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The first time it happens, it's an accident.
Harry has just finished walking Joey outside - that dog has no business being as big as he is now that he's grown up - and he's wandering around the Tower aimlessly. School let out for the week, Peter is off doing a photoshoot for some friends of Gwen's, and he'd rather stick a fork in his face than spend time alone with the psycho, who's the only Avenger (besides Tony) who's even in New York.
He'd debated shutting himself up in his room, but his body is restless with pent up energy. With nothing better to do, he's decided to explore the Tower and find something interesting to occupy himself with.
Jarvis offers to guide him to rooms that might be of interest to him, but Harry declines politely, citing that accepting the AI's help would take the fun out of exploring the Tower himself. With this in mind, he starts going from floor to floor, poking his head in and out of various rooms, but steering clear of the inhabited floors. He has no interest in accidentally walking into Clint's bedroom. Merlin knows what traumatising stuff the archer has stashed in there.
By the time he reaches that room, Harry's lost count of what floor he's on. All he knows is that he's walking down an empty corridor, frustration at not finding anything remotely appealing to chase away his boredom thrumming in his veins, when he hears noises.
His ears perk up, curiosity piqued, and he hurries his pace as he chases for the source of what he identifies as music notes once he gets closer. He approaches a door held ajar and peeks inside carefully. The room that greets him is circular, almost as big as the living room on his and Tony's floor, and curiously bare but for the grand piano stationed in the middle of it. His eyes widen in surprise when he finds the source of the music: Tony.
The man is sitting on the bench, eyes partially closed and face scrunched in concentration, while his fingers dance across the black and white keys with the ease and fluidity of an experienced player. Harry doesn't recognize the melody, but that's not surprising considering his lacklustre education in the music department. Still, he stands there, oddly transfixed, and listens to the song being brought to life by Tony's nimble fingers. It starts off slow and melancholy but as the song progresses, it picks up pace without losing that melancholy quality that strikes a chord in Harry's heart.
So drawn in is he by the piano notes dancing in the air, that he doesn't even notice when the song comes to a stop until silence falls and leaves Harry oddly bereft. The screeching of a stool snaps his eyes open and he finds himself caught by Tony's eyes like a deer in the headlights.
"I, er…" he doesn't know what to say, feeling chagrined as if he walked in on something deeply personal. He feels like a trespasser.
"I'd have played something livelier if I knew I had an audience," Tony jokes lightly. His eyes keep wandering around, though, seemingly unable to settle on one thing, much less Harry himself now that he's looking back at him. Harry frowns, confused about Tony's uncharacteristic behavior, before he realizes that Tony is embarrassed and trying to cover it up with jokes.
"Don't flatter yourself," Harry scoffs, partially to distract from his own embarrassment at being caught, and partially to offer Tony an out - not that he'd ever admit that to anyone. "I heard this irritating, grating noise and I thought I'd shut it down. I was simply debating if the piano should pay for your sins or not."
Tony throws his head back and laughs. His shoulders loosen in a more relaxed stance and a small, hidden part of Harry's heart is glad to see it. His lips curl into a lazy smirk despite himself.
"I'd rather pay for my own sins, if it's all the same to you," Tony says, stuffing one of his hands in the pocket of his jeans while the other trails across the piano delicately, almost reverently. "Mom might actually come back as a ghost and haunt me forever if I got her piano destroyed."
"It was your mom's?" Harry asks, surprise coloring his voice before he can get a hold of himself and feign disinterest. He lets his eyes drift from Tony's hands to the rest of the piano and looks at it with renewed interest now that he knows its significance.
"Yup. She spent every minute she wasn't attending galas with my dad in here. I think I learned the major scale before they potty trained me."
There's a wistful smile on Tony's face that Harry finds himself relating to. Their circumstances are so wildly different, but there is something universal about losing your mother way too soon and holding on to the bits and pieces you have left that hold her memory alive.
Harry clears his throat and finally steps inside the room, hands in his pockets, looking around and confirming that the room is as bare as it seemed from the threshold.
"That must be nice," Harry comments idly, squinting at the music sheet propped against the piano. It's all gibberish to him, but at least he now has a name for the song that captivated him so completely - Clair de Lune. "Being able to play an instrument," he explains when he lifts his head and sees Tony's raised eyebrow and questioning expression. "I can't even whistle."
"I could teach you," Tony offers, voice light and casual, but Harry sees right through him. He narrows his eyes, feeling annoyingly self-conscious and inadequate, and turns his back on Tony then walks out of the room without a word. Who does he think he is, saying something like that? As if Harry wants to sit on that bench like a ponce and press some stupid keys to make music.
Stupid Tony.
The second time could be called an accident if Harry were pressed hard enough.
Harry doesn't intend to go back to the piano room when he gets in the elevator, but at some point between stepping foot inside and actually pressing the button for his desired floor, his mind decides that he should go back there instead of visiting the gym like he intended. Before he knows it, his legs have carried him all the way to the room - the door is, again, ajar - and this time, he's walking inside and leaning with his back against the wall as he listens to Tony playing the same song from last time.
The melody ends abruptly about halfway through - if Harry has been listening to Clair de Lune enough times to confidently identify the middle of the song, then that's between him and his YouTube search history - when Tony's hands lie inert on the keys. He's noticed Harry's presence faster than he did a week ago.
"Going to run out on me again?"
"I did not run ," Harry snaps with a glare that only gets worse when Tony gets that amused look in his eyes. "I simply didn't feel like entertaining your stupid idea of a joke."
"And which one was that?" Tony asks, propping his elbow on the piano, chin resting on his fist. "The one where I offered to teach you how to play?"
"Precisely."
"And why is that, exactly?"
Harry snorts with a roll of his eyes and crosses his arms defensively. "You're joking, right? I can't play the piano. That's for… for poncy, rich gits like Malfoy, with their perfect posture and dainty fingers. I can't even read the notes on that paper." He jerks his head towards the sheet music lying innocently on the music desk.
He hates this feeling. Just like when he decided to go to Midtown instead of Ilvermorny, Harry feels so behind, so stupid and plain and ignorant. He doesn't know the difference between a minor and a major scale, can't even draw that treble clef thingy properly, and don't even get him started on identifying the correct keys on a piano. The idea that Harry could learn how to play is as laughable as saying that Crabbe and Goyle have a shot at getting O's on all of their OWLs.
"I don't know if I should be offended right now or not. I'll just take that as a compliment." Tony shrugs before locking eyes with Harry, looking abnormally serious. "How about you let me judge whether you can play or not, and plant your skinny ass on the bench next to me while I finish this?"
Every bone in his body is screaming at him to refuse vehemently and leave, this time for good. He eyes the piano apprehensively, like he's expecting it to come to life and start biting, ignoring Tony's expectant expression while he thinks. On the one hand, he'd rather go another round with Voldemort than humiliate himself in front of Tony and prove how incompetent he is. On the other hand, it's only Tony. It's not like anyone else has to know about it. And Harry's pretty sure he can come up with adequate incentive to get Tony to keep his mouth shut.
Finally, he heaves a sigh and stomps over to the bench with the put upon air of someone going to the gallows. "Fine, but when I fuck up the keys of your mom's piano don't come crying to me about it."
Tony laughs, knocking his shoulder against Harry's in the process, and straightens the sheet music when he calms down and notices it's gone crooked.
"I think they'll survive, kid," he chuckles and throws Harry a wink that Harry rolls his eyes at.
"Go back to playing already. I haven't got all day."
"Alright, alright, no need to get the claws out."
Tony starts the song from the beginning and Harry finds himself watching his fingers flying across the keyboard with more attention than he's willing to admit. When he's done, Tony urges Harry to place his hands on top of Tony's while he plays the first part of the song again, much more slowly and deliberately than the first time. It's slow going, especially once Tony gives Harry free reign and he starts fumbling and hitting the wrong notes, but somehow he enjoys himself.
"Thanks, I uh… I guess I didn't completely hate this," Harry tells Tony on the way back to the elevator two hours later.
"High praise," Tony whistles, raising his eyebrows in surprise.
"The bar is so low it might as well be on the ground," Harry deadpans. "Don't get ahead of yourself."
"Hey, a compliment is a compliment, no matter how underhanded," Tony disagrees. He raises his hands in defense and shrugs when Harry raises one single, unimpressed eyebrow at him. Harry elects to ignore his inane chatter on the elevator trip up, then makes a beeline for his bedroom and the sanctuary of blessed silence it provides the second they reach their floor.
The third time is one hundred percent voluntary.
Harry's been caught in the chaos of final exams, study dates with his classmates and trying to fit in a date or two with Peter in between all of that, for the past month. When he's finally done with everything and can breathe easily without worrying about repeating a forgotten formula or looking up when Edgar Allan Poe took his last shit before he died, Harry immediately and without hesitation takes the elevator down to the piano room.
It's empty and silent when he walks in, though Harry didn't expect otherwise - Tony joined the rest of the costumed morons in fighting New York's latest supervillain crisis less than two hours ago. Slowly, he walks over to the piano and runs a finger down the top of it, watching it gathering dust along the way. He supposes no one other than Tony and Harry ever come down here, and it seems like Tony hasn't been by since the last time the two of them played together.
Harry doesn't like the implications behind that particular tidbit so he shoves it away and ignores it.
At length, he takes a seat on the bench and presses a random key, testing. He looks around, confirming once more that he's alone and no one is likely to overhear him make a fool of himself, then slowly and carefully starts pressing keys in the order he remembers practicing with Tony, biting his lip in frustration every time his finger slips before starting up again. He practices the same section of Clair de Lune so many times that he's sure he could probably play it in his sleep, and by the time he's finally perfected it, the light in the room has grown dimmer and he's no longer alone.
Harry lifts his head up in alarm, the remnants of a smug, satisfied smile still on his lips, at the sound of slow clapping accompanied by obnoxious whistling. To his relief - and annoyance - it's just Tony, watching him from the doorway and acting like an idiot. He has a new bruise on his jaw - it looks painful but Harry knows that kind of injury looks worse than it feels - and he's wearing a Slayer t-shirt with holes in it and pizza stained sweatpants. He should look out of place, dressed like that next to a piano, but just like with everything else that Tony does, he makes it look effortless.
"How long have you been standing there?"
"Since around the time you almost dropped the lid on your fingers. Nice catch, by the way," Tony quips, sauntering up to the bench and plopping himself down next to Harry without even bothering to ask.
Harry scowls at the man, but the elation of having finally gotten the first section right is still running through his veins and it overpowers any annoyance or embarrassment he might be feeling.
"Shame that those sentient crabs didn't bite your tongue off," Harry snipes.
"I'm really feeling the love there, kid. Truly."
"Someone has to keep you humble."
"And what a joy it is that you're that person," Tony exclaims with a hand over his heart. "Now, how about I show you the next section?"
Harry looks at the piano thoughtfully. His fingers twitch where they're still laying on the keys and his heart races with anticipation, so he guesses that that's all he needs for an answer.
"Don't let me stop you."
"Great!" Tony beams. The genuine joy he can see reflected in those brown eyes makes Harry squirm in place involuntarily. "I'll make a pianist out of you, yet. Mom would be so proud if she could see me now."
Harry doesn't know what to say in answer to that, so he keeps his mouth shut and looks down at Tony's hands on the keys instead. It takes him far less time to master this part of the song, and he manages to play it without mistakes by the time they wrap things up for the day.
He's not exactly the second coming of Debussy, but he's not half bad either. Strangely, Harry finds himself excited to text Hermione and let her know that he can play the piano. Even more importantly, though, he kind of thinks he might even be persuaded to play for her or Ron, but only if they took a Vow of Silence beforehand.