The first argument about Concord House happened before there was a Concord House.

There was only dirt.

Well, dirt, a long stretch of Sunland hillside, a view of the mountains, a half-legal access road, three construction trailers, a rented port-a-potty Tony had already declared “a war crime with hinges,” and Kendis standing there with her arms crossed over her chest like she personally intended to intimidate the foundation into behaving.

Tony stood as if he had no business on a construction site, dressed in a suit that probably cost more than most people’s monthly salaries. He gave off the impression of a man who was every inch the entitled rich white boy that he was.

Behind them, their friends stared at the marked-out footprint of the house, and a strained silence fell between them before Rhodey finally said with a note of extreme exasperation, “Tony.”

Tony did not look at him. “Yes, platypus?”

“This is not a house.”

“It is absolutely a house,” Tony shot back with the certainty of a man who grew up in mansions twice that size.

“This is a resort with commitment issues.”

Kendis made a noise low in her throat. “Do not encourage him.”

Pepper stood next to Happy with a clipboard, a travel mug, and the dead-eyed patience of a woman who had personally reviewed at least twelve contracts with the phrase “structural impossibility” in them. “For the record, I said this was excessive.”

“You say that about everything I do.” Tony rolled his eyes. “I’m starting to think you are biased.”

“Biased?” Pepper snorted. “Tony, I had to talk you out of buying a new Bugatti because you liked the color. Everything you do is excessive.”

“That sounds like branding,” Tony shrugged.

“It sounds like a diagnosis,” Pepper corrected.

Kendis interrupted the two before the argument could derail into Pepper pointing out every reckless, ridiculous thing Tony had ever done. She pointed at the flagged lines stretching across the lot. “I said cozy.”

Tony blinked at her. “This is cozy.”

Kendis slowly turned her head.

Tony, who had faced down terrorists, impatient senators, and the board after Stark Industries’ stock plummeted because of one of his publicity stunts, still had the survival instinct to lean back slightly.

“Kendis, sweetheart, light of my increasingly expensive life—”

“Do not sweetheart me while I am looking at the chalk outline of a small nation.”

“It’s not a small nation.”

Rhodey lifted his hand. “It has wings.”

Tony pointed at him. “Lots of houses have wings.”

“Birds have wings,” Kendis said. “Tony, this is a glorified compound, and last time I checked, my name is not Warren Jeffs.”

Tony blinked. “Who?”

Kendis waved that off and gestured back to the construction site. “Tony, this is a compound.”

“It is not a compound!”

“Uh, boss?” Happy squinted at the plans. “It kind of looks like a compound.”

Tony shot Happy a betrayed look. “You’re my security.”

“I’m also literate.”

Kendis pinched the bridge of her nose. “Anthony.”

Tony froze at the use of his full name. Kendis only used his full name when she was pissed at him.

I’m fucked, Tony thought to himself.

Pepper, the traitor, didn’t try to help him. She took a careful sip of coffee as if she wasn’t about to witness his execution.

Rhodey whispered, “Oh, he’s in trouble.”

Tony turned toward Kendis fully, hands up. “Okay… okay… first of all, we both agreed that we needed space.”

“I agreed we needed a home.”

“Yes.”

“For us.”

“Yes.”

“Emphasis on home, Tony.” Kendis threw up her hands. “Not a historically significant estate with emotional support garages.”

Tony opened his mouth.

Kendis narrowed her eyes.

Tony closed it again.

The tense domestic argument was swiftly interrupted by someone giving a sharp, startled gasp from behind them.

“Molly,” Arthur Weasley said softly, in the voice of a man who had survived decades of his wife forming opinions in real time.

The moment Kendis mentioned in a letter that she and Tony were building a house, Mrs. Weasley had been bound and determined to inspect it.

“No child of mine is going to live in some magical death trap,” had been the response she gave.

Kendis had known Mrs. Weasley long enough to know that she was ten times more stubborn than she was, and when her pseudo-mother got an idea in her head, there was no stopping her.

Mrs. Weasley had arrived via a carefully warded temporary transport point behind one of the construction trailers, wearing a floral cardigan, sensible shoes, and the expression of a woman who had zero tolerance for bullshit.

She marched forward with Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Oliver, Fred, George, Angelina, Lee Jordan, and Arthur trailing behind her like witnesses to a natural disaster. Honestly, Kendis was surprised and a bit disappointed that Bill and Fleur hadn’t brought their kids.

Kendis would have preferred to get a big hug from her niblings if she had to deal with Molly. At least then she would have had her niblings for entertainment.

“Kendis James Black,” Molly said as she looked the construction site up and down with obvious disapproval. “You can’t be serious!”

Kendis pinched the bridge of her nose. “Mrs. Weasley—”

Mrs. Weasley coughed and glared at her. “How many times have I told you to call me Mum?”

Kendis felt her cheeks flush. “Mum, it’s okay.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Molly huffed. “How many bedrooms? I reckon you will need the space if you plan on starting a family.”

Kendis’s face went pale, and she shot a terrified look at her husband. He opened his mouth because they had already had this discussion. Tony and Kendis didn’t want any kids. Hell, Kendis planned on appointing one of her Weasley niblings as heir to the Black estate.

Tony hesitated, then he coughed. “Um, it depends on how you count.”

Hermione’s head snapped up. “How does the number of bedrooms depend on how you count?”

Tony rocked back on his heels. “Well, some of them are technically suites.”

Ron stared at him blankly and then snorted. “You’re fucked, mate.”

“Ronald Bilius Weasley!” Mrs. Weasley said as she spun on Ron. “Language!”

“Sorry, Mum.” Ron turned bright pink and sheepishly rubbed the back of his head.

Ginny laughed under her breath. “Oh, this is brilliant.”

Kendis pointed at Tony without looking away from Mrs. Weasley. “I told him to make it smaller.”

Tony made an offended sound. “You told me you wanted room for guests.”

“I meant Ron and Hermione could visit.”

Tony gestured at the dirt. “And now they can.”

“With their entire bloodline?” Kendis demanded.

Fleur threw her head back and laughed. “This is the best entertainment I have had in ages.”

Fred leaned toward George. “I like him.”

“Mad,” George nodded. “But he definitely has style.”

Molly ignored them both. “I want to inspect the plans.”

Tony blinked. “The plans?”

“Yes, the plans.”

Pepper, who was no fool, immediately handed over a rolled-up set from her clipboard because Pepper Potts believed in efficiency and also in letting other people yell at Tony whenever possible.

Tony turned to her. “Et tu, Virginia?”

Pepper gave him a bright smile that spoke of a level of pettiness Kendis could only respect. “Especially me.”

Molly unrolled the plans on the hood of Happy’s SUV. Within three minutes, she had found six things to object to, four things she approved of but refused to admit, and one hallway she declared “a nonsense corridor.”

“This kitchen,” Molly said, jabbing her finger at the section of the floor plan.

Kendis perked up despite herself. “The kitchen is mine.”

Molly looked at the design, and then a tense silence fell as she studied the floor plan.

Then Molly said, reluctantly, “Well. That’s a proper kitchen.”

Kendis looked smug because she may not have been an expert on magic or magical law like Hermione, but the one thing she did know her way around was a kitchen. Her Aunt Petunia had made damn sure of that before Kendis was even toilet-trained.

Tony looked relieved, and Kendis barely repressed the urge to kiss him on the cheek. He was adorable when he was flustered.

“However,” Molly continued.

Tony deflated, and Kendis bit back a sigh.

“There should be more pantry space.”

“There are two pantries,” Kendis pointed out. “And I plan on making sure they both have extension charms.”

“There should be three.”

Tony whispered, “I like her.”

Kendis pointed at him again. “Tony Stark, you and Mum are not allowed to gang up on me about my own kitchen.”

Mrs. Weasley sniffed. “I am not ganging up on you. I am advising you.”

“You are judging.”

“Those are often the same thing when one is correct.”

Unknown to all of them, while they were busy arguing over pantries, Arthur had wandered toward the construction equipment. He patted the side of an excavator with a delighted smile on his face. “Extraordinary! What does this button do?”

Every Weasley child shouted, “Dad, no!”

Everyone knew that Arthur Weasley had more curiosity than common sense when it came to Muggle technology. Thank Merlin, Happy moved with surprising speed.

The group watched as Happy gently but firmly steered Arthur away from the machinery.

Tony whistled. “I suddenly understand so much about your family.”

“You married into chaos,” Kendis said.

“I married into premium chaos.”

“You woke up married into premium chaos.”

“And then made the excellent choice to stay there.”

Kendis tried not to smile because she did. She chose to be with this impossible man over and over again. No matter how much he aggravated the hell out of her, Kendis didn’t regret it in the least.

Tony saw it anyway and grinned like he had won, and she playfully shoved him with her elbow.

Then the ground hummed.

It wasn’t loud or dangerous. It was just noticeable enough to make sure every wixen present noticed.

Kendis went very still.

The wind shifted over the bare lot, dry and warm, brushing dust over her boots. The lines marking the future house seemed to shimmer faintly, though no one without magic appeared to notice. Tony did, because Tony noticed Kendis noticing things, and that had become its own specialized language between them.

“Kendis?” he asked quietly.

She looked toward the center of the lot where the foyer would be. The place where the house would eventually open itself to them.

Her expression changed, her fond irritation softening into something quieter.

Tony stepped closer. “What is it?”

Kendis swallowed. “Concordia.”

That shut everyone up, even the twins, who only shut up under the threat of Mrs. Weasley’s glare.

“Uh, what the hell is that?” Ron looked uneasy. “The house is talking already?”

Kendis looked back at the construction site. “The house is talking.”

“Kendis,” Hermione said, her voice sharpening with warning.

“Hermione, don’t start.” Kendis pinched the bridge of her nose. Hermione had gone mental when Kendis had finally told her about Concordia and the house Tony and Kendis planned to build on top of ancient, sentient land.

Hermione’s brows drew together. “There isn’t even a house yet.”

Kendis’s eyes remained fixed on the dirt. “She says there will be.”

Tony’s mouth parted, but for once, he didn’t interrupt.

Kendis listened as Concordia hummed again. It took a moment for her to parse the words, but when she did, her face twisted.

“No.”

Tony immediately straightened. “No, what?”

Kendis was frightened, not pissed. The house was already gargantuan as it was. Rhodey calling it a resort wasn’t that far off. She had purposely gone into this process trying to keep the design reasonable.

“She says it needs to be bigger,” Kendis said, crossing her arms in indignation.

Because bigger?

Did being out here alone for all this time make Concordia mad?

Tony’s entire body lit up with vindication, and Kendis spun on her heel and pointed at him. “Do not.”

Tony pressed his lips together, and she narrowed her eyes. The smugness was practically radiating off of him.

“Do not make that face.”

“I am not making a face.”

“You are not slick,” Kendis pointed out. “You are making the face of a man who thinks the sentient house agrees with him.”

“The sentient house does agree with me.”

“The sentient house is being dramatic.” Kendis threw up her hands in frustration. She had never been more tempted to hex Tony where he stood.

Tony pointed toward the lot. “I’m sorry, are we dismissing the architectural opinions of the pre-born magical consciousness?”

Kendis stared at him for a long time and then gave an incredulous laugh. “Pre-born magical consciousness?”

“I’m workshopping,” Tony shrugged.

Mrs. Weasley looked from Kendis to the plans, then to the dirt. Her face softened in a way that made Kendis’s chest ache.

Mrs. Weasley was a handful. Ron’s mum was overbearing and over the top sometimes, but this was the same woman who saw skinny Kendis Black in her oversized hand-me-downs and big, round glasses and took her in. This was the woman who claimed Kendis as her child even though she had more baggage than King’s Cross.

“What did she say, love?”

Kendis rubbed both hands over her face. She struggled between her practical sensibilities and the deep feeling that Concordia was right. “That we’re going to need every inch.”

Tony’s expression shifted first, the teasing replaced by something quieter and more careful. Kendis had been married to Tony long enough to know that look. It was the look her husband got when he was doing math that no one else could see.

She knew he wasn’t calculating numbers, blueprints, or even stress tolerances. Tony was thinking about the future and all the possibilities that lay there in front of them.

Mrs. Weasley was still disappointed that Kendis had married anyone, but she seemed to think the light at the end of the tunnel was the possibility of grandchildren.

Kendis never wanted a nuclear family. She wanted Tony, Alke, and her friends. She wanted dinner parties, movie nights, and sleepovers. Kendis longed for a big family full of people who were there not out of the obligation of blood, but because they chose to be with her.

But the way Concordia spoke of this as prophecy disturbed her. It raised all of her hackles because Kendis knew the damage of prophecy intimately. Her existence was proof enough of what could happen if you believed in prophecy so much that you refused to see any other options. Besides, as she thought about the conversation she’d had with Death all those months ago, Kendis was tired of being at the whim of prophecy.

“I didn’t want a mansion,” she said, her voice lower.

Tony stepped closer and pulled her into him. “I know.”

“I wanted quiet.” Kendis closed her eyes and laid her head on his shoulder.

“I know,” Tony said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I wanted to be somewhere no one could take from me.”

Tony’s face softened.

Behind them, no one spoke, and the silence felt suffocating. But Kendis couldn’t stop herself from spilling out her feelings.

“I wanted a home,” Kendis said with a sigh. “Not a fortress.”

Tony wrapped his arms around her and cupped her face. She could tell that Tony didn’t give a damn about the audience. In that moment, Tony looked at her as if she were the only person there. His brown eyes were intense and so full of love she felt as if her heart were pounding in her chest.

Tony squeezed once. “Maybe it can be both.”

She hated that he was right, but Kendis hated that Concordia hummed in approval beneath her feet even more.

Kendis scowled at the dirt. “Don’t encourage him.”

The lot hummed again.

“Did she…” Tony’s eyebrows shot up. “Did she just laugh?”

“I am not discussing this with either of you.”

“Either,” Tony repeated, delighted. “You hear that? We’re co-parenting architecture.”

“Anthony Edward Stark,” Kendis turned on him. “I will bury you in this foundation.”

“I love it when you flirt.” Tony winked at her, and Kendis couldn’t help but laugh.

Molly made a small, strangled noise, Ron covered his face, and Ginny threw her head back and gave the most evil cackle Kendis had ever heard. And she had defeated Voldemort, so that was saying something.

Meanwhile, Hermione looked like she was trying very hard not to enjoy herself.

“For legal reasons,” Pepper said, crossing her arms, “no one is burying Tony in the foundation.”

Happy muttered, “For emotional reasons, I get it.”