan, New York City, the young witch rarely spent time with them anymore.

Amy was so lost to her thoughts that she didn't notice when a brunette guy crashed into her. Great. Just what she needed. "I'm sorry, wasn't looking where I was going," she apologized immediately, automatically.

The stranger helped her back on her feet, a charming smile on his face. "I'm sorry for not looking either."

"Thanks for helping me up. Well, have a nice night," Amy heard herself say awkwardly. She had blushed, embarrassed. Usually her Quidditch-honed instincts saved her from situations such as this.

"It was nice meeting you...?" the stranger replied easily.

"Amy."

"Do you have a last name as well?"

She blushed but held her ground. Amy had no idea where that sass was coming from all of a sudden. "Yes."

The brunette's smile widened. "I'm Tony. Can I offer you a ride home?"

Oh, she was too tired for these games. Especially after working over 14 exhausting hours straight in a busy emergency room. "No, thanks. I don't want to impose. See you."

Maybe if she hadn't been so tired, Amy would have seen his smirk as a foreboding sign. Unknowingly, she had issued him a challenge - which he wouldn't back down from. Tony Stark was like a dog with a bone when he had found something that interested him. Oblivious as Amy tended to be in a social setting, she had sparked his interest by not recognizing him from the countless tabloids featuring his portrait additionally to actually saying no to his face, withstanding the trademark Stark charm.


Three days later, Washington DC


Tony could hardly believe his eyes when he spotted the same brunette he had run in a few days ago at the (mostly) boring science convention Pepper had blackmailed him to attend. This time she looked much nicer though, and less exhausted, dressed up to the nines in a sharp black business suit. Tailored, too, he would bet, and a designer piece to boot. Her white blouse was crisp, and crease-free, unlike his own. She wore only a small silver watch and a thin necklace hidden beneath the blouse. Her hair was pulled out of her face and into a no-nonsense ponytail.

From where Tony was standing, he sadly could not read her name-tag, but he vowed to get closer as soon as he could shake off whomever this very annoying suck-up he had currently hanging off his arm was. If Amy had been invited to this shindig, she had to have some sort of working brain, because those that had not been graced with his bank-account or last name had to work hard for the recognition these events granted them. Mostly it was about funding and spreading awareness of their individual projects.

Unfortunately, when Tony finally freed himself, the ravenette had vanished back to wherever she had come from, leaving him in suspense. Annoyed with the missed opportunity to at least find out the pretty woman's last name, Tony grabbed a new glass of champagne from a passing waiter's tray and mingled with the masses in the hopes to find out something to go on.

If this game of cat and mouse continued, he would end up hopelessly hooked.


A week later, London, Ritz Carlton


Amy skillfully wove her way through the masses gathered in the rented ballroom of the luxurious five star hotel. She had been bullied into wearing a blue evening gown that went well with her light skin-tone and dark hair. She was a bit lost because she had not recognized any of the guests, or rather none of them appealed to her as partners for conversations. Most of them were also invited to other charity events the witch had been invited to in the past, but they were either not acquainted with each other, or Amy did not particularly care to get to know them. (In most cases, both was true, but she had been blackmailed into at least making an effort tonight. Hermione could be mean if she so chose to be.)

Sighting a waiter with refreshments, the bored witch decided to ask for some half-and-half. (Orange juice mixed with Prosecco.) She disliked the taste of Prosecco alone, so she usually chose the alternative when it was offered. Besides, a lady was not seen drinking excessively in public, nor was she to grimace at the test of whichever Aperitif was on offer by her generous hosts, according to Andromeda.

Sadly, Amy could not afford stirring up trouble, or it would be all over the Daily Prophet in the morning. No, thanks, she thought and slowly looked for her table. Out of the corners of her eyes, she thought she might have seen the stranger she had run into a little while ago, but decided that could not be and simply was a trick of the light. There certainly were more than enough brunettes out there in the world. It would not do to become overly paranoid.

At least, not yet.


The following month, a gallery in New York City


Pepper ushered Tony into the waiting limousine, ready to head to the new exhibition of an up-and-coming artist who specialized on beautiful landscape paintings in an Impressionist-style that she admired. Tony had decided to humor her. He did not actually want her to remember that he had snuck out of that 'very important' board meeting two hours early, about ten minutes in, to be more precise, and redirection or bribery usually worked to his favor.

While mingling and shaking hands of the upper class and self-proclaimed art-lovers, the backless dress of a raven-haired woman caught his eye. She wore a wine-red designer dress, half-hidden black high heels and only modest jewelry. The part that had him taking a second look was the golden chain hanging to mid-back, drawing the eye to the woman's toned backside. At the moment, she was chatting amiably with the artist they had come to see. He was a Brit, judging by the unmistakable accent, and so she appeared to be as well.

Then Pepper distracted him from his contemplation of the unknown woman's attractive backside and her possible country of origin. Instead, he had to content with talking to a business partner Pepper deemed important.

When Tony turned back to the spot he had seen the pretty woman before, she was gone. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he caught the profile of the lady in red as she was helped into a tasteful black coat by the entrance. She seemed to have sensed him staring because she turned around one last time before leaving. Tony froze when he was confronted with the unforgettable green eyes of the woman he had been missing by a hair's breath for over a month now. Then she turned back around, leaving the party alone.

Curiosity now well and truly sparked, Tony decided to figure out who exactly this stranger was. She was important enough to be invited to charity events in London, intelligent enough to get sent to a science convention he had graced with his presence, and cultured enough to be somewhat interested in art (which was what the artist and she had been talking about). He wanted to know her name, at the very least, and try again.

He did not need an addition to the very short list of women 'who got away'. He was Tony Stark, he always got what he wanted in the end.