Proof that Tony Stark has a Heart

Chapter 9

I have been home for a month, and I hated almost every second of it. By now, most of the family had heard of my 'summer fling', as Molly liked to call it. I'd given up trying to argue that Tony was more than a fling; what could I say, when the man's reputation was so firmly against it being anything but? The only one who understood the gravity of sleeping with Tony Stark was, of course, Hermione. She'd cornered me practically the moment she'd heard the news — from Ginny, I thought, who'd heard her parents talking about it, who had been told in confidence by Remus — asking at first what the hell I thought I was doing getting involved with such a prominent muggle figure, and later whether Tony was truly as good in bed as the tabloids painted him out to be. I could only insist that he was better.

Except for the occasional visit to the Burrow, I had done well to avoid people. If I needed anything from Diagon Alley, I got Remus or Dobby to get it for me. When I had a meeting with the goblins about my inheritance now that I was seventeen, I portkeyed directly into the bank. I wasn't in the mood to deal with excited fans trying to get a piece of me every time I stepped outside. I was perfectly happy to stay at Grimmauld and read books and watch TV and, occasionally, call Tony. The billionaire was busy, as always, but he usually made time to talk to me. Still, those conversations always left me with an ache in my chest, so I tried not to do it often, as much as I'd like to.

Wandering down for breakfast, I groaned, feeling my stomach churn as soon as the scent of eggs hit my nose. Were they off? 

"Moony, are the eggs in date?" I asked, rubbing at my sleep-crusted eyes. 

Remus frowned, looking down at his poached egg.

"They're fine, why?" he asked, his voice confused.

I stuffed two slices of bread in the toaster, covering my nose with my sleeve as I answered, "They smell awful, it's making me nauseous.

Remus frowned, banishing all the eggs on the table, including his half-eaten one.

"Are you feeling alright, cub?" he asked, his voice concerned. Standing, the greying man pressed the back of his hand to my forehead, "You've not got a temperature. Coughing, headaches, stuffed nose?" 

I shook my head, gulping down tea from the mug on the counter.

"No, just my stomach. Maybe I ate something dodgy," I mused, grimacing at the still-lingering smell of eggs, "Don't worry, Rem, it'll pass, I'm sure."

The next morning, I was vomiting into the toilet before I could even make it downstairs, glad that I had my eyes fixed during the war; trying to stumble to my bathroom half-blind and about to be sick wouldn't have ended well. Coughing and spluttering, I flinched when I felt a hand on his forehead, pushing back my fringe. 

"I thought you said it would pass?" Remus asked dryly, making me groan feebly.

"It's probably just a two-day bug or something," I suggested, grimacing at the taste of vomit in my mouth.

I couldn't think of any opportunities I could have caught anything, but it was the only explanation I could come up with. Remus kissed my head, offering me a glass of water.

"I'll put the kettle on," he declared soothingly. "You get back in bed." 

I didn't protest, knowing there was no point; at least I had a TV in my bedroom.

"Yes, Mum," I muttered, making Remus snort.

"Trust me, cub; if I were Lily, you'd be at St Mungo's before you could say 'pepper-up'," he replied, amused. 

I merely rolled my eyes, accepting the support back to my bed. 

"Stay there, I'll bring you up tea and a potion to settle your stomach," Remus ordered as he left my room to get them.