Tony is, technically, an enclave kid. He has an enclave power-sharer and knows where to find the enclave entrances and he's been to the enclave and the enclave has a place for him in the Scholomance and a place for him in the enclave itself if he graduates. Enclave mana wards his house and enclave artificing made his favourite pen. He's Maria Lalonde's son and her family's been with the enclave for centuries.

But really, in his day to day life, in his heart and his brain and his bones, he's a Stark. Stark money pays the guards that watch every shadow in every corner of his house, disbelieving the mals into ordinary vermin that Stark weapons can kill. Stark ingenuity built the collapsible titanium crossbow he keeps under his pillow at night and on his belt during the day, and the multitool he wears on the other side with its knife and saw and file and screwdriver and precise measurement markings.

When he was really little, Stark meant Howard, meant Dad, meant being turned away from the office and the workshop with a long-suffering call of "Maria," meant hasty sprinklings of absent-minded affection over days of absence. When he was a little older it meant long afternoons excitedly poring over circuit diagrams and taking each glimpse of the elusive Dad-creature as an opportunity to ask five questions at once, and the smile, and the gradual shift from indulgence to true collaboration. There was a time, then, when Stark meant family.

Except that it never really did.

He had a screaming fight with his mother, the night he finally found out that it wasn't just absent-mindedness, that his father really didn't know he had another son. She went cold on him and said that it was necessary, that Tony was going to the Scholomance and the other one was going to stay behind, that probably the guards could keep him safe—it's not really a one in twenty chance of death, not in this house—she claimed she'd never used magic to change Howard's mind, that all her deceptions were mundane, and Tony was forced to admit that, actually, it did seem kind of plausible for Howard to just not notice, because, much as Tony loves him, Dad is just kind of a fucking idiot sometimes—

But still. "Fuck you and fuck your Scholomance and fuck everything about this situation," he said, and those were his last words to his mother because he didn't speak to her for a week and then Howard drove them both off a cliff on their way back from boozing it up with the stupid rich friends they didn't even like.

So Tony called the enclave, of course, and the enclave didn't know either, and Tony was forced to admit that he, too, is a fucking idiot, because he never fucking asked, he just assumed that of course his brother is just a weird shy cryptid who never goes on trips or shows up to meals and that's fine and normal, he just let himself be tricked, the same way Dad was tricked but in reverse. He just let his mother delete an entire human being from public reality out of, what, he can't exactly ask her now, some fucked-up scheme to diversify strategies for making sure she still had a kid? An unreasonable dedication to never ever telling Howard about magic? What was she going to do if Tony died and Sherry didn't, just make Sherry impersonate him forever? What was she going to do if neither of them died? Just keep Sherry around as, as backup???

Whatever. He explained the situation. He agreed that the situation was completely insane. He brought Sherlock in to demonstrate his existence, look, an entire twin brother, whatcha gonna do about it. He agreed, again, that the situation was completely insane. He agreed that it was going to be really inconvenient to get Sherlock a spot in the Scholomance on such comparatively short notice. He agreed, with a friendly laugh, that he probably should've thought of that before he pulled an entire twin brother out of a hat, and, yet again, that the situation was completely insane. He's sure they ripped him off really badly on which parts of his maternal inheritance he forked over for it, but in the end, he got what he came for: a spot for Sherlock alongside him in the Scholomance, a year and a half later. And an enclave power-sharer for him too, thank you very fucking much.

His scale is calibrated to the microgram and he's leaving both of them a small safety margin, plus putting a little juice in their mana storage just for the wiggle room. They've both fasted leading up to induction; no point wasting the weight with food and water that they're just going to throw up as soon as they get there. They made spreadsheets to track their inventory and they've both double-checked them about sixty times and Tony swears he's worn a couple micrograms off the soles of his shoes just pacing back and forth, which he would know because he keeps weighing himself again to check he hasn't accidentally stuck something in his pocket that shouldn't be there, and there is absolutely no possible world in which his father could have been here to see him off so it's stupid to miss the idea so he definitely isn't doing that at all.